Page 185 of The Lineman

Mateo took a long sip of beer, staring at the counter. “I just . . . IknowGabe. Or at least, I thought I did. He’s one of my best players. He’s confident, a leader on the court. Hell, I’ve seen that kid trash-talk grown men during summer league.”

I nodded. “And yet, he was terrified to see you there.”

“Yeah.” Mateo let out a slow breath. “Although . . . I might’ve been more scared than him.”

The weight of that sat between us for a moment.

Then he muttered, “Jesus, I’ve probably spent years making him think I wouldn’t accept him.”

I frowned. “What? Why? No way.”

“Mike. Look at me.” Mateo gave me a dry look.

I scanned his broad shoulders, his square jaw. I thought about his walk that still screamed former athlete.

And on top of all that? He was the kid’s coach.

Mateo was the kind of guy teenage boys looked up to. The kind of guy queer boys probably didn’t know how to read—maybe even feared.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just keep thinking . . . what if I was part of why he never said anything? What if he spent years keeping his mouth shut because he thought I’d—” He exhaled. “I don’t know, treat him differently?”

The words sat heavy between us.

I could feel the guilt in them.

The regret.

Elliot finally spoke up. “You didn’t know.”

Mateo huffed. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t blind.”

I reached out, squeezing his shoulder. “Mateo, you’re one of the best damn people I know. You love your players, and if Gabe couldn’t see that, then—”

Mateo shook his head. “It’s not about whether he saw it. It’s about whether I ever showed it.”

That shut me up.

Because I got it.

Mateo had spent years being a certain kind of man. A leader. A mentor. A coach. He had built himself into that role, made it his identity.

And now?

Now, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t made enough room for the whole of who he was.

Not just for himself.

But for kids like Gabe.

After a long silence, he muttered, “It’s just . . . weird, y’know? I’ve always been so sure about being out. Like, I didn’t have some dramatic coming-out story. No trauma, no big rejection. It was just . . . whatever. I was gay, and that was that. I didn’t need to announce anything to anyone. Fuck the world.”

I nodded, listening.

Mateo stared down at his beer. “But tonight? Seeing him? It made me wonder if I’ve ever really let that part of me exist in certain spaces. I mean, I’m out, but I’m not like . . .” He gestured vaguely. “Outout.”

I frowned. “You mean because of basketball?”

Mateo exhaled. “Because of everything. I coach boys. I’ve spent years being their role model, their guy, their safe space. Maybe, without meaning to, I’ve kept parts of myself separate from that.”

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