Page 95 of Beyond Protection
He closed the door. Leaned against it.
"Your agent?"
"Yeah."
"Everything okay?"
Mac's jaw tensed. "Fine."
It was the word we both used when everything wasn't.
"I need—"
"Don't." He moved to the window. "Don't use that voice. The bodyguard voice. That's you this morning—so fucking detached it makes me want to—" He stopped and gripped the windowsill. "My agent wants me to do press.Sports Illustrated. ESPN. Some podcast about authenticity." He let out a bitter laugh. "Like I have any idea what that looks like anymore."
"You don't have to do any of that."
"Right. Because saying no doesn't have consequences." He turned. "You know what my agent said? That I'm not just representing myself anymore. I'm representing every gay kid who wants to play professional sports. I'm a symbol now. Symbols don't get to be tired."
Exhaustion flooded his voice.
"That's not fair to you."
"No. It's not." He sat on the bed. "But fair stopped mattering the day I came out. Now it's all about managing the narrative. Being inspiring without being threatening. Gay enough to be historic, but not so gay that it makes America uncomfortable."
He scrubbed his hands over his face.
"And the worst part? I knew this was coming. I chose it. So I don't get to complain."
"You signed up to play baseball. Not to be a symbol."
"Same thing now." He looked at his hands. "Can't have one without the other."
I thought about offering comfort. Reassurance. The things that made clients feel better.
Mac didn't need that.
"Your agent's wrong," I said quietly. "You get to be tired. You get to say no. You get to have limits."
"Do I?" He stared at me. "I don't see how saying no doesn't disappoint everyone who is depending on me to keep being brave."
"You don't owe anyone your exhaustion."
"Tell that to you." He lowered his voice. "Tell that to you standing in my aunt's kitchen this morning, shutting me down every time I tried to talk. Treating me like a job."
It was a fair blow—right to the gut.
"I'm trying to keep you safe."
"By what? Pretending last night didn't happen? Pretending you didn't kiss me back?" His voice cracked. "I'm so tired of people pretending with me, Eamon. And now you're pretending distance equals protection."
"Distance does equal—"
"Bullshit." He stood. "Distance equals you being too scared to admit you care, which is fine. You're allowed to be scared. But don't lie to me about it. Don't make it about professional boundaries when it's really about not wanting to fail someone else."
I swallowed hard.
"That's not—"
