Page 40

Chapter 40

Splinters

Brandon

The 443: #1 locker room gossip from college soccer

The Wolves may be touring Europe but benched striker Brandon Carter isn’t wasting time howling at the moon, if recent pictures are anything to go by.

Photographs of Carter and an unidentified male pal larking around in a public field emerged over the weekend, and they’ve caused quite a stir online. Our sources inside the Wolves locker room report that Carter is tight lipped about his personal life, and is focused solely on improving his game ready for pre-season scouting.

We’ve always been fans of Carter here at The 443, but hope that he continues to keep his private life where it belongs. Private, and out of sports.

Some Assembly Required

#1 for Senate wide gossip

Senator Carter’s popularity might have nosedived with Gen Z but if rumours are to be believed, his son might be about to turn all that around.

Carter’s campaign has stumbled in recent months, with voters citing a lack of progressive values as evidence that Carter has become out of touch with the community he represents.

Carter Jr, who plays for his college soccer team and is set to turn pro following his graduation, was pictured in a what looks like a clinch with a male friend over the weekend of his birthday. Whilst the sexual orientation of a candidate’s kid is well and truly off limits, it’s hard not to draw a line between appealing to a younger demographic and Brandon’s recent escapades.

Carter’s reps have refused to comment, but the cynical amongst his peers wondering at the timing of these photographs. “We don’t comment on personal matters, but the Senator remains proud of his son for who he is both on the pitch, and off”.

Spectrum: A Modern Queer Lifestyle Blog

College soccer hottie Brandon Carter has always been a bit of a hate fuck given his glaring silence on Papa Carter’s problematic politics but maybe this might, just might change our minds. No word yet on whether this was a soft-launch for Jr to come barrelling out of the closet or whether it’s just two ‘bros’ doing what ‘bros’ do when the sorority girls aren’t around.

Carter, of course, is a private citizen and let’s be honest, not famous enough to warrant much more screen time (unless he’s going to take his shirt off) than we’ve already given him, but if he does turn pro, but all eyes will be watching to see whether he’s brave enough to stand out from the pack.

Hit scroll for an album of Brandon’s hottest shirtless moments.

Dad. Missed Calls (0)

Winston. Missed Calls (19)

“This must be some sort of political record”, Parker says, as I pull a pillow over my face. “You’ve managed to alienate the political left and the political right on the same day. Despite not really doing anything”.

We drove back yesterday afternoon. The blogs started dropping when we were on the highway, and by the time we got back, I’d received a ton of messages. And a few missed calls.

I spent the evening doom-scrolling the comment section. Most of which seemed to brush the pictures off for what they were, low quality and inconclusive. But I’m not an idiot. This was planned. Designed to get me to do something. Admit something. Or get my dad to, more likely.

Blogs are so worried about getting sued or cancelled they don’t out people anymore.

They just drop enough breadcrumbs to feed the trolls, then they let the comment section do the rest:

Parker and Brandon are friends. Good friends. Frequently seen on nights out together. Very odd that Brandon would choose to go to Summit rather than on tour with his teammates…

But didn’t you know? They’ve always been close. Aside from, well, that mysterious falling out they had. But they get on better now? Oh yes. Much better.

Why could that be? Well of course, there’s always been rumours…

“I’ve always been a trailblazer, Di Rossi”. His bedroom light is on, his silhouette pressed against the glass. Curtains closed. Like I told him to. “Did anyone say anything at work?”

Parker went straight back to manning his landline like nothing had ever happened. For him, that’s technically true.

Neither of us have any idea who took the pictures. Given how shitty they are, we figure that some kids were playing around, recognised me, and didn’t realise what they’d stumbled on until later. “Boring. Simon’s being super nice. He’s pleased about The Garrison”.

“Everyone’s being nice”. Deano had nodded a friendly hello when I came back. Greta had given me a new warm up. Ivor walked me through a different drill. It was normal. Mundane even. But nobody’s mentioned the scouts. Not once, all day.

