Page 18

Thierry

“ O h yeah,” Ireland murmured. “You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?”

I snapped my head in her direction, fumbling for the right thing to say.

I wouldn’t allow my secrets to be used against me, ever.

This obsession of mine needed to be sealed up tight and tucked away, never to be spoken about or ever seen again.

“Nope. Is he eye candy? Sure. But do I want him? No. He’s just not my type. ”

“Strike one,” Ireland said, looking me dead in the eyes. “I’m a bullshit detector. I can smell it and hear it a mile away. You, sir, are kidding no one.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Hunter, come here.”

My gaze followed hers as a mountain of a man crossed to where we were standing.

All the spit in my mouth dried up. Electricity arced across my flesh, sending a thrill down my spine.

Hello, daddy . Who knew real Vikings were hotter than the ones on TV?

I cut my gaze to where Pope lounged. He wasn’t as bulky as Hunter, nor did he have the hulking presence of the man standing next to Ireland, but a menacing quality filled his frame and storm clouds brewed in his dark eyes.

Pope sat up and took notice. Was he jealous?

“What’s up?” Hunter shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You know Pope the best.” She motioned between herself, me, and Hunter. I wouldn’t correct her. I figured she’d double down if I had. “Right?”

“I mean, I guess you could say that.” His brows furrowed. “Are you thinking of getting more work done?”

She shook her head. “Meet Thierry. He’s got a thing for Pope. Is he seeing anyone?”

Hunter’s light green eyes widened. “Oh. I don’t think he’s seeing anyone. We’re not friends like that. We talk more about the kids. The shop. You know.”

Pope had kids?

Figured.

“And that’s my cue to walk away from this conversation,” I said, “again. I appreciate you trying to help, but don’t.” I winced at my tone, hating how much I sounded like a dick.

“That’s strike two,” Ireland grumbled. “This town is full of dicks who need to get laid and lose some of the starch in their britches.”

“Look,” I said, pivoting to face Ireland. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me. All I’m asking for is a little sanity right now. July likes to push things too far.”

“Hey!” she said. “That’s not fair.”

“Did you forget about the bird incident?”

She gasped. “Heathen!”

“Bitch,” I said, blowing her a kiss. When I caught Ireland and Hunter staring at us, I exhaled, shoulders slumped. “Look, there’s a past there. I don’t want to dig it up or relive the humiliation. Okay? Pope deserves his happiness with his family. Me and him… We’ve got nothing to talk about.”

“Stop it,” July murmured. “There were a lot of bigots in this town at one point, but stuff is getting better. Just last week, I overheard a mom outside the high school talking about the new boy on the cheer team. Also?—”

I held up my hand. “I think it’s great. Honest, but they’re not me, and they didn’t live my life.”

“If I could go back and kick all their asses, I would,” she muttered.

“It is what it is.” I finished the beer in my hand and walked away to grab another one.

When I glanced at the bar where Pope had been standing, the man was gone.

I scoffed while a self-deprecating smile tugged at my mouth.

Should have known he’d leave. That’s what Pope was good at, though.

Taking off with no one knowing where he was going or if he’d come back.

Isn’t that what you’re good at, too? Yeah, it was.

If what Hunter said was true, though, he probably left to go take care of his kids and wife. Wonder if Pope told her he kissed me?

“You know, July means well,” December stated, joining me as I twisted the cap off another beer. I’d been such a morose fucker, I couldn’t even feel buzzed properly. Maybe I needed to go with something harder than alcohol.

“Well, sounds like Pope has someone and kids,” I muttered, hating the spitefulness in my voice.

“What? No. Hunter has kids. He just adopted a baby boy,” December said, trying to hold back a laugh. “He went to Pope to get his son and daughter’s footprints tattooed on his arm.”

Shocked, I turned my head too fast and stumbled before righting myself. Guess I was feeling the alcohol more than I realized. Or I’d forgotten my fake knee didn’t move like a real one. “What did you say?”

She laid a steadying hand on my arm, staring at me with such concern etched across her face. “Did you honestly think Pope had kids?”

He had a girlfriend. Why not? I shrugged. Didn’t matter. None of what they were doing mattered. “He had a girlfriend the last I saw him.”

“Oh honey,” December said, taking my hand. “We haven’t seen him with anyone since he came back.”

