Page 142 of Scoring the Player
“What you mean you don’t know?” His head tilts as he searches my face. “You weren’t conscious?”
“No, nothing like that.”
For years, I wondered how I got it so wrong.
“I was having a hard time freshman year. I think you’ve sensed enough to know home was trash for me. I always thought if I got out of their house, things would be better.”
“And it wasn’t?”
I huff a laugh. “No. It wasn’t.”
“Damn.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
“I actually missed Carter yelling and dragging me out of bed at night to remind me I’m a piece of shit. Can you imagine that?”
He tenses at my admission.
I can feel the questions buzzing around his head. I also know he’s too patient to force it out of me.
And because I don’t have it in me to talk about CarterandAiden, I choose one. “Aiden saw me flailing.” He sawme. Period. “Started coaching me one-on-one. Helped me strengthen my game. He really believed I had what it took to get drafted.” No other coach invested as many hours in me as he did. “He invited me to hang with him in the coach’s lounge,” I continue.
“He doesn’t look that much older than us.”
“He isn’t.”
Sid nods.
“I always felt pulled toward him, and for a while I thought it was a one-way thing, but then there’d be moments when I caught him staring at me in a way that made me wonder…”
“Is he gay?”
I shrug. “I, uh, made a move one night.” Even now, I can’t tell whether I imagined him kissing me back, or pulling me into his body, or if it really happened. “Anyway, he stopped it and muttered some shit about not feeling the same. There was an inappropriate power dynamic or whatever.”
“Damn. That must have hurt.”
“Yeah…”
“What happened after?”
“He kept his distance, ended all interactions off the court, and I, uh…didn’t take it well. I pretended like it didn’t bother me, but I was spiraling. But the draft was around the corner, and I just kept my head down and got the fuck away from him.”
He nods. “You lost a friend.”
My only friend. Overnight, I was nothing to him. I had no one.
“Carter?”
I tense. “Yeah.”
“Tell me.”
I roll out my neck. “Pass me that?” I gesture toward the bottle of water he brought over with the food.
He hands it to me, and I unscrew the top and take a long swig.
“After he lost his NFL contract, he started drinking and made our lives hell. I think he always knew I was gay and hated me for it. But the alcohol and mood swings made him vicious.”
“When’d he lose the contract again?”
