Page 31

TUCKER

Y ou’re sick.

You’re sick.

You’re sick.

You’re sick.

You’re sick.

A piece of paper landed on my chest. I opened my eyes to see Josh standing over me. I didn’t want to deal with the statement right now, I didn’t even want to think about it. I just wanted to rot in my bed and hopefully pass away peacefully into the darkness where all of the nasty things my mother said about me couldn’t be heard.

I grumbled at my own dark humor and shifted in the bed, still in my dress clothes and shoes. I felt stuffy and stiff. Seeing Silas when I opened that door had been unexpected—I couldn’t stop the reaction as I stepped through the frame. He just nodded at me like he understood what was happening and didn’t need the explanation. He was just there. The tears started from a place of desperation and fear. It was embarrassing that I had broken down like that. I’d have to explain myself to him later, and the stress of it piled precariously on my back.

I kicked off the shoes and curled my knee up with my arm extended over it to read what Josh had brought me. It started like any normal statement, apologizing for my outburst during last week's press table and went on to explain why I left so abruptly, but quickly changed tones.

I, however, will not apologize for my personal life. It comes as no surprise to my teammates or my friends that I am a gay man. I have been open with them from the very beginning, only protecting myself from the harsh judgment of the media. I am a gay man in sports. I know that this will create a multitude of headlines, some refreshing and kind, but most hateful and worrisome. But none of these words, these articles or gossip change who I am, or how good I am at baseball.

“I can’t read this,” I shook my head. "This is the opposite of what they want, and it makes me sound insane.”

I set the paper down on the bed, not bothering to read the rest because it was making me nauseous. That statement would fan the fires, not put them out.

“What do you want?” Josh squatted on the floor, dropping his eyeline below mine and tilting his chin up to look at me.

“I want to curl up and die,” I muttered, mostly dramatic. Josh just scowled.

“Tuck,” he groaned, but it was soft and encouraging.

“I just want to be left alone like everyone else,” I answered honestly that time.

“The only way you do that is by getting ahead of everyone, if you sit back and let your parents control the narrative…” he said, pausing with a sigh. “Then they will always have it.”

“Why are you pushing this so hard?” I fought back. “It’s not like you’re running around with a Bi flag, screaming from the rooftops that you swing both ways! Why do I have to defend myself?”

“Because no one cares about my life,” he said to me. "They care about yours because you’re the captain of a national championship team and being gay in sports is a conversation no one is ready to have!”

“Why do I have to have it?” I surged forward, and he flinched. “I’m sorry.” I put both my hands in the air, instantly feeling bad for scaring him and pushed back against the wall to put more space between us.

“You don’t,” Josh said, pinning his shoulders back and rising from the floor. “But there are kids out there living like you, under the weight of their families and maybe if just one man stands up there, proud of who he is…” he said. “Then maybe there will be hope for them in the future.”

“I don’t want to be a role model, Josh. I just want to get through college and this season,” I said, completely defeated and now feeling more guilty than ever over a thousand unheard voices.

“Too bad,” Josh responded. “If you don’t then guys like Noah Hudson will always get away with their shit. It takes one person. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t trust them with something so important. But it’s you, you’re the golden boy, the kid with all the heart. Lead with it.”

“Josh,” I groaned. My chest was so tight, I could barely breathe.

Cael would have told me it was fine, he would have hid in my room with me for a week and just let me be but Josh was not Cael and he would not be denied.

“You’re a captain, Tuck. You don’t get the option to just get through stuff, you have to lead the rest of us out of it.” He stepped backward. “Read it or don't, but don’t go into that press conference with the mentality of making a bunch of homophobes comfortable.”

His eyes were dark, but I could see the silent plea behind them. He had been one of those kids, searching for a light in the darkness. He had never found it, never had anyone. The guilt was enough to consume me whole.

“They don’t deserve peace.”

He left the room without arguing further, and I was alone again.

Only this time I couldn’t get the disappointed look on his face out of my mind.

All I did lately was let people down.

I kept the press statement folded up in my binder as I climbed the stairs to my class the next day, sliding into the seat next to Van. It was the only class we had together. It was a basic course, one I could take in my sleep but today it felt like everything was in one ear, out the other.

It had taken me nearly an hour to get out of bed and I spent another forty-five in the shower. I didn’t want to be on campus. I could hear them whispering about me but no one had the balls to actually ask me.

Van shared his notes with me that I missed from the class before so I spent most of the time typing them up into my own.

“You alright?” He asked, noticing the muted mood.

“Yeah, just stressed out.” I shrugged, handing the papers back to him.

“You’ve been vibrating negative energy since Sunday, dude. I’ve never seen you so balled up.” Van pushed. "Spill.”

I dug the statement out of my jeans and handed it to him behind our laptops as the professor rattled on about the negative effects of something that I couldn’t find the time to care about. Van was quiet for five minutes before he scoffed and handed it back to me.

“You didn’t write this,” he looked at me, and I scowled. “I’ve proofread every essay you’ve handed in for the last three years, you didn’t write this.”

Sinking lower in my chair, I pulled my hat down over my eyes and sighed. “Josh wrote it.”

“Yeah, that explains the ‘sexual preferences’ line. Dude made it sound like you were in court, not the press room. It’s too harsh, hold on…” Van said, and before I could stop him, he was scribbling out lines and rewriting them.It didn’t matter what he did to it, I wasn’t reading it. "Have we gotten him checked for robot parts?" He joked but I was too busy being wound up to laugh.

I couldn’t even figure out why the fuck I was carrying it around, other than the fact that I was trying to find my courage. Even if I didn’t announce myself to a room full of blood-hungry reporters, I would have to stand up for myself eventually.

“There.” Van handed it back to me, and as soon as I started, I knew that whatever magic he had worked actually made it a viable option. “Less Josh, more Dean.”

“Thanks,” I said with a small nod before I folded it up and stuffed it into my pocket again. It would rot there until I found my voice. Who knows when that would be.

When class was done I went down through the cafeteria to some of the study halls and found a spot to sit quietly. Going back to the Nest meant facing Josh or Cael and going down to the stadium meant facing Coach and Silas.

Nowhere felt safe.

“Franklin,” my Father’s voice inched across the divide and felt like a thousand small cuts.

Great.

I pushed from my chair, turning to face him and tried to hide the disappointment in my voice as I acknowledged him.

“Good to know you haven’t abandoned everything,” he jabbed with his grip tightening around his briefcase. “Your mother expects you at dinner on Sunday.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself.

His brow rose, and he stared me down when I didn’t elaborate on the outburst.

“What happened yesterday may have been uncomfortable for you son but you needed to hear it, there comes a day when you need to answer for yourself.” He shifted uncomfortably looking around to see if any of the other students studying were listening.

“Answer for myself?” I said, trying my best to sound anything but combative.

“Your explicit and sinful actions have consequences, Franklin. It was time that you learned that, and having your friends step in for you when you were being a spineless coward didn’t help your case,” he said tightly. "You’ll come to dinner Sunday, there’s more to discuss.”

Without another word, he walked around me and out of study hall.

My chest burned. My thoughts turned to slush. I stood staring out the glass doors to the hallway where he disappeared and let myself go numb again.

They didn’t give a shit about me, they never had. It had always been about what I could do for them, and never about familial love. I was a trophy to them, stuffed away in a display case to be fawned over during important holidays. Nothing more.

I didn’t want to stand on the pedestal they had built for me anymore.

They don’t deserve peace.