Okay. And?

That meant nothing, especially when Pope wasn’t gay.

Nor did I think he was bi. As a teen, I yearned for the day when I could tell my best friend about me.

Sadly, that day never came because I kissed him and froze.

I told my parents who accepted me. The others, I let them in a little at a time, because I knew I couldn’t keep them out forever.

Worse, if I tried to hide, and they saw me at an inopportune time, well, I thought I’d hurt them more than Pope could ever hurt me.

Lily-Mae, Rick, Wes, the guys, July, December, all of them were like my second family.

Then I got drafted.

No, I shouldn’t say it that way. The roots of bigotry ran deeply through all the different sports.

It was easier to be straight than it was to come out to your teammates.

One of them, if not more, would always be the homophobic prick.

They’d complain about the showers or being naked where I was, never realizing I had no interest in their pencil dicks or stubs.

Then there were those fans who had so much hatred within them.

A roll of rainbow tape turned them into the biggest Karen’s in the world.

Who knew rainbows would be the one thing to stick in their crawl?

Worse, that roll of rainbow tape canceled all the rainbow sweaters and pride week within the league.

Not to mention the biggest bigot of all.

Bastard had the money and the fame to rally all his fans who believed like him, to destroy something good in the league.

Every time we played against them, I swore I’d check him into the walls or midfield, just to prove a point.

He wasn’t shit, and he’d never be shit, either.

Felt good the few times I’d caught him. Laid him out clean, too.

After a while, though, I told some people who meant the most to me.

I’d prepared myself for the worst, even grabbed transfer papers and talked to my agent and manager about leaving Nashville if push came to shove.

Thankfully, it never did. Then it was like the clouds parted and being gay was okay.

My life expanded. I had fun. Went on dates.

Met new people in different industries. I thought I’d left my past behind and found a life I could be proud of.

Until it all came crashing down a week after my injury.

What did I get for it?

Absolutely nothing.

I had nothing to show for my dedication and perseverance, except TikTok speculations, accusations of being an abuser, and harassment from my ex.

Sure, I had rings and Man of The Matches.

A Gold medal and trophies galore, but none of that compared to having someone by my side.

A partner who welcomed me home after the worst game or the best game.

If I’d learned anything about my pop star bestie and her football player fiancé, it was this, love made everything sweeter.

My Boom would too.

Yeah, right?

Who the fuck was I kidding? I couldn’t even tell the one person who meant the most to me how I felt about him.

I hid like a coward. For fuck’s sakes, I used his girlfriend as excuses for why I couldn’t tell Pope the truth, and now, here I stood, downing my fifth beer, feeling less than pathetic about myself.

Fuck, I needed to get laid, or shit faced—which I was well on the way toward.

Something to bring me out of my depressing memories.

I polished off the beer and ambled over to the bar to order something stiffer.

I’d have to tell July or December to schedule me an Uber later, so I could get home in one piece.

No way I wanted to stay at the compound.

Who knew what everyone would get up to? Plus, in a few hours, if I kept going, I’d be paying for mixing my alcohols.

“Whiskey, neat,” I said when the prospect manning the bar came over to me.

“I know you,” he said, a big grin on his face. “You’re Thomas number fifty-eight for the Thunderbirds . Now, with the Mountaineers .”

“In the flesh,” I said sarcastically. “You a fan?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been watching you for years.” He placed the cubed, old-fashioned glass in front of me. “Two fingers?”

“Better make it three. It’s been a long night,” I replied. “Suppose this isn’t the best way to meet a legend, huh?”

He laughed. “Something like that. But it’s cool. You’ve had a rough year. You’re allowed to fuck off for a while.”

I tipped the glass toward him in gratitude. “Appreciate it.”

I turned to face the group of people who gathered at the compound.

As much as Ireland rubbed me the wrong way, she seemed like a good person.

Same for with her brother. Downside, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said or how quick she was to help me out.

I was used to that with Wes and our group of friends. New people, not so much.

I felt the presence behind me again before I saw him approach.

Instead of the nervous energy wriggling through me, I chose vague indifference.

It was easier that way. The sooner he figured out I wouldn’t be giving him the time of day, just like he’d done to me all those years ago, the better off we’d both be.