Provoking the Punter

Chapter 13

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Garrett stood on the sidelines, watching the team run through their plays for tomorrow’s game. He was trying not to let it eat him up that he wasn’t playing. The assistant special teams coach walked over to him.

“Are you dying to be out there?” Dean Banfield asked with the tilt of his head.

“I’d be lying if I said no.” Then Garrett remembered Chester’s advice. He didn’t want to be the player that bitched about not playing. “It’s been really good to have this time. To get a feel for how the guys play. Their tells and all of that. It would’ve been difficult to be dropped in on a Thursday and expected to go on the Sunday.”

Banfield glanced at him and nodded. “It’s do or die this weekend.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes as he watched the players. “It’ll be a hell of a lot harder if we don’t win this weekend. We’d need to win every other game and hope two or three other teams make serious mistakes.”

Not impossible, but they’d be unlikely to make the play-offs if they didn’t win this weekend.

“Did you use that accounting degree to work out the likelihood of getting into the play-offs?”

Garrett laughed. “I did the same math as you guys.”

Standing on the sidelines, hoping that the team won was infinitely shittier than being part of it, win or lose. He wasn’t the only one not dressing for the game tomorrow. A couple of injuries, and a couple of spares.

He hadn’t missed a game in his rookie year. Now he’d missed two. The question on his lips: When will I get a chance? What is the point of me being here if you’re not gonna give me a chance to play and show you what I can do?

He swallowed the words, knowing they were not the right thing to say.

What he should do was find Caitlin and have a little chat, but he didn’t want to be the asshole to drop a bombshell right before an important game. It could wait until after. Until Monday.

Then Monday would become Tuesday.

In the back of his mind, he heard the ticking. He didn’t know when it was going to explode, or how far away he’d be, but Chester was right, the truth would come out. All he could do was build himself a shield to deflect some of the shrapnel. Not all of it, but the most fatal pieces.

“Weather forecast is pretty shit for tomorrow,” Banfield said.

“It’s a bit of rain.” He grew up playing football in winter in Victoria and was sure there’d been one season where every single game had been played in the rain, or at least that was how he remembered it. It was the year when some of the boys hit puberty, and some of them hadn’t, so size difference became a thing. He’d been a short-ass and copped it pretty hard. But by the time the next season rolled around, he had shot up, and he hadn’t stopped growing until he was nineteen.

“You like playing in the mud, do ya?”

Garrett shrugged. “To be fair, I’m just punting in it. It’s not like I’m a quarterback and ending up in it.”

Banfield laughed. “True, unless you’re tackled.”

“Mud washes off, and the bruises don’t sting if you win.” And if you lost, it always helped to have someone there to commiserate and put antiseptic on the scratches.

“Let’s put a W on the board tomorrow.” Banfield walked over to Coach Ross, leaving Garrett on the sideline.

Garrett managed to grab a couple of hours sleep on the plane, but he wouldn’t have called them restful. While some of the guys chilled, listening to music or napping, some were getting amped up.

He was learning who fell into which bucket, so he could sit in the chill zone. He also tried to stay as far away from James as possible. It was a different team, but the pre-game day routine was pretty much the same. He ate dinner with everyone else, making a few jokes, having a laugh and talking about the other team, and what their weaknesses were. One guy was showing videos of his kid’s first steps.

Caitlin had been on the plane, not that he wanted to talk to her where everyone might hear, but he hadn’t seen her since. Which was fine. He’d catch her tomorrow after the game. Not on the bus, or the plane. He was trying to work out when the best time was, because now that he said he would, he wanted to get it done, even though the idea made his gut churn.

He should’ve done it that first day when they asked, but he been in shock. He didn’t know what he’d said. He wasn’t sure what he’d done the entire week—aside from Chester. He was blaming the stress.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, hoping it was Chester. He could go back to the room and be on his own for a bit, while the others finished dinner, and they could talk. But it wasn’t Chester. It was Caitlin asking him to come to one of the business suites.

Fuck.

“Message from your girlfriend?”

Garrett smiled, fully aware it was what Chester called the fake media one. He felt it in the tightness of his lips and cheeks. “I’ve got to take this.”

He walked away from the table and messaged that he’d be there in five.

He asked one of the staff where the room was, and she delivered him to the door. It was one of the small meeting rooms in the hotel. The table was big enough for four people to sit at, but there was only Caitlin, a laptop and some papers.

She glanced up. “Can you shut the door?”

His stomach dropped, but he did as he was asked.

Nervous sweat beaded in his armpits and ran down his sides. He was sure dinner rose halfway up his chest, ready to leap out of his mouth if he had to speak.

He sat opposite her and swallowed. “What’s…” He didn’t want to say wrong. “Up?” he finished, sure she was already three steps ahead, and judging him.

She’s one of the good ones.

He hoped Chester was right.

That it was only her, and not any of the coaches, was a good sign.

She turned the laptop to face him. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, aside from Grayson and his wife having dinner. He frowned, and it took another second before he realized why the restaurant looked familiar. It was Bathtubs. Chester had mentioned the dinner. He’d been there that night. And there he was in the back right-hand corner with Chester, crouching next to the table as they talked.

“My photographer sent me shots from last night for me to approve before they’re published. I'm going to ask that he crop them to focus on the couple.”

These were paparazzi shots for Grayson. Everyone knew he’d been screwing around, and that his wife was not happy no matter what jewelry he gave her—he’d complained about the cost of keeping her quiet.

“I want to know why you were there.”

“For dinner. I wasn’t drinking.” He hadn’t signed a clause to say that he wouldn’t. Though he had been willing to.

“Chester spoke highly of you. I think his words were, ‘you can catch a football and hold a conversation’.”

