Page 24 of Off the Pitch

And the fans? Did I care what they thought? I knew some people would call me a fag. Some fans threw homophobic language around all the time. I just wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to brush it off. Then there was the pressure that would inevitably come from the revelation. I’d suddenly be the poster boy for the gay community in football. Everyone would hold everything I did under a microscope; every goal, every pass, every single game. Every time I failed, they’d say it was because I was gay. Even the idea of that type of scrutiny made me nauseous.

I knew it shouldn’t matter. I should accept who I was and not care what anyone else thought.

And yet…

“That’s not part of the plan,” I muttered, my dad’s favourite phrase echoing in my ears. He’d always talked aboutthe plan. Every step clearly marked out for me to take; no missteps, no mistakes, no deviation. It was the only way I could achieve the greatness that he’d planned for me.

Mum froze. “Do you really still believe that?”

“I… no? Maybe?”

“Christian King, you listen to me. Whatever that man told you, whatever he made you believe, he was a no-good bastard, and I let him stay around here for far too long.” Mum’s voice was ice cold. “I should have kicked him out much sooner than I did.”

“It’s not your fault, Mum,” I interjected, squeezing her hand. That was the problem with having a parent who decided your life’s dream for you—they tended not to let anything else get in the way. Nothing else had been important to my dad except getting what he wanted. And if I didn’t do what he wanted or didn’t get the right results, then I didn’t deserve his love.

I had to be perfect. That was the only way to fulfilthe plan.

Mum had put up with so much from him over the years—the drinking, the anger, the shouting at my referees and coaches, the sheer single mindedness about what was best for me. I wasn’t quite sure what the final straw was. I think it had something to do with him wanting to send me abroad when I was fourteen. All I remember was coming home from school and being told that he wasn’t living with us anymore. I’d hardly seen him after that, and even then, all we’d talk about was football and what I should be doing to get better and improve my game.

When I was sixteen, he’d wrapped his car around a lamppost while driving. Apparently, he’d been drunk and four times over the legal driving limit. I didn’t really miss him, but I’d still clung to the path he’d laid out for me.

I’d always believed his intentions were good, even if he hadn’t been a good person.

“It is, and that’s my cross to bear.” Mum sighed and gave me the same soul-searching look she always used when she was worried. “Are you happy, Christian? Do you even like playing football?”

I smiled and nodded, giving her the same answer I always used when she asked that question. “I am, and I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Her lip curved in a small smile. “That’s okay then. Remember plans can change, and it’s okay to want both things. You can have football and love. They’re not mutually exclusive. Look at your friends. Doesn’t Liam have a long-time girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Ali… she’s amazing.” I nodded, a tiny weight lifting off my chest.

“There you go then,” she said, settling back on the sofa. “Now, do you want to watchPointlesswith me, or have you gotta get home?”

“I can stay,” I said, and Mum nodded, indicating I’d made the right choice. As the sound of the TV filled my ears, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to see if there was anything from David. Sure enough, there was a message filling up the home screen.

DavidDon’t freak out today. Nothing has changed, except that we can kiss now ;)

I couldn’t help the little chuckle that shook my body. He was such a dork. But he was my dork, and that was something that filled me with such happiness I thought I might burst.

Chapter Eleven

GREEN & GOLD: THE ULTIMATE BROMANCE

Why we love Greenwich’s Liam Gold and Jordan Green’s epic bromance

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Christian

It’s funny how easy things became after my initial freak-out.

Despite Mum’s insistence that I should tell David how I felt, just talking to her had calmed my fears, and David quickly slipped back into my life as if he’d never left.

The way he would text me after his classes to endlessly complain about his students or about his thesis, or send me cute pictures to make me smile after I’d complained about training, or his little goodnight messages telling me to have sweet dreams, made my stomach flutter. Twice he’d even sent me pics of him getting out of the shower. The first time he’d sent one, I’d stared at it for so long my eyes had started watering.

I may or may not have saved both pictures to my phone and then changed my passcode so nobody else would see them. They had become my favourite thing to look at whenever I was alone, my hands sliding into my boxers as I imagined everything I wanted to do to him and everything I wanted David to do to me. All I had to do now was pluck up the courage to send a naughty picture back.

I texted David as soon as I woke up every morning, nudging him out of bed because I knew that was the worst part of his day. Teenaged David had had trouble getting up for school, and I imagined adult David wasn’t any better. Although from his stream of grumpy texts and Snapchats, it was apparently made slightly easier by consuming enough caffeine to knockout a horse. He had no qualms about drinking the most ridiculous coffees that Starbucks made, and when he discovered they’d finished doing pumpkin spice lattes one day at the end of November, I’d actually worried he might kill someone.

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