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GRAYSON STUNS ON LONDON STAGE WITH ALBUM ANNOUNCEMENT!

Sterling Grayson is arguably the biggest star of our generation, and he proved the reasons why with his five-day gamut of shows at Wembley Stadium this past weekend, every single one a sell-out.

Grayson’s energy never flagged for a moment during the events, which pulled tens of thousands of fans, including dozens of big name celebrities.

It seemed like every A-lister in the United Kingdom pulled strings to get a seat at the Goalposts Tour, the current hottest ticket on Earth.

Luminaries and commoners alike were spellbound as Grayson strutted, gyrated, and (in an impressive feat of aerial artistry) flew through the songs that have defined his career.

It’s rumored that the Queen Consort was in attendance, albeit secluded in a private box.

Grayson’s next tour stop will be Dublin on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.

***

“What’s the weather like in Ireland?” you ask.

“Well, it’s dark,” he says. “But I think it’s clear? A bit overcast. Pretty cold. ”

“Mmm,” you answer, shouldering your phone.

You just got home from the practice facility, but it’s already well into the night in Europe, where Sterling just landed.

The six-hour time difference isn’t great, but you are willing to work with it if it means you get to talk to Ster before he checks into his hotel and goes to bed.

You are half-focused on rummaging in your fridge for something to eat.

Not dinner—it’s too early for that—but something to fill the hole in your gut.

You always come home hungry after midweek team activities.

“I’m guessing it’s gorgeous in Miami,” he says, sounding wistful.

“Yup.” You look over the refrigerator door at the kitchen window, through which the late afternoon light is shining warmly. “In the seventies today. Sunny. Perfect weather for being outside.”

“I’m jealous,” he replies. “I’ve never gotten used to the weather over here. It’s always cold and wet.”

You had the foresight to prep some snacks earlier in the week—God, you love when you do nice things for yourself like that—and there are some little containers of munch-y stuff.

Cut Havarti cheese, individual servings of mango chunks, some cubed deli meat.

You gather several of the containers and two chilled water bottles and cradle it all in your big arm, heading toward the bedroom with your treasure .

“Cold wouldn’t be so bad,” you say. “Even 72 gets hot after a few hours running in the sun. You should see my undershirt. I’ve got a nice sweat line under my boobs like a Hooters girl.”

“Eww,” Sterling groans, but you can tell his heart’s not in it.

“You okay?” You put the phone on speaker and toss it onto your bed.

Your mother would faint if she saw you sitting on your bedspread, eating, and without having showered first—having four boys who played ball made her kind of a stickler for hygiene—but she’s not here.

You dig into the first of your containers and grab a piece of mango. “You sound tired.”

You can’t see Sterling’s face, which is frustrating. “No, I’m fine. I actually took a nap on the flight over.”

Frowning, you lick the fruit juice from your fingers. You should have grabbed a fork, but you don’t feel like getting up again. Eating like a barbarian, it is. “That’s good. You just sound… I dunno. Far away.”

“I am far away,” he says. “I just flew eight hours from New York.”

“Not what I meant,” you clarify. “Never mind. It’s all good. ”

“Okay,” Sterling murmurs. Sounding distracted.

You are on the verge of telling him that you guys don’t need to have this conversation right now, but you don’t want to sound passive-aggressive.

He was the one who called you, after all.

You trust that Sterling has enough agency to hang up the call if he doesn’t want to be having it. “What are you up to?”

You pause a moment to swallow what’s in your mouth. “Stuffing my face.”

It’s gratifying to hear the hint of a smile in his voice. “You are always starving on Wednesdays.”

“High-intensity drills,” you agree. “The Riots are definitely going to put up a fight. And Lambeau’s gonna be cold as fuck.”

“You did say you wanted to cool off.”

“Key word is cool ,” you say, stopping to chug some water. “They’re saying it might snow on Sunday. Shit’s cuckoo.”

“Well, you have me there,” he says. “I’m pretty sure it won’t snow in Dublin this weekend.”

A text notification flashes across your screen.

It’s the unofficial Cyclone defense group chat—definitely not to be confused with the team-sanctioned, official one—with a meme of Coach Beausoleil’s face superimposed on a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos.

Coach’s face is on every hippo; in the middle are a combination of cheeseburgers and W’s.

It’s kind of offensive (in a bad way) and kind of lame, but it came from a rookie, so what do you expect? You roll your eyes.

