Page 27 of Until He Scores

“Did you forget about the bird incident?”

She gasped. “Heathen!”

“Bitch,” I said, blowing her a kiss. When I caught Ireland and Hunter staring at us, I exhaled, shoulders slumped. “Look, there’s a past there. I don’t want to dig it up or relive the humiliation. Okay? Pope deserves his happiness with his family. Me and him… We’ve got nothing to talk about.”

“Stop it,” July murmured. “There were a lot of bigots in this town at one point, but stuff is getting better. Just last week, Ioverheard a mom outside the high school talking about the new boy on the cheer team. Also?—”

I held up my hand. “I think it’s great. Honest, but they’re not me, and they didn’t live my life.”

“If I could go back and kick all their asses, I would,” she muttered.

“It is what it is.” I finished the beer in my hand and walked away to grab another one. When I glanced at the bar where Pope had been standing, the man was gone. I scoffed while a self-deprecating smile tugged at my mouth. Should have known he’d leave. That’s what Pope was good at, though. Taking off with no one knowing where he was going or if he’d come back.Isn’t that what you’re good at, too?Yeah, it was. If what Hunter said was true, though, he probably left to go take care of his kids and wife. Wonder if Pope told her he kissed me?

“You know, July means well,” December stated, joining me as I twisted the cap off another beer. I’d been such a morose fucker, I couldn’t even feel buzzed properly. Maybe I needed to go with something harder than alcohol.

“Well, sounds like Pope has someone and kids,” I muttered, hating the spitefulness in my voice.

“What? No. Hunter has kids. He just adopted a baby boy,” December said, trying to hold back a laugh. “He went to Pope to get his son and daughter’s footprints tattooed on his arm.”

Shocked, I turned my head too fast and stumbled before righting myself. Guess I was feeling the alcohol more than I realized. Or I’d forgotten my fake knee didn’t move like a real one. “What did you say?”

She laid a steadying hand on my arm, staring at me with such concern etched across her face. “Did you honestly think Pope had kids?”

He had a girlfriend. Why not? I shrugged. Didn’t matter. None of what they were doing mattered. “He had a girlfriend the last I saw him.”

“Oh honey,” December said, taking my hand. “We haven’t seen him with anyone since he came back.”

Okay. And?

That meant nothing, especially when Pope wasn’t gay. Nor did I think he was bi. As a teen, I yearned for the day when I could tell my best friend about me. Sadly, that day never came because I kissed him and froze. I told my parents who accepted me. The others, I let them in a little at a time, because I knew I couldn’t keep them out forever. Worse, if I tried to hide, and they saw me at an inopportune time, well, I thought I’d hurt them more than Pope could ever hurt me. Lily-Mae, Rick, Wes, the guys, July, December, all of them were like my second family.

Then I got drafted.

No, I shouldn’t say it that way. The roots of bigotry ran deeply through all the different sports. It was easier to be straight than it was to come out to your teammates. One of them, if not more, would always be the homophobic prick. They’d complain about the showers or being naked where I was, never realizing I had no interest in their pencil dicks or stubs. Then there were those fans who had so much hatred within them. A roll of rainbow tape turned them into the biggest Karen’s in the world. Who knew rainbows would be the one thing to stick in their crawl?

Worse, that roll of rainbow tape canceled all the rainbow sweaters and pride week within the league. Not to mention the biggest bigot of all. Bastard had the money and the fame to rally all his fans who believed like him, to destroy something good in the league. Every time we played against them, I swore I’d check him into the walls or midfield, just to prove a point. He wasn’t shit, and he’d never be shit, either.

Felt good the few times I’d caught him. Laid him out clean, too.

After a while, though, I told some people who meant the most to me. I’d prepared myself for the worst, even grabbed transfer papers and talked to my agent and manager about leaving Nashville if push came to shove. Thankfully, it never did. Then it was like the clouds parted and being gay was okay. My life expanded. I had fun. Went on dates. Met new people in different industries. I thought I’d left my past behind and found a life I could be proud of. Until it all came crashing down a week after my injury.

What did I get for it?

Absolutely nothing.

I had nothing to show for my dedication and perseverance, except TikTok speculations, accusations of being an abuser, and harassment from my ex.

Sure, I had rings and Man of The Matches. A Gold medal and trophies galore, but none of that compared to having someone by my side. A partner who welcomed me home after the worst game or the best game. If I’d learned anything about my pop star bestie and her football player fiancé, it was this, love made everything sweeter.

MyBoomwould too.

Yeah, right?

Who the fuck was I kidding? I couldn’t even tell the one person who meant the most to me how I felt about him. I hid like a coward. For fuck’s sakes, I used his girlfriend as excuses for why I couldn’t tell Pope the truth, and now, here I stood, downing my fifth beer, feeling less than pathetic about myself.

Fuck, I needed to get laid, or shit faced—which I was well on the way toward. Something to bring me out of my depressing memories. I polished off the beer and ambled over to the bar to order something stiffer. I’d have to tell July or December toschedule me an Uber later, so I could get home in one piece. No way I wanted to stay at the compound. Who knew what everyone would get up to? Plus, in a few hours, if I kept going, I’d be paying for mixing my alcohols.

“Whiskey, neat,” I said when the prospect manning the bar came over to me.

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