Page 35 of Find Me Again

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"—and then they told me they appreciated me contacting them and that they'd talk it over and get back to me." Neil stared ahead at the forest below them as he spoke, since it was all easier to say without looking at Ryan. "Less than two hours later they called again, and suddenly I'm on the conference call with my agent, the head of PR, the general manager, and the team's president."

"Damn."

"Yeah. With no warning, too, but I'm the one who dropped this bomb on them, so I can't really complain. They certainly weren't expecting it. There were several questions whether I'm sure I want to do this and suggestions they can take care of the blackmail situation, but… I don't know." Neil went to run a hand through his hair, but forgot he had a hat on, so he ended up rubbing his forehead. "They didn't hate the idea."

"That's good, right?" Ryan asked.

"It's great."

"You don't sound like you really believe that."

"It's… complicated."

This time it was Ryan who turned towards the forest, and Neil found himself saying what he was trying really hard not to even think about since that video call ended.

"I'm scared. I'm scared shitless, because what if they're only saying that, what if they're bluffing? They can't be liking this. If they were, they'd have encouraged us—me," he corrected quickly, because anything else wasn't his story to tell, "to come out earlier, and they never had. What if they're only saying that, and then I'm suddenly not fit to play after all, my healed injury needs more time and attention, and the reps ask me if I haven'tthought about retirement?"

Ryan met his gaze head-on, his eyes clear like the sky at his back.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

"And what if it's the opposite?" he asked, voice steady and not at all like Neil's nervous babble. "What if they're not elated but still honest about supporting you through this?"

Swallowing hard, Neil dug his fingers into the unforgiving metal of the edge of the truck's bed, too cold for comfort even through his gloves.

What if?

"Then I'm left with figuring out how to come out to the public, which means opening myself to millions of people with their opinions, and their bigotry, and—" He paused. "They're going to boo me at the arenas. They're going to harass me and probably my other teammates, and instead of it being about the winning or losing, it's going to be about how a fag should never be allowed to play the game."

He almost spat the words at the end, and Ryan crossed his arms against his chest.

"Hey, now," he said, half-consoling, half-warning, as if he couldn't decide which way to go.

Neil didn't blame him. He didn't know, either.

"Listen," Ryan went on, "I may not be a hockey fan, but I know this much—they don't matter as much as you think they do. Sure, they're nice to have. You play, you give them a show, and they answer with applause and appreciation. But they don't control your life unless you let them." He paused briefly. "You've given your all to the game, time and time again, and from what I heard, you've been pretty good at this hockey thing for many years now. Some people may make it less fun for you to play it for a while, but you've survived worse."

Had he, though? Had he survive worse? Apart from stayingin the closet and all that had cost him, Neil's life had been pretty good—certainly far from a disaster this whole thing could turn it into now.

"Besides," Ryan continued when Neil stayed silent, "if you want to focus on the fans, why not think about those who are queer themselves? Wouldn't they be happy about this?"

"There's not a lot of crossover between the two groups," Neil told him, but Ryan wasn't having it.

"Yeah? And how much of a crossover would be enough? How would you have felt, as a kid, knowing there were players like you out there at the top?"

It wasn't an argument Neil had never thought of before, and yet, for some reason—maybe because of his hometown, this place specifically, or the guy next to him—it hit him differently today.

It hit right where it was aimed at.

Closing his eyes, Neil took a few deep breaths before he opened them again and crossed his arms against his chest, tucking his hands under his arms as he stared ahead.

"I'm scared," he said once again, in a whisper this time. He sounded exhausted, and he felt like it, too.

"Of course you're scared." Ryan's voice was softer now. "You'd be stupid not to be scared. But fear has never stopped you before—not when you were trying for the team your freshman year, not before your first game, not… You get the idea."

Neil snorted humorlessly as he met Ryan's gaze.

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