“Did I lose you for a second?” Sterling asks.

“Sorry,” you say. “These kids forget they ain’t in the frat house anymore.”

“Ahh,” he intones. You aren’t sure if he understands, but it’s really not that important. “How’s our good friend GoGo?”

You snort. “Not my good friend. He’s fine, I guess. Having a helluva season.”

“Yeah, I knew that was an exaggeration. I was just wondering. I haven’t spoken to Gabi in a couple of weeks, but last time she couldn’t stop talking about him.”

“Gorgeous straight women like Gabi are living proof that sexuality isn’t a choice,” you declare derisively, stabbing a spear of red bell pepper into a cup of hummus.

“That’s awfully queeny of you.”

“Well, slap a damn tiara on my head and call me a queen, then.” You chomp loudly on your snack, just to be obnoxious. You’re expecting Sterling to laugh, but he doesn’t. “I miss you. ”

It’s treading into dangerous ground. You’ve never told him something like that before. It came out without you really thinking about it, and you realize the gravity of it immediately. Shit. Well, it’s not like you can take it back.

He hesitates an infinitesimal moment. Half a second, maybe. “I miss you too, Kai.”

Pleased, you flop back on your pillows. “I wish I were with you in Dublin,” you confide, high off your triumph of successfully telling him that you miss him. “We could… I dunno. Drink Guinness? Eat potatoes? Search for leprechauns?”

“That’s a lot of stereotypes in one place,” he says, and his voice has that distant tone again. Like he wants to be kidding with you, but his tone hasn’t caught up yet.

You’re watching the ceiling fan spin ‘round and ‘round, fast enough in the shadows of your darkened room that it’s making a strobe effect. You always keep your bedroom like a bear’s den, dark enough to hibernate.

There’s a little late-afternoon sunlight leaking through the blackout curtains, but that’s because your housekeeper was in today, and she never closes them all the way.

“Imagine if I had a normal job,” you say, your soft bed making you say soft things. You close your eyes, trying to absorb Sterling’s voice like a drug through your skin. “I could call in sick. Play hooky. Fly over to see your show, and we could make out in your fancy hotel room afterwards.”

There’s another pause, longer this time.

“I’m glad you’re not here,” he says simply.

That one makes your eyes fly open in the dark. “Huh?”

“That sounded bad,” he amends quickly. “But, also, it’s true.

I always enjoy seeing you, obviously. But I have a lot of routines when I’m on the road, and I don’t like compromising them for anyone.

I sleep at weird times, I eat at weird times, I go on long stretches of vocal rest, and I like to just do my own thing.

It helps keep me sane when I’m jet-lagged and flying back and forth for international shows. ”

His voice is level, but there’s a defensive note there.

That one he gets when he’s expecting a fight on something.

You don’t want to give him one—you have a policy of always, always meeting people where they are—but you can’t help the feeling of being nettled.

Your brain spins its tires on a response, not giving you a good one right away.

Sterling clamps onto your silence immediately.

“You didn’t like that,” he says. It’s not a question.

“What do you want me to say, Ster?” You run a hand over your buzzed head. “You know I always respect your boundaries. But it’s, like… it’s hard no t to feel like you’re pushing me away.”

Fuck, why did you say that? That’s a lot of honesty for you and Sterling at this point in your relationship; you guys haven’t really talked about feelings. But, on the other hand, he’s had his dick up your ass. Surely the time for full disclosure has happened, right?

His tone has an edge to it. “I knew this was going to happen eventually.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, surprised by the tightness that’s suddenly put in an appearance between your brows. “You knew what was going to happen, Ster? Can you fill me in? I’m kinda lost.”

Across the Atlantic, his sigh sounds supremely weary.

“Every relationship I’ve had, the other person doesn’t get it.

I don’t have a normal life. It won’t ever be normal.

There’s not a place I can go in the world where people don’t know who I am.

I have to do things differently, because my life isn’t like anyone else’s.

Not that it’s better. Not that it’s worse.

I just don’t operate the same way. And that ends up hurting people. ”

“I didn’t say that I was mad at you,” you say, making sure to keep your voice even. “I don’t know what happened in your previous relationships. I can’t comment on that.”

“I know you’re not mad. You don’t get mad,” he continues. “I said that you were hurt . You said that I’m pushing you away; that’s something that hurts people.”