That’s how I know they knew. “Have you called your Dad?”

“He didn’t have anything to do with this”. Parker hasn’t outright accused my dad of being involved, but I know what he’s thinking.

His office is out there giving statements of support despite barely speaking to me for two years, and his poll numbers are increasing with the 18–25-year-old demographic for the first time since he was elected.

“I’m not famous enough for this”, I remind him, “This isn’t twenty years ago. Gay people play soccer. Not many, but they’re out there”, Brad Fleming’s tearstained face flashes through my mind. “And there are tons of gay kids related to famous politicians and public figures. I’m not anything special here”.

“I wouldn’t say that, Carter. I wouldn’t say that at all”, Parker says softly. I close my eyes, imagining him here with me. “Simon says there was another journalist onsite asking questions today. Sheryl went for him with her label maker”.

I stifle a giggle.

“Simon’s thinking about redeploying her to security”.

Absently, I check my social media page. I set my mentions to private. I’ve been in the orbit of enough scandal to know the drill by now. Keep your mouth shut, carry on as normal. Never complain, never explain.

“Nobody can tell that it’s you”, I say for the third time.

There’s only one grainy picture where we’re holding hands, and another where we’re kissing. His back is turned to the camera both times. No visible tattoos. No discernible marks. The pictures almost went out of their way to focus directly on me.

The pause stretches down the telephone line. “People know we’re close. That we hang out. So, some people will know”. I know he’s picturing all the people in his life getting together to whisper about him. “My mom could probably tell”.

“You could deny it”.

“Deny you? Never”, he says softly. “I know your coming out wasn’t traditional. But…is it, I mean…”

“You and I would have different experiences”, I say, carefully. “Our families are different. Our friendship circles are different. You’re bisexual, and bi-phobia is real, as well as homophobia. You’d have to deal with things that I wouldn’t”.

“I don’t give a fuck about what people think”.

“I know. It’s one of the reasons I like you so much. I’m not blind to the fact that I don’t have to worry about a lot of things that other kids do. I’m grown. I’ve got a high school education, and nearly a full college one. I’m not going to be homeless. I can earn my own money. I can look after myself, if I have to. So can you”, I pause, “But everything’s relative”.

I flashback to my dad bursting into my bedroom, the night after the party. How his gaze had flipped from my sobbing shoulders to the words on the computer screen. And how he had held me. “The first time can be hard. But after that, not so much”.

“What do you mean the first time ?”

“You don’t come out just once. You do it for the rest of your life”. I inhale. Or you don’t. And you hope that’s enough. “But it gets easier. The toughest person to come out to is yourself. If you’re okay with you, then that can be enough. More than enough”.

“I’m more than okay with me”, Parker says. “I guess I just wanted to do it on my own terms”.

It infuriates me that there are people out there who’d want to take this moment away from him. And as much as I’d love for us to save each other, I can’t put someone else through what I went through. Especially not Parker.

“It might be best”, I swallow the tremor in my voice. “If you and I cool things a bit. Just for a little while”.

“We’ve only just started seeing each other”. Parker murmurs. “You’re over there. Not here in bed with me”.

“Just from being seen together. Until things die down”.

“It’s not like we’re breaking up”.

“Never”.

He swallows. “I’m not ashamed of us. Of you. Of us together. I just need to tell people in my life properly. On my own terms. Not because some dickhead with a camera phone decides to mess with us”.

A part of me wants to give him the Us Against the World speech. But this is real life. And as much as I’d love to tell him to fuck the world, I don’t have any right to ask that from him. Especially if I’m not prepared to say it myself.

“I get it. I know how it is. Let’s just, keep some distance until things blow over”. I flick my light off just before he opens his curtains. I catch his face pressed against the glass, looking out over the courtyard.

“It’s not like we’re breaking up”, he says again.