Page 41 of Blitz
Cap was the first to react, rising to stand along with half the team. “You got trouble?” The way he looked, I thought he might go with me to a beat down he was that tense, but then his ex had started dating a soap star and it was all over social media. Hence, why I tried to keep my head down—I’d had enough of being in the spotlight.
“Not for me,” I said quickly, shaking my head, not understanding how a team I didn’t feel part of was standing up for me. “It’s…. it’s someone I care about.”
Cap studied me for half a second, then gave a curt nod and jerked his thumb toward Noah who wasted no time, circling the logo in the middle of the floor until he was right before me.
“My poppa says he knows people,” Noah said without hesitation. “I’ll talk to him after practice.”
I swallowed hard, gratitude catching me off guard. “Thanks, man. Really.”
Noah clapped a hand on my shoulder. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
FOURTEEN
Tom
“Find your center.Now breathe. Remember breath is life. Inhale energy, exhale stress. Now, soften your back as you pull your navel in to touch your spine. Pivot on your back foot as you rise from your lunge into warrior two. Pinkies back, gaze soft, front foot heavy. Now breathe. Feel the power in your hips, glutes, and core as you hold that beautiful Warrior Pose.”
“Easy for her to say,”I mumbled to Winifred who gave me a little wag of her stubby tail as she lounged on her mini yoga mat by the window. My girl was spoiled. I fully claimed that and reveled in it. I liked caring for things and people. Was that a crime? Who says big macho men can’t be soft inside? So, what if I was a pro football player? Did that mean I couldn’t be a caregiver when I wasn’t driving a quarterback’s ass into the AstroTurf?
Winnie gave me a scolding bark as the morning sun made her black fur glow.
“Sorry. Right. I drifted. Monkey chatter.” I collapsed with a huff out of my asana, dropped to the mat, and tucked my legsinto a sort-of lotus as I grabbed my phone from the floor to pause the video. Yoga was not my usual stress relief, but I’d already run a few miles and lifted weights. All before seven in the morning. Today was a big day. Huge. It was the day I addressed the nation and told them I was gay. So naturally, sleep had been choppy. Sleep for an hour, then wake up, think, doze off, wake up, think, rinse and fucking repeat. Winnie got up, performed a splendid downward dog pose, and crawled into my lap. I buried my face into her silky fur, so happy to have her back home. Paula had given her over, but with a pout that told me that as soon as she and Ty tied the knot they’d be adopting a dog.
“I’m not so worried about telling everyone on the planet that I’m gay,” I told Winnie as we cuddled by the wide window looking over my backyard. I lifted my face from her back to gaze out at the trees. The black gum was already starting to show colors, but the dogwood and maples would be later. It was only the first week of September, but there were subtle signs that fall was just round the corner. “I’m rather relieved about it, to be frank.” Winnie sneezed softly. “No, I know your name isn’t Frank. It’s a human saying.” She seemed to accept that explanation, then nudged my hand with her cold nose. “Oh sorry. I stopped petting. So yeah, it’s not the fact that I’m telling everyone and their beagle—or cocker—that I like men, it’s the happy horseshit that will follow.”
And that was what worried me the most. The happy horseshit aka the media feeding frenzy that would, if we weren’t extremely careful, find Trick toppling head over tasty ass into the school of piranhas known as the press corp. Also, let us not forget, the internet. Oh, the trolls were going to be trolling like no troll had trolled before. Again, nasty comments online didn’t get to me. I generally paid little mind to that shit. I shared things now and again, but my online presence was small other than passing along info about charity events and fundraisers.
My agent, who was now up to drinking two bottles of Mylanta with every meal he liked to remind me, had finally stopped pestering me to be more interactive. Funny that. Now he was allplay it coolandkeep your head down until the flames die outamid other pearls of wisdom. I’d keep my head tucked and my eye on the opposing team’s QB, play my game, and try to keep Trick on an even keel. As we got closer to my presser, he had grown more and more anxious. Between my schedule and his—our season started today, and his training camp opened in another week or two—we’d not seen much of each other. A few nights here and there, mostly here, as my security was topnotch, and I liked him in my bed.
Winnie gave my still hand another bump. “Oh sorry, girl, I got lost there for a second. Right, so tonight you’re going to Grandma’s.” Her little tail wagged at that. She loved overnighters at my parents’. They spoiled her worse than Paula did, and that was saying something. “I’m sure she will have marrow bones and a new tennis ball. Tomorrow morning, I’ll pick you up and bring you home amid, what I am sure, will be hungry newshounds trying to get a bite out of my officially gay backside. What? Well, no, I’ve been gay since birth, but officially gay as in to the rest of the world.”
She looked up at me with a sigh, licked my fingers, and tooted. The smell was atrocious.
