Page 42

Chapter 42

Talk of the Town

Brandon

“You’re late”, Gretchen chastises me, as I jog onto the field. She’s lined up a dozen soccer balls at varying points in the penalty box. A couple of guys I don’t recognise nudge each other from the sidelines. I ignore them.

“Sorry. Usual drill?”

She nods curtly. I blast the first ball right into the far corner of the net. Gretchen barks another instruction. I line it up, and my stomach sinks as the ball bounces effortlessly off the crossbar.

“Brandon Carter! How does it feel to be the first openly gay player in college league soccer?” I spin, just in time to see security bundling a familiar-looking guy out of the gates. “Has your father been supportive? What do your teammates think?”

His words are snatched away by the wind, but they still manage to find me. And everyone else. “Carter!” Gretchen snaps, “Focus!”

I run through my drills. I don’t break focus, not even once. I do my best, but I know it’s not good enough. I try. I really do. But I can’t tap into what made me good. And it’d be so easy to blame the distractions. The Parker of it all. The parents of it all. The entire fucking world of it all.

But maybe the truth is more obvious than that.

Maybe I’m just not that good at soccer after all.

* * * *

By lunchtime, I can’t take it anymore.

The locker room is the nearest place I can find to have a mental breakdown. Just days ago I was in here with Parker, our worlds changing together. Now, my game sucks and there’s an invisible wall between us.

All thanks to some loser with a camera phone.

My reflection provides no answers as to what to do next. Who am I without soccer? Why would anyone want me, if I couldn’t do all the things that made me Brandon Carter?

If I walk away now, then it was all for nothing. The years of turning myself inside out trying to fit in. The hours and hours of practice. What do I become? Just another could-have-been-someone. Another Brad Fleming.

A burst of laughter makes me jump. I quickly grab my stuff and dive into a cubicle.

“I heard he came out to his whole team and that’s why they dropped him”. Alex, I realise. One of the junior coaches. “My cousin’s sister’s friend’s roommate’s friend goes to the same college. That’s how I know. It was the talk of the campus”.

“You’re full of shit”.

“Are you calling my cousin’s sister’s friend’s roommate’s friend a liar?” They both laugh. “Ok. Let’s say it’s a secret. How does that explain why he’s here, and not on tour with his teammates in Europe?”

“He’s here to get better”, A pause. “Not that he could get much worse”.

“Maybe he’s here to cruise for dudes”.

“He spends a lot of time with Di Rossi”, My heart skips a beat. “Just an observation”.

“There’s no way that Di Rossi’s into dudes. He’s a wannabe cage fighter”.

“What does that matter?”

“Pounding dudes doesn’t exactly scream gay”.

“I’d say that’s exactly what it screams”. More laughter. My hand freezes on the stall door handle. Time was I’d confront them. Shut this down. But something’s stopping me. The door swings open. “Problem, gentlemen?”

Simon. Oh God. How much had he heard? “Nothing, boss. Just talking best way to improve reaction times with Martin”.

“Is that right?” Simon’s tone is unreadable. “You should ask Carter. His reaction times are the best I’ve ever seen”.

“That’s a good ide—”

“In the meantime, back to work”. Simon cuts him off, “And by work, I mean re-reading the entire Summit handbook from start to finish, beginning with Customer Service for Idiots, and ending with Learning Basic Fucking Manners. Got it?”

Footsteps scatter and the door closes. I take a deep breath and unlock the door. Simon is waiting for me, leaning against the faucet. His arms are loosely folded. Glasses pushed back onto his nose. I swallow. “Sorry about that”.

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’m only sorry that clearly my staff haven’t had sufficient EDI training. Something I will be remedying immediately”. I splash cold water on my face. “How are you, Brandon? You’re having a challenging week”.

“I’m fine”, I say automatically. He doesn’t look convinced. “You must be pretty mad at me”.

“Why does everyone always think that I’m mad at them?” Simon looks exasperated. “If it’s not Parker thinking I’m going to—never mind. Why would I be mad at you?”

“Bringing the wrong kind of attention to Summit”.

“When it comes to Summit, minor press attention is the least of my concerns”, Simon takes off his glasses. “Believe me. Anything else?”

“Bringing the wrong kind of attention to Parker”.

“Ah. That. I saw the pictures. I could recognise his slouch a mile off”. Simon polishes his glasses, “But that’s for him to talk to me about, if and when he’s ready. It’s obvious that he cares a great deal about you. I knew that before I saw the pictures”.

Warmth runs through me.

Simon leans against the sink, thoughtfully. “When my aunt called and asked me to give him a job, I was reluctant. After all that business at his college, I was really worried. That’s why I set him up with Zara, although that’s backfired slightly”. Simon exhales. “The idea was that he’d get the aggression out of his system, not make a whole career of it”.

“He’s had his heart set on MMA long before you come along. It’s for his dad”, I say, as an afterthought. “You understand that, right?”

“Not as well as you seem to”, Simon scans my face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“When Parker’s dad died, he took part of Parker with him”, I say carefully, “Parker’s convinced himself that the only way to make it all okay is to live out his dad’s legacy. But that’s not going to work. He can win as many fights as he likes. It’s not going to bring Alberto back. It’s not going to make the pain go away”.

“I think you might be overstating it a little”. Simon pauses, looking uncomfortable.

I take a deep breath. “You just referenced his aggression. What do you think fuels it? It doesn’t come from nowhere. It’s the guilt. Guilt over his dad dying. Guilt over his dad never having accomplished his dreams. Guilt over not being worth what he thinks his parents gave up to have him”.

“But, he can’t possibly—“ Simon is open mouthed. “That doesn’t make any sense”.

“Of course it doesn’t. But grief doesn’t make sense”.

“I wasn’t there for him in the way that I should have been after his father died”, Simon flushes guiltily. “I’ve always wondered if he resents me for it”.

“He’s never said that”. I hesitate, “But he likes it here. More than he lets on”.

“Really?”

“Has he ever shown you his notebook?” Simon shakes his head. “Next time you go by his desk, take a sneaky look. It’s brown moleskin. There are a hundred ideas in there. Some are utterly bonkers, but some of them are pretty good”. I pause. “Was Parker what you came in here to talk about?”

“What? Oh, no. I was looking for you, actually”, Simon looks rattled. “I wanted to let you know that the Summit will no longer be hosting the MLS scouts in a few weeks. I’m sorry”.

It’s happening. One rumour and I’m done. I knew this was coming.

“Did they say why?”

“I think we both know why”. Simon says, with a disappointed sigh. “The real question is, what we are going to do about it?”

For the first time in my life, I have no answer. No joke. No deflection. Nothing.