Chapter 43 Archangel
FORTY-THREE
ARCHANGEL
He can’t see it, but I’m breaking. I want to burn the city down every time he leaves with one of his abusers.
He cut his mom off when he was kicked out, but I can’t figure out why he’s kept his father in his life.
I know who he is, and it’s helped the team out a lot, but I’d trade all the convenience for him to be free of that asshole.
I watch him drive off, and I’m going to be sick.
Seaborn puts an arm around me. “I hate it too.”
“I can’t breathe.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I’ll drive you back to the apartment.”
I’d usually not let anyone else drive my car when I’m in it, but I willingly get in the passenger seat because my hands are shaking so bad I’m not sure I could work the stick.
“I want to kill that motherfucker,” Seaborn says as we get in the car.
“Me too.”
“Why does he go with him?” he asks, shaking his head.
“To protect me.”
Seaborn stares at me so long, he misses the light changing, and he gets honked at. “Fuck.” He goes and is the only car that gets through the light. “Has it always been about protecting you?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.” I don’t know if I’d be able to live with myself.
“You can’t control what he does. He gets to decide what kind of relationship he has with his parents. Good or bad.”
“I know, but I still hate it.”
“Are you going to go with him?” Seaborn parks, and we get out of the car.
“I don’t know.”
He does a double-take. “What would stop you?”
“What if he’s drafted by one of those boy’s club teams? You think it’s good if I go while he’s fitting into that?”
“Listen, I know I’m the last person to give you good advice since I will end up on a different team than the guy I’m seeing and it will probably end very poorly, but yeah, I think you should go. If Ktytor and I had a chance to end up in the same place, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”
“I don’t want a team to ice him out because of me.” I open the door. “What are you going to do?”
“Catch up on homework. You?”
“Same. Can I hang out with you?”
“You know you can always hang out with me.”
An hour into studying, I find out Seaborn has never seen Drag Race, so I put it on in the background, and we laugh.
“After you all are drafted and sign your little contracts, we are going to a drag show. I can’t believe neither of you has been.”
“I’m down. I’m sure Ktytor will be, too.”
The front door opens, and I start picking up my stuff.
Seaborn laughs. “Don’t be stupid.”
I flip him off and dump my books in my room before turning to the stairs.
He stands at the top of them, waiting for me. I wait to see what he does. When he realizes I’m not moving, he walks over to me, picks me up, and carries me to his room.
“That’s one way of doing it, I guess.”
He grunts and lays down, wrapping us both in his comforter. He presses his face into my neck. I stroke my fingers through his hair and hate this. It makes me so angry that his father can do this to him. I can’t stand being so helpless in it.
It takes a while, but he starts to explain how it went. What was said. I let him talk, only asking questions when I need to.
It’s like a knife to my chest hearing how his father and agent echoed my concerns. I don’t want to agree with that dickbag.
“I can’t believe he’s talking to your agent.”
“I know. I think I need a new one.”
“Can you do that this late?”
He shrugs.
“And isn’t she one of the best ones?”
“I don’t give a fuck.” He growls. “I can’t trust her.”
“What if you get drafted to one of those teams?”
“We’ll deal with it. Will you want to stay in the closet?” He pulls back enough to look at me now. His eyes are red-rimmed.
I’ve been out for fucking ever. I can’t believe that’s even an option. I swore I’d never hide myself again. Could I do a secret relationship?
“Would you want to be out with a team like that?”
“I told you I’m not hiding.”
“But this isn’t what you signed up for. You can back out. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You think I’m just going to leave my best friend behind for any of that?”
“This is more than best friend stuff, and you know it, Atticus.”
“And you’re fucking using my fucking birth name, Wilder.”
I make a face. “It felt right in the moment to get my point across.”
“It’s gross. I don’t identify with it, and that dickbag picked it.”
“Your dad?”
He wrinkles his nose. “No, my mom.”
“You can change it.”
“I just want to be Wolfe.”
“You’re not Prince. You can’t have just one name.”
“No, I’m Wolfe.” He’s got a point. “And why not?”
I don’t really have an argument. “So then what?”
“We don’t hide.” This mother fucker says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“And what if you get hurt again? I won’t be on the bench, and I’m not your next of kin. I won’t have a team. What am I going to do, just move to a random city? How will that even be?”
“We’ll change it. You’ll be on everything, and he won’t be. If the team doesn’t accept it, I’ll marry you so they’ll have to. And you can do whatever you want. Work, don’t work. You don’t need the money. Be a WAG if you want to.”
“I’d be a fucking good WAG.”
“I believe that,” he laughs.
“Wait, did you say you’ll marry me?”
“I did tell our uncle I’d be getting down on my knee soon.” The way Wolfe says our makes me raise a brow.
“Don’t joke about that! It’s serious, and I’m really starting to think you’ll propose before you get down on your knees for any other reason.”
He grins, and that makes it worse.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. He kind of apologized, like in his own way, and then you will not believe this part. He said he doesn’t care if I’m gay, he just doesn’t want me to ruin my chances.” Wolfe looks like he doesn’t believe it himself.
“Really? I was so sure he was a homophobe.”
“That’s what I’m saying! I was sure.”
“And he apologized? Or like blamed you.”
“No, he actually said he made mistakes. It was real weird.” Wolfe shudders.
“Ew, don’t make me consider forgiving an abusive cop.” I make a face.
“I would never suggest that. Especially my dad.” He shudders and buries his face in my neck.
I hug him to me, not sure what the right answer for any of this is.
How much more can we take?
The week decides to throw more shit at us when, on the morning we’re leaving for the semifinals, we walk into the bodega to find a picture of us from Pride Night on the front of a tabloid.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Did the universe really have to do all this the same week? This is homophobia.”
“When it rains, it snowballs.” He picks up the magazine to read it.
“Don’t read it.”
“Maybe no one will even notice?” he says, tossing down the tabloid with the very obvious picture of us and the headline “TOP DRAFT PICK AND BOYFRIEND MAKE OUT ON ICE RINK”.
“The guys don’t read this kind of shit. It’s fine.” Wolfe shoves the paper back into the rack.
“It’s our faces on a magazine, probably everywhere in the fucking city.”
He can’t really think this will be nothing?
He puts his hand over my mouth. “You’ve done enough doubting and cursing us. Positive thoughts.”
“I’m a fucking pessimist.”
“Shhhhhh. I can’t hear you over visualizing myself winning.”
“Have you been listening to weird self-help books again?”
“Visualizing is science!”
“What are we going to say to the guys?”
He points at me. “Shut the fuck up. Nothing is ruining my day.”
Everyone is looking at us when we get on the team plane.