Page 5

Four

Knox

M y phone pings with a new text from Lilah, which isn’t out of the ordinary. She probably needs another quote for her article about the game.

Lilah: Hey, it’s Lilah. I think I need to take you up on that drink now.

Oh shit, I didn’t expect that turn of events after another refusal to hang out with me. I type a quick response.

Knox: Hey, Lilah girl, good to hear from you. Changed your mind about being friends with me? *Winky face emoji*

Lilah: Yeah, actually. Are you free? I could really use a drink. I’m downtown.

Knox: Of course, I’m just hanging out. Wanna meet at Brick and Barley? It’s not too far from me.

Lilah: Sure, how soon can you be there?

I look around my condo, like it will give me an estimated time of arrival. I’m in casual clothes and was just watching SportsCenter. Not like I had any plans other than catching Monday Night Football and seeing how the league is shaping up for this season. That and nursing my feelings about fucking up the game yesterday.

Knox: I can be there in twenty minutes. Good?

Lilah: Cool. See you there.

Well, shit. I guess I have plans after all.

When I walk into Brick and Barley fifteen minutes later, Lilah is already in the bar area at a high-top table in a corner. I walk over, keeping my nondescript ball cap pulled low and avoiding eye contact. This isn’t a sports bar, but I never know who will recognize me when I’m out and about in Atlanta. It’s common to be stopped on the street, out at a restaurant, or even while shopping for groceries. I’ve taken to getting everything delivered at this point to avoid it. I like fans; that’s not the problem. I hate the lack of anonymity and the constant feeling of being under a microscope. Like a fucking goldfish in a bowl, someone is always tapping at the glass and peering in at me.

I slide into the seat across from Lilah and catch the look of surprise that crosses her features before her pretty grin stretches her face, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“You’re early,” she says as she turns her phone over so the screen is against the table and gives me her full attention.

“Can’t leave a pretty girl like you waiting.” I lace my fingers together on the table and give her a quick once-over. She seems off, agitated, maybe. She’s usually so unruffled and confident. It’s throwing me that she’s anything less now that we’re one-on-one. I don't want her to feel nervous around me when there’s no need.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't message you because I want to get in your pants or anything,” she says. “You’re awfully complimentary for someone who just wants to be a friend, so don't try too hard to win me over.”

“Did you expect me to call you a troll and treat you like one of the guys?”

This makes her laugh, a small snort escapes as she looks down and shakes her head. “No, of course not. I'm just reiterating that I don’t date athletes, so you can chill on the flirty banter.”

I shake my head adamantly. “And I told you, you’re safe with me. I have no interest in you except strictly platonic. So what’s up? You seem off. We’re friends. You can unload about whatever it is.”

Her eyes dart away nervously, and I wonder at the cause. My trepidation is heightened rather than put to rest with her next breath. “This is strictly off the record. I’m not here as a reporter, but as a friend.”

“Okay, that sounds ominous,” I say. “What’s so bad you have to preface it by saying this won’t be quoted in an article?”

“Have you seen the video of Ryder Kingston making shitty comments about you?”

I lean back, my eyebrows drawing together in confusion as I hear a name I never expected to come out of her mouth. Ryder Kingston . Those two words send fear ricocheting down my spine and anger churning in my gut. He single-handedly made my childhood the best thing ever, and my teenage years a living hell.

“No,” I say slowly. “But it sounds like I should look for it now and potentially get my PR team on whatever mess he’s made.” I don't want to do anything in the guy’s favor, not after how we left things when we were eighteen, but I may need to get ahead of this shit for my own good, even if it helps him.

“I’m sorry to be the one to show you.” Lilah chews her lip and flips her phone over, tapping the screen to pull up a video from social media and hitting play. I watch in growing horror as the most beautiful and terrible face fills the screen, those full lips twisted in disgust and hate, with my name on his tongue. It’s a quick video, less than ten seconds, but the damage is done. Ryder outed me, whether I admit a single thing or not. Anyone who sees this will begin to question my sexuality. My teammates will look at me differently, despite knowing me as well as they can from playing beside them for years.

“Fuck,” I breathe, the sound low and resonant between us.

“That’s not all,” Lilah says, her face full of anger. “I interviewed him at the Hydras media day, and let’s just say it wasn’t a friendly conversation. He didn’t retract his statements; only confirmed he hasn’t spoken with you in over a decade. I made him wish he’d never said anything, though. The big baby left in a huff and wouldn’t answer questions after I had my turn with him.”