He couldn’t help the rush of heat to his cheeks. All he could do was turn the laptop back to her and hope it wasn’t bloody obvious. “We had a good chat afterwards, and we have a bit in common. We both lost our mothers and have a difficult relationship with our fathers.”

She was studying him, as she knew there was something else.

This was the opening. She was holding the door open for him. Fuck, if she’d realized how many other people had realized?

“So it was just dinner, in a place you were familiar with?”

He stared at the table. It wasn’t actual wood, but wood-look laminate, and there was a big gouge right in front of him.

Just say it. Admit to being gay. Tell her I don’t want to come out. Tell her about Harrison.

His stomach clenched. “It’s queer friendly.” That wasn’t enough. His mouth dried. Now or never, Stevens. He glanced up at her. “I’m gay.”

She didn’t say anything. Her expression hadn’t closed off, and her eyes hadn’t hardened. It was as though she was waiting for him to say more.

“I should’ve told you when I first got here. You asked me if there was any potential PR blowback, but I didn’t even know which way my head was on. It was terrified of being cut before I even had a chance.”

“Is that why you were traded?”

It would be easy to say yes, but it wouldn’t be the full story and he might as well go in. “In part.”

“Then I think you should tell me the other part.”

Garrett pressed his thumbnail into the groove. “I did go out for drinks for my birthday, but then I also thought I’d treat myself and find?—”

“You hooked up?”

Garrett leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. He took a couple of slow breaths. “Tried to. I turned up at the motel room, got two steps in the door and realized it was…” Despite everything that had happened, it didn’t sit right to name him. “This can't leave this room. I don’t want to be that person who outs someone else.”

“I can’t promise you that, but I’m not going to run to the media.”

That was going to have to do. “It was Coach Harrison. Before I got out the door, his wife barged in and started yelling and accusing us of having an affair and all kinds. I just wanted to get out of there. As soon as I could, I left. I knew everything was gonna go sideways. I just didn’t know how badly.”

Caitlin exhaled.

“If I’d known it was him, I would never have gone. I don’t mess around with married men. Fuck, sorry, I barely mess around at all. It’s too much risk.” He rested his elbows on the table, head in his hands, trying to breathe and not puke.

As soon as Caitlin told Coach Oliveira, he could kiss his ass goodbye.

“I guess the good news is Harrison won’t want word getting out.”

“Yeah, but I have since learned there are rumors about him from back when he coached college football.”

“Right. Let’s leave the dirt digging to me. You don’t talk about him ever. At all. For any reason.”

Garrett looked up. “Understood.”

“Do you plan on coming out any time soon?”

He hadn’t. It was already bad enough, listening to homophobic slurs from the opposition’s fans or the occasional joke in the locker room. Though he didn’t think he’d heard any jokes in the Troopers’ locker room. “I didn’t plan on telling anyone, but a friend saw how much stress it’s causing me and suggested that I tell you.”

Her lips curved. “Chester. You have a bit more in common than your families.”

Did she know they were fucking?

He didn’t want to drop Chester in it. “He’s a good bit smarter than me, so yeah, I asked him for some advice.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t have that conversation while perusing the menu.”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I did not.”

There was silence as she studied him. He saw the wheels turning as she played out different possibilities and the best way to handle this. Because it wasn’t about him, not anymore. It was what was best for the team.

“You either come out first, or you wait for Harrison’s marriage to explode.”

“Yeah, either way I’m fucked. Sorry.” He put his hand over his mouth as if he’d be able to hold back the swearing.

“I have two teenagers. They swear far more than you. I’ve been around football players for fifteen years. The one thing I have seen change is that people now accept that not every player is straight.”

“But it’s still a thing that has to be managed.”

“It does. I’m going to need some time to think about this.”

“Are you going to tell Oliviera?”

“It would’ve been better if you told us straight away, but I can understand why you didn’t. He won’t care who you date.”

“I’m not dating anyone.”

She gave him that little smile as if she was letting the lie slip past. “Okay… but I’m sure you would like to be able to date someone?”

Oh my God, she was referring to Chester.

“I don’t know… I’ve never considered being an out player.” Assuming he was still playing come Monday. Maybe by then he’d be a retired player, because he could guarantee no team would touch a gay player with a scandal hanging out of his pants like used toilet paper.

“I think you need to consider it.”

“I will.”

“Expect another meeting next week.”

Garrett nodded. Then they’d tell him what was going to happen and how it was going to happen, and he’d nod his head and agree if that’s what kept him playing.

Not that he was playing.

He figured his odds of ever dressing for a game had halved again.

“Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“For listening.” For not recoiling in horror. “It felt good to tell someone.”

“How many other people have you told?”

There was no point in lying. “I told Chester last night.”

He saw the flicker of victory in her eyes, as if his admission proved her suspicions correct. “He knows how to play the game.”

“He knows nothing about football.”

“I meant the media game. You need to learn how to play.” She pressed her lips together. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing for you to be seen at Bathtubs.”

“Say nothing, but let people guess?”

“Perhaps. Leave it with me for a couple of days. Don’t do anything.”

Garrett huffed out a breath. “I am not in a rush to do anything.”

This wasn’t what he had planned, but then he hadn’t made any plans. Coming out was always something that would happen in the distant future. Except the distant future had rushed towards him and slammed him to the ground, leaving him gasping for air while trying to assess potential injuries.

On his way back to his room, he texted Chester.

I told her everything.

And the world hadn’t ended. It had done that already. He just hadn’t realized he’d been scrambling around the ruins, trying to put it back together as if nothing had happened. He needed to stop and assess and make a new plan, as the old one no longer worked.

He was brushing his teeth when Chester replied.

I’m proud of you 3

He almost choked on his own spit. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that to him. Or if they ever had.

And he didn’t know how to reply. So he didn’t.