Page 103 of Attractive Forces
My breath rushes out of my lungs.
They’ve won.
Peyton kicks the conversion.
An impossible mixture of emotions floods through me as I watch the crowd swarming onto the field, engulfing the players.
I know exactly what it would feel like to have all the backslapping and congratulations, people jumping up and down with excitement, the broad grins on my teammates' faces, Coach’s praise.
I glance up, and Jake’s watching me.
“Thank god,” he says.
Yep, I like to believe that a higher power had a hand in this, that it’s a signal that God or whatever force controls the universe isn’t totally against me right now.
The person recording the feed has moved toward the field, so we’re treated to the lurching up and down, catching snatches of all the excited faces.
“Would’ve been great to be there,” Jake says.
He’s right. It would have been.
But I don’t regret my decision.
I’m happy for the team. They achieved everything we worked so hard for this season. And selfishly, I’m happy for myself too. Because it means the backlash over me not playing will be much less than if we’d lost.
However, I was prepared to handle the negativity if we did lose. And I’m not going to pretend it will be easy when the full story of why I didn’t play comes out. People are going to judge me for letting down my team, for being gay.
The fact they won the game showed I wasn’t indispensable to the team.
But I am indispensable to Jake.
And ultimately, you can’t rely on other people to decide what is right or wrong for you.
I send a message to Brewer.congrats. so glad you guys won.
About ten minutes later, I get a reply.
what the hell? can’t believe you let the team down.
I stare at his message as I try to work out how to reply. In the end, I go for the truth.
Jake needed me. Some things are more important than rugby.
There’s the bubble of dots that come up that show Brewer is replying.
My pulse skitters.
I’m sure he’s having a fun time coming up with different ways to insult me. He’s probably getting input from the rest of the team, seeing who can generate the most homophobic slurs to send in my direction.
But I don’t care.
I don’t regret my decision. I don’t regret Jake.
My phone finally beeps with his message.
how’s Jake’s brother?
I stare at the words for a few seconds, blinking. My hands shake slightly, but I manage to type my reply.
