Page 32 of Blitz
Ours. The word hung between us, strange and new and somehow comforting.
“He’s just as invested in your secret, right? He doesn’t want to lose the chance of money, even if he’s probably raking it in from the gullible. So maybe you take the money away from him,reveal the real you, he loses all credibility after spouting all the anti-everything, women know their place, God will strike you down crap he comes out with, and you’ll be happy.”
Happy with someone like Tom who was as much in the closet as I was?
The thought of Tom made my stomach twist with both longing and dread. Could I really just come out? Walk away from hockey? Let my father’s precious reputation crumble while I built something real?
I snorted. “Right. Just come out, lose my career, hand the Temple of the Radiant Truth, aka my father, a PR win about how they ‘tried to save me,’ and watch my entire life implode. Easy.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Lose your career? You really think the Railers team gives a shit if you’re queer?”
My coffee cup froze halfway to my lips. I hadn’t actually said the words out loud. “I didn’t say that I was?—”
“Please,” she waved dismissively. “I’m not stupid. I can read between the lines. Didn’t they have that guy, the first out player, like way back?”
“Tennant Rowe.”
“Yeah, and then others. Anyway, gay, bi, pan? Who cares? Besides, my roommate is pan. Her parents were super religious too.” She leaned forward. “And for what it’s worth, she’s happier now. Living her truth and all of that.”
“I’m guessing your roommate isn’t in a sport where guys still throw around homophobic slurs like they’re high-fives.”
“Fair point.” Rebecca stirred her coffee. “Well, whatever you do”—she pointed between us—”you have me as backup.”
“‘Backup’,” I repeated, testing the word. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough,” she said. “I know you’re trapped. I know you’re miserable. And I know from my mom that Pastor Cole is a manipulative bastard who doesn’t deserve to control eitherof our lives. It’s probably going to be messy as hell.” Her voice softened. “But living a lie is killing you, big brother. Isn’t it?”
The question hit harder than a body check. I’d spent so long compartmentalizing, building walls between the different versions of myself, that I hadn’t stopped to consider the toll it was taking.
I stared at her, this fierce stranger who shared my blood, a knot of fear, relief, and a tiny, aching flicker of hope twisting deep in my gut. “Yeah,” I finally said. “It is.”
We chatted a while longer, and then, it was time for her to leave and for me to head home.
“Take this,” I handed her one of my credit cards, even though she shoved it back at me. “For emergencies.”
She scowled—oh my god, it was like looking in the mirror when I didn’t get my way. “Jesus, Cole. I bet it’s got like a ten-k limit, and I’m not owing anyone that kind of money.”
“Nah, a thousand max,” I lied. “I’m covering it; you can call it eighteen years of birthday and Christmas presents. Buy some new sneakers, at least.”
“Cole—”
“Trick. Call me Trick.” I needed that from her.
“Trick, then, and okay, I’ll get the sneakers.” I was so damn relieved, and then she sighed heavily. “It’ll be nice to have the money to eat again.”
I sat upright. “What? The fuck? You don’t eat?”
She snorted a laugh. “I’m messing with you.”
I stared at her, laughter welling inside me, and I snorted. “You little shit.”
She blew me a kiss. “You know it.”
I dropped her a short way from her dorm, so in her words, no one thought she had a sugar daddy. I was relieved that today had gone well. We went straight into messaging when I got home—silly stuff about our favorite bands and movies, but halfwaythrough a particularly thorny discussion overStar Warsvs.Star Trek, a message from Tom popped up, and my heart stopped.
Humiliation at what I’d done washed over me.
Tom: How’s it going?
