Page 41 of Breakout Year

Time moved slower without Akiva there. Eitan listened to five minutes of a book.

At minute six, he conceded that he hadn’t heard much of anything.

His ankle was throbbing in a way that was becoming harder to ignore.

All his phone served him were baseball highlights and videos of himself getting hit in the leg over and over, neither of which he wanted to watch.

He composed a long message to the team group chat apologizing for being a distraction, then deleted it.

He composed a long message to Akiva apologizing for scaring him, which Eitan obviously had, and then meandered his way around the point—that Eitan was really, really grateful to have him in whatever way Akiva would allow.

He deleted that too and FaceTime’d Connor instead. It rang exactly once then disconnected. No answer. He has a game, probably . That thought tasted like dirt. Eitan couldn’t even blame the pain meds.

When he called Kiley, she answered immediately. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and her hair was piled into a messy dark blond bun. It was easier to understand that she was beautiful when he wasn’t attaching a corollary: that her being beautiful meant he had to be attracted to her.

“Is your ankle okay?” she asked.

“I’m good!” Though his ankle gave another throb. “I realized I hadn’t told you that.”

She smiled. She had a few freckles dotting her nose. He had a type, apparently. “You texted me on Friday.”

He scrolled up through his texts. Sure enough, there was a succession of messages he’d sent after they’d dosed him with painkillers and given him an ice pack. He’d insisted he was physically fine until the trainer left and then he’d been alone.

Sorry, read his text to her. Sorry about all of this . Sorry that I didn’t tell you.

Fuck. Fuck. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Are you okay now?”

He considered his current situation—lying on a couch with a handsome man fetching him a bagel sandwich.

“I have a, uh, friend here for a few days. Bringing me breakfast and everything.” There wasn’t a cool way to gloss over that the friend was a he , but now it sounded like Eitan had a new girlfriend he wasn’t telling Kiley about, judging by her skeptical expression.

He was screwing this whole thing up. “Really, I’m fine. How’s Cleveland?”

“Everything here is good.” With an unstated Are you? he didn’t know how to answer.

“Does the whole city still hate me?”

“Maybe only half.”

Are you in that half? He didn’t know if she knew about Akiva from Instagram or wherever.

Eitan hadn’t told her, but it was possible—probable—someone else had, and now she was angry with him for wasting her time.

For lying to her, even by omission. It was possible she didn’t want to talk about their relationship after its natural expiration point—or about his personal life now.

He should respect that. Surely, he’d caused her enough trouble along the way.

Early in this whole fiasco, he’d wanted someone to answer his questions.

What do I do when I’m talking to my ex-girlfriend, who I was never really that attracted to but told her I loved her because I did, just not in the way I should have, and now I don’t know who we are to each other or if there’s a right way to be sorry about this sort of thing or ? —

It was also possible he was spiraling. She’d answered when he’d called after all. More than he could say for Connor.

He fumbled for what to say next. When they’d been together, they’d never really lacked for conversation.

But when they’d been dating, most of their life revolved around him and how the team was doing and his contract and…

He wanted things to be different, without having to actually say if and how they were.

Cowardice, he knew, but he’d be brave once his ankle stopped hurting.

“Looks like I’m laid up for a while. Tell me what spooky murder shows I should watch,” and listened intently as she gamely began listing her top ten.

Akiva came back twenty minutes later with a paper bag that smelled like grease and ketchup. “Don’t get up,” he said when Eitan clicked off the TV—it turned out true-crime shows were equal parts cheesy and scary—and was about to rise from the couch.

“I’m fine!”

“Sit, eat.”

And Eitan’s rules weren’t going to last if Akiva kept inadvertently breaking them by saying things in that tone of voice.

Still, Eitan sat, ate. “Thank you for doing all this,” he said around a mouthful of bagel.

The everything part of the everything bagel was sprinkling down onto his living room floor, earning Akiva’s frown.

“It’s been a long time since I did the whole Sunday morning with anyone.

” Which this categorically wasn’t. This was one friend bringing another friend something from the bodega.

Eitan groped for a change in subject. “New York really got this whole breakfast sandwich thing right.”

Akiva looked up from his own bagel. He had cream cheese on his chin. Eitan wanted to lick it off, which was an entire layer of being gay he hadn’t known existed. “Noted,” Akiva said.

Right, because of course Akiva had never eaten a bacon, egg, and cheese or had a Taylor roll or whatever the ham sandwich was called in New Jersey. “Sorry.” Eitan took another bite. “Does this bother you?”

Akiva shook his head. “Not really. I wouldn’t eat a pigskin wallet either.”

“But you probably wouldn’t want pork in your house, right?”

“No, not particularly.”

“So it’d be a problem if you lived with someone who ate it?”

Akiva’s eyebrows rose, like he could tell Eitan was asking a slightly different question. “It hasn’t come up.”

“No roommates?”

“You saw my house. Where would I put them?”

In bed with you. Eitan took another bite. “I bet turkey bacon’s okay with fake cheese. Soy bacon. I bet the bodega could make a good version of anything.”

