Page 117 of The New Guy
My phone currently holds about seven million photos that Jordyn took. And I can’t bring myself to delete a single one.
Telling her that Gavin and I are dating had turned out to be easier than I’d thought. Her eyes had widened comically. And then she’d asked: “Does this mean I can go toallthe hockey games now?”
“No,” Gavin had said at the exact same time I’d said “yes.” So then I had to backtrack, because hockey games on school nights are apparently a bad idea.
But she’s taken our relationship in stride. It’s blown my mind a little, if I’m honest. Now if only my upcoming conversation with the team would go that well, too.
If it doesn’t, there’s always whiskey.
“All set, Ducky. Now we’d better head out,” Gavin says to his daughter. Then he turns to me. “What should we do this afternoon?” he asks. “I had an idea.”
“Did you now?” I ask in an innocent tone. Although my implication is anything but innocent. Tomorrow, Gavin and Jordyn are leaving for a two-week stay in New Hampshire. After several difficult conversations with his monster-in-law, he got her to apologize. She even admitted that she has no shot at custody.
Gavin—proving himself the bigger man once again—has agreed to a lengthy visit before Jordyn’s fancy summer program begins. I’m going to miss them.
But with Jordyn at a friend’s house, we’d have the afternoon to ourselves.
“Here’s my idea,” he says with a smirk. “Any chance you’ll be hitting the gym this afternoon? I’d like to lift, too. And the place will probably be empty.”
“Hell yes.” I carry my empty coffee mug to the sink for a wash. “We can do that.”
“Cool. See you there?” He crosses to me, and I turn my head for a kiss.
“Eww!” Jordyn complains. The first time she said that, I was worried. But then I realized she’s againstallkissing. Any time a TV character kisses, she makes gagging noises.
Gavin ignores her and plants a second one on me. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”
“Can’t wait,” I say a little dreamily.
Once they’re gone, I rinse my mug and leave it in the dish rack. After scanning Gavin’s apartment for any of my stuff I might have left lying around, I go back to my apartment on the other side of the wall.
Still hate that wall. I’ve actually browsed the rental listings for a big apartment in a nicer building. Just to see what’s out there.
It’s too soon, though. When I brought it up with Gavin, he wasn’t ready for that. “We need to take things slow,” he’d said. “For Jordyn’s sake. Besides—our current setup is pretty convenient, right? We have a lot of privacy here.”
He isn’t wrong. But I still fantasize about a day when he’s only an arm’s reach away.
While I’m setting up my laptop for my Zoom call with the nutritionist, my father calls. I let it go to voicemail, because he’s not my favorite person right now.
Last week I’d finally broken the news to him that I’m planning to come out to my team. He’d immediately tried to talk me out of it. “Wait until we’ve got a contract,” he’d argued. “Brooklyn isn’t ready to negotiate with you yet. But any day now! Just cool your jets. What’s a few more months?”
But I’ve been listening to this argument for years. “I’m done waiting. And I can’t do that to Gavin,” I’d insisted. “I’m not the only person in this relationship.”
He hadn’t liked that argument one bit. “You’re smarter than this. You shouldn’t do anything to make yourself less valuable.”
That’s when I’d snapped. “God, do you hear yourself? You just said out loud that I’m less valuable to you than a straight guy.”
“Tothem,” he’d roared. “Jesus. Don’t put words in my mouth. Any player who draws media attention around his personal life is a liability. I don’t make the rules.”
The shitty thing is that he’s probably right. It’s just that I can’t live on those terms anymore. My life is worth more than my contract value. Even if it took me way too long to realize it.
Since that call, I’ve been avoiding my father. Coming out is scary enough without his opinions echoing around in my head. But he texts a moment later.Pick up. I need to speak to you. It’s important.
For a long minute I just stare at the phone, wondering what he wants to talk about. He’s being vague—possibly intentionally. I’m tired of his games.
On the other hand, I want a new contract so badly I can taste it. And so curiosity wins out. I pick up the phone and dial him.
“Hudson, glad I caught you,” he says.