“How bad is this?” I ask her, my eyes focused on the table.

Her nails tap a staccato beat against her water glass. “A lot of people have seen the video of him, but the focus has been on how shitty he is for saying what he did, and less on you. Seeing as he’s a major sports star and will be at the forefront of people’s minds because of the new team, he has some clout, but you could bury him or let this fade out of people’s minds with time. I think you should make a statement acknowledging his comments and calling him out for them. It’s not like he knows you now, even if he once did.”

“We grew up together,” I explain quietly. This is probably going to take some food to get through. I pick up the bar menu. “You hungry?”

“I could eat, and the menu looked good.”

I signal for a server, and when the girl approaches our table with a smile that doesn’t hint at recognition, I breathe a sigh of relief. “Order anything you want, I’ve got you,” I tell Lilah. She raises her eyebrows at me, glances at the menu one last time, then turns to the server and rattles off a list of appetizers and a local craft beer. I give my order and ask for a fruity cocktail that looks good because I don’t want Lilah to drink alone. Once that’s done, I turn back to Lilah, who is barely containing her grin.

“That’s not what I expected you to get,” Lilah says with a laugh. “I imagined you would be a whiskey neat or an IPA guy.”

“Fuck that nasty shit. I want to enjoy my alcohol, and that’s when I can't taste it. So it’s some fruity drink or nothing for me.” Damn, it feels good to just let that out and not have to hide it from Lilah. I haven't admitted anything to her, and I’m not ready to, but she has to be wondering.

She nods and examines me, cataloging the information. “I’ll be sure to find you the best cocktails should we do this again. So, you and Ryder knew each other?” she prompts, leaning toward me.

“He was my best friend for most of my life. Obviously, things changed, but we started out as close as two kids could be.”

“It must be hard hearing him say those things,” she offers, resting a manicured hand over mine. She has some cool-as-hell nails, done up in Condor's colors and designs.

“It feels very on brand for the Ryder I knew at the end of things, honestly. High school wasn’t easy for me, thanks to people like him.”

Our server arrives a short while later with drinks and appetizers, halting our conversation while she quickly sets the plates down. My drink is pink and has a plumeria flower on the sugared rim. I lift it and take a deep breath. This is going to be excruciating, but at least I’ll have something nice to drink.

Lilah taps her pint against my outstretched martini glass and takes a sip before she continues right where we left off. “I take it Ryder was a jerk and probably said a lot of unkind things?”

I laugh, the sound far more bitter than the sweet drink that goes down a little too easily. That’s dangerous, especially when I’m planning to let Lilah have a statement at some point tonight. Fuck it. I finish the pretty little drink and signal the server for another.

“Ryder was insecure and didn’t like being on the receiving end of the torture that is high school boys, especially in sports. He found a way to turn that spotlight on others and became my tormentor.”

“Are you saying Ryder bullied you?” Lilah asks, her voice steely.

I sigh. It goes so much deeper than that, but this isn’t the right situation and outlet for that entire story, so unpacking it will be difficult. “Ryder and I were tight. We lived on the same street and grew up together, like I said. We even did that stupid thing you see in movies and cut our fingers to be blood brothers when we were eight.” I turn my left hand over, examining the small scar that bisects the pad of my index finger. Ryder has one that matches.

“That’s actually super cute,” Lilah says, grabbing my wrist and pulling it toward her so she can see the tiny scar for herself.

“Yeah, well, being that close with a guy and showing you care about him gets you labeled when you hit a certain age. When we got into high school, there was this awful junior on Ryder’s hockey team that saw us hanging out a lot and started making fun of Ryder for his boyfriend . You know how douchebags can be, no matter the age. Whenever we could, we went to each other’s games. I was at a hockey game when Ryder took a nasty hit into the crossbar of the goal, neck at a weird angle and all. He went down hard and didn't get back up. No one likes seeing shit like that, especially not your best friend.”

I pause and swallow hard. It’s still so vivid. The sound of the hit echoing in the rink, Ryder going limp and falling like a rag doll. I felt the abject horror of not knowing if my best friend was going to get up. It wasn't the first time I’d seen him hurt in a game, but it was the first time I couldn’t get to him, and he hadn’t gotten up on his own. I scrub a hand down my face and shake my head slowly before I can continue.