“You’ve really taken to the New York lifestyle.”

Eitan laughed. “That’s what Camilla—that journalist—said to me in that interview.” He finished his sandwich, balled up the wrapper. “I feel like I’ve been here for a few months, and I’ve seen some stuff, but there’s so much, you know?”

“You’re gonna miss the city?”

“Some parts of it. We don’t have bodega cats in Cleveland.”

“I would have taken you as being a dog person.”

“Nah, Russians are cat people. Besides, with a cat, they don’t like everyone. Really makes you feel like you’ve earned something if they pay attention to you.”

Akiva studied him for a moment, then wiped his mouth but missed the cream cheese on his chin entirely. “Well, I’m sure the cats of New York will miss you.”

And Eitan was halfway to pointing out that cream cheese glob—halfway to offering to remove it for him, if that was what Akiva wanted—when his phone rang.

Only two people ever called him: his mother and Gabe.

This was the latter. Eitan answered, setting the phone to speaker.

If he was going to get yelled at, he could do it without getting a crick in his neck holding his phone to his ear.

Already, he could hear a crunch over the line: Gabe popping an antacid.

I should go, Akiva mouthed, and got up, clearing both his and Eitan’s sandwich wrappers and breakfast detritus.

“Hey, Gabe,” Eitan said, when Akiva had disappeared up the hallway.

“How’s the ankle, kid?”

“Good! Still attached to my body and everything. Gonna get it assessed tomorrow.”

More crunching. “I wanted to let you know before you found out from someone else—the league isn’t going to suspend Goodwin.”

Eitan blinked. “I didn’t think they would.”

“I take it you haven’t been on his Instagram.”

“No, why would I?”

“You might want to take a look.”

So Eitan did. On Goodwin’s account, a single post—a black-and-white photo of him kneeling on-field in prayer.

Along with an accompanying bible verse. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand .

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Eitan said. “He ran me over. I’m the one who stood my ground. And what the hell does he mean— evil? ” Except Eitan knew exactly what he meant, knew it as surely as he knew the bite of the guy’s plastic cleats into his leg. “What an asshole.”

Gabe’s crunch this time felt more pointed. “He is.”

“What should I do?” Other than punch Goodwin if given the opportunity .

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Eitan knew he was shouting—knew this conversation would be audible to Akiva in the other room. He listened for the click of Akiva’s fingers on his keyboard and was greeted with silence. “I can’t just do nothing .”

“That is exactly what you’re going to do,” Gabe said. “Listen, Eitan, that guy is an asshole. The world is full of them. There’ll be more like him on whatever team you play for next. On opposing teams. In the stands. You can’t fight everybody.”

Watch me . Even if Eitan knew Gabe was right. His hand was curving into a fist. He was itching to say something—call a reporter, fire up his social media, do all the things he shouldn’t do—an impulse that burned under his skin. “So what should I do instead?”

“You’re going to get checked out by the team docs.

If your ankle is good to go, you’ll ride out your ten days on the injured list then play the rest of the season.

If it’s not, do not do whatever it is you want to do right now.

You’ve got guts—no one would ever question that.

But you need to show you have judgment too, especially right before we’re going into contract negotiations. ”

“Why, do you think all the other front offices will suddenly forget about the whole gay thing?” Eitan spat.

“So that’s a hundred percent, then?” Gabe said it like he wasn’t expecting a real answer.

Maybe the gay thing hadn’t been a surprise to anyone but Eitan.

“I think they’ll see you can handle whatever bullshit that’s thrown your way.

That you can play the game on the field in front of you without letting this be—” Gabe popped another Tums.

“A distraction ?”

“A complication. You want something that they have. Sometimes that means playing by their rules. Speaking of, you might want to lay low for a bit.”

“What does that mean?”

“No more public dates until some of this blows over. Apologies to your fake boyfriend. Akiva probably understands. He seemed like he had sense.”

Gabe didn’t say unlike you , but Eitan heard it anyway. “He’s not my—” Eitan started then stopped. “We broke up. I mean, we weren’t really dating, but we are no longer not really dating. We’re just friends.” He gritted his teeth together. “Or can I not have those either?”

Another crunch. “When’d you split up?”

That’s none of your business . Except Eitan was Gabe’s business and had been since before Eitan first shook hands with the front office in Cleveland and vowed he was going to be a Crook for life. Look how that had turned out. “Thursday before last.”

“Before this thing with your ankle happened?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“What huh?”

“You know if you need anything, kid, you can always call me.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Akiva’s here, helping with my ankle. He got me breakfast.”

“Sounds like a good friend.” Another pause, this one unladen by any distracting dental noises.

“Eitan, I care about you. I want you to be successful, and I want you to be happy, and sometimes those aren’t both possible.

This shit will blow over. Use this time to, I don’t know, relax. Just quietly. And at home .”

“Sure, of course,” Eitan said.

“I don’t like when you agree with me. Means you’re thinking about doing the exact opposite.”

“That doesn’t sound like me at all,” Eitan said, and he bid Gabe goodbye before he could point out that Eitan hadn’t technically denied that he was up to something.