“My gods, dog, what have you been eating?” I gagged, placed her on the floor, and shot to my feet as fast as my creaky knees would let me shoot. “Oh right, I fed you the last of my chimichangas last night.”
No more refried beans for her. I hurried from my home gym with my dog trotting merrily along behind me, my goal the kitchen and breakfast. Mona had filled the fridge with foods fit for a football player on game day. Lots of eggs, fruits, and a tub of strawberry yogurt. I made myself a shake, some scrambledeggs with a side of turkey bacon, and coffee. Lunch would be after the presser at the stadium, with a light dinner for me before the game. I didn’t like being stuffed before I played. I could grab a snack at halftime to keep my energy up and then enjoy something afterward. Something stupidly healthy planned by the team nutritionist focused on fluids for rehydration and good foods to support muscle recovery and rebuild lost energy stores. I’d be lusting for pizza but would settle for what the team provided. I did need to keep my weight in check, but a cheesy meat lover’s after a game was the cat’s fucking meow.
What I’d love more than sausage, pepperoni, and a bucket of cheese was being able to spend that time with Trick. I sat down with my meal, Winnie crawling into her basket by the fridge to nap whilst also keeping an eye open for any food that might tumble to the floor. A four-legged Rumba charging her batteries. I took a sip of my shake—not a smoothie thank you, I am a damn football player—and sent Trick a fast good morning text. I knew he would be a mass of emotions today, so thought I could start him off on a good foot.
Tom: Morning Pucky. I have a joke for you. What do hockey players and magicians have in common? They both do hat tricks. Thank you. Please tip your server. I’ll be here all week. *Above typed in Jerry Seinfeld font*
I got no reply all through breakfast, my shower, and my trip to the stadium. As I made my way to the press room, an hour before I needed to be here because I don’t know why I was here so fucking early, I sat at the table resting in front of a wall with the team logo of a snarling big cat front and center. I read over the speech my agent had sent me, then I read over the speech theteam PR team had sent me, and then I read over the speech I’d scribbled down in Google docs last night at midnight.
My phone buzzed. Texts from the family rolling in as they braced for the flood of questions, comments, and assorted bullshit about to wash over them. My parents had wanted to come, but I’d requested they stay home and release a comment to the press. I’d asked the same of my brothers. I didnotwant them in the spotlight even though they would be pulled into the notoriety regardless. As the time neared for the world to step into my bedroom—and how fucking stupid was it that people had to come out at all—I felt jittery. Ty arrived in a team-branded polo and chinos, very much like I was wearing. After him, a line of my fellow players showed up with various members of the team’s upper management. The owner arrived in a suit with a blue tie. I stood up to shake his hand and thank him for his support.
Paul Weiss Luterman was an okay sort. Richer than Croesus, he owned not only a professional football team, but several film studios, as well as a large sporting goods retail chain. Luterman shook my hand firmly, as if expecting my grip to be a little weaker perhaps. Maybe I was just reading into things.
“I’m glad to stand beside you, Tom, as you make your big announcement.” He clapped my shoulder and then, took one of the three chairs at the table. Ty and the other Pumas stood off to the sides of the massive room as the press filed in, got some food and drink, and took their assigned seats at several work stations all set up for them with internet access and charging ports. Coach McNair slipped in, gave the media a look that spoke volumes—he was not a fan of the press most days—and then, gave my hand a solid pump before taking seat number two.
My agent was home sick with his double ulcer, but he did text. Most everyone had, even the lady at the doggie daycare where Winnie was at until Paula could pick her up. Everyonehad touched in, except Trick. It hurt, but I also understood that he was not ready for any of this yet.
As the press quieted, the owner got to his feet to make a small statement and introduce me. I sat in the middle seat, palms damp, heart racing when my phone vibrated in my back pocket. Slipping it out on the sly, I saw it was from Trick.
Pucky Brewster: Thinking of you on your big day. You are the bravest man I know. I wish I had a tenth of your courage.
He inserted a gold trophy emoji at the end of his message. I smiled down at my phone for a moment, then was gently elbowed by Coach. My gaze flew to the owner, then to the press sitting there, phones out, staring at me.
“Oh, shoot, sorry. I was reading over my speech.” I stood up amid soft chuckles from the reporters and sports bloggers. There were a lot in Philly, and I was a big name, so the room was packed. I glanced at Ty, who smiled and gave me a thumbs up, as did all the other Pumas in attendance. Tucker, noticeably, wasn’t there. He’d made his feelings known to me for the past week in silent but clear ways. Like ignoring me completely or giving me a wide berth when we had to be close to each other. As if he was scared the gay would rub off. Asshole. “I thought I had what I wanted to say all figured out but, now that I’m looking at all of you, I’m wishing I had studied my notes a little better. My college professors and Coach here will testify to the fact that I tend to skim important things.”