“I was at the glass, screaming for him to get up, working myself up to tears. They finally took him off the ice and out of the game with a concussion. I didn’t get to see him for hours, so I was a mess and this asshole, Commisso, couldn’t let it go. After that, every time he passed me in the hall at school or saw me somewhere, he made some snide remark asking about my boyfriend. That’s when Ryder turned on me, probably to save face with his team and the other guys who were making fun of him, I’m sure. I’m rational enough to know he was probably getting it as badly as I was. But fuck, it hurt like hell to lose my best friend and watch him become someone who hated me instead. He also knew the ways to hurt me the most, since he knew me the best.”

Our server mercifully brings my drink, and I ask her to just start on another now because I’ll need it. This sucks, flaying myself open for Lilah to have the backstory. Numbing the pain feels like an especially smart move right now.

“I’m sorry, Knox. It sounds like a horrible few years. Did it ever get better?”

“Not in high school, not with Ryder. I think once he established himself as a bully to ensure everyone knew we weren’t together, it was too hard to be anything else or risk that situation coming up again for him. We went to different colleges, thankfully, and the drama didn’t seem to follow me, so I finally got to breathe again and feel like myself with my team.”

“What do you mean by your team? Wasn't it the hockey team that was the problem in high school?” Lilah’s eyebrows knit together, and I realize my mistake.

“It was an asshole on the hockey team who started the whole thing, but when someone insinuates you’re gay, and you’re an athlete who by necessity has to spend a lot of time in the locker room with your team, word gets around. Ryder helpfully pointed out one unfortunate incident in the locker room when my body wasn’t working in my favor, and I got a reputation for liking watching boys change. So, I had to change by myself, out of view of my team, or the rest of my gym class, all four years of school, to avoid anyone thinking I was looking at them. I didn’t want to make things weird for anyone. Or, weirder, because fuck, that was hard when the showers are communal and I’m the tallest guy on the team, trying to keep to myself.”

“God, that sounds awful,” Lilah says, twirling a coconut shrimp tail between her fingers. “I know people are the absolute worst, and kids are shit, but this sounds beyond bad. How did you make it through?”

I stare at my fingers twisting the stem of my once again empty glass. How real do I get, how raw, in my attempts to bare my soul now to make Ryder’s stupid, homophobic comments make sense? But the truth is, he should be the one explaining himself. I shouldn’t have to keep covering for him.

“One day at a time and with different friends, that’s how.” I pull the plate of shrimp toward me and pop one in my mouth, chewing quickly before finishing. “I hung out mostly with girls after that. And I dated a lot. You can believe my girlfriends didn’t care if I was obsessed with them. They liked a six-foot-six dude rushing to their defense, fussing over them, and ensuring they were okay if even the smallest thing happened. I got to continue being the concerned, caring friend I am as long as I channeled that energy to the proper recipients. So that’s why I’ve always had more female friends than male friends.”

“We are the superior sex, honestly,” Lilah says, raising her glass to me. “I’m glad you didn’t have to change, and you found people who accepted you for who you are.”

“Well, I didn’t even know who I was in high school, but that’s a story for another day. I think we got through the one that makes Ryder’s comments make sense. I won't ever excuse what he said because that was shitty and he’s an asshole, but if you were wondering why he would target me, of all people, now you know.”

Lilah’s eyes grow soft, melting into dark pools of whiskey as she looks at me. “Thanks for sharing that with me, Knox. I appreciate it, and I know it can't be easy to open yourself up to a stranger. I hope this means we’re friends now, and I’ll have a six-foot-six obsessed man at the ready should I need one.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “Of course. You think I’d dangle that bit of information in front of you and not be offering you the same, especially after asking you out and insisting it was just as friends?”

We both laugh, and I feel lighter now, thankfully. The server brings my third pink drink and another beer for Lilah, taking away our empty glasses and plates.

“I think you can have the upper hand with a carefully crafted statement that runs in a professional setting. He threw some serious shade. You're lucky enough to have a sports reporter as a new bestie who can make that happen.” Lilah’s grin is diabolical, and her words are a balm to the part of me that much wants to see every mean person who had some part in hurting me get what’s coming to them, but that’s not for me to make happen. I don't believe in retribution. That’s what karma is for.

“I don’t think I need to say anything. There’s so much toxic masculinity in sports as it is, there’s no need to add any extra just to get views or rile people up. Making derogatory and inflammatory comments because someone needs to make others feel small to feel better about themselves is classic bullying behavior. It says more about the character of the person making the comments than who they are speaking about, regardless of the topic.”

“That’s a perfect shot across the bow without being a direct hit. We can use exactly that!” Lilah says excitedly, pulling up a notes app and beginning her article.

Looks like I’m making a statement after all.