Chapter 13 Rob
ROB
My agent was a good guy and a real pro. We weren’t friends necessarily, but we’d developed a good working relationship over the years.
Bill had a sort of “Leave it to me, kid” paternal vibe that instilled a measure of confidence that he’d have my best interests at heart…
and my bottom line. That trust had paid off in spades.
Thanks to Bill, I’d worked for top-tier organizations and had made a fuckton of dough throughout my career.
I was retired now, though, and my new focus was bagels.
Not something a guy who dealt with commissioners, GMs, and hungry athletes could relate to.
However, I was still his client, and there was no one I trusted more with my coming-out story.
Not that I was going to tell a story. No, thanks. It would be a quick statement. No fanfare whatsoever.
“Well…how do you want to handle it, then?” Bill rasped, his voice gravelly from a few decades worth of heavy smoking.
I stared at the horizon, cradling a warm mug of coffee. “I don’t know. I think we should get through the bake-off first. You’re busy anyway, and—”
“I’m always busy,” he intercepted. “Don’t worry about me. You know…you could incorporate this bake-off thing. I’ll tip People, Sports Illustrated, and drum up some interest in pizza bagels and we’ll casually let the cat outta the bag. Just like bagels come out of the oven, so have you.”
“So in the that scenario, I’m a bagel.”
“It sounded better in my head.”
“Wow, that’s…terrible. Like, really bad.”
Bill snickered. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave the snazzy headlines to PR.”
“Good idea.”
We chuckled softly, each of us no doubt hoping the other would change the subject…pronto.
“Listen, kid. It’s up to you—the timing, the method…as long as you’re the one in control of the narrative. That’s the golden rule.”
“I know.”
“All right.” Bill cleared his throat, a sign he was moving on. “How’s business? They eat a lot of bagels in Northern California?”
“They do, indeed.” I gave him a brief rundown of the store and shared that choosing to open shop in Haverton had paid off. “College students and tourists love their bagels and cream cheese.”
“They probably like that a big-time football player is serving them too.”
“Well, it’s a football town,” I replied neutrally. “One of the owners next door and I played college ball together, which is how the bake-off evolved.”
“Ahh. What’s his name?”
“Mateo Cavaretti. He had a short stint in the pros playing for—”
“Tennessee. No shit. I remember him,” Bill interrupted. “Huh. Good-looking guy, right? Had a rocket for an arm, but he was…a little temperamental.”
“Sounds like Mateo.”
“Hmm. It’s been years and my memory ain’t what it used to be, but I always thought that kid got screwed.”
“What do you mean?”
“He had the wrong representation. People gave up on him too soon. That messes with your head. You start thinkin’ you can’t throw the ball after a rough practice or two, and next thing you know you’re slinging pizza instead of a football. That’s a damn shame. He coulda been somebody.”
“He’s doing well here,” I said defensively.
“That’s nice, but it’s not the NFL or the—hey, I have an idea. We’ll do a piece about Cavaretti too. College teammates on separate paths find themselves back in competition, and—”
“No. This isn’t a personal competition. It’s business, and it’s supposed to be a community event…for fun.”
Bill snorted. “The personal stuff sells the rest. That’s life. Sorry, kid…I got a call on the other line. You know where to reach me. Take care.”
I pulled my earbuds out, frowning as I stared, unseeing, at the Pacific.
Funny that Mateo’s name had never come up in conversation till now. It made sense. He hadn’t made it, and no one talked about those guys. No one wanted anyone’s bad luck to rub off on them. Myself included.
I couldn’t feel bad or guilty. It wasn’t as if Mateo and I had been friends. We’d been teammates whose lives had taken different paths. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to wonder what had happened to him. I’d been consumed with my own worries.
But the years had stripped away layers of defensive pretense and offered perspective.
Maybe Bill was right, and Mateo had been a victim of poor management and terrible timing.
He was a smart man, and to some degree he probably knew the cards hadn’t been stacked in his favor.
No wonder he’d been so angry when I’d shown up.
While I’d played Sunday Night Football, he’d been caring for his ailing father and salvaging the family business.
I could just imagine his reaction to a personal puff piece pitting us against each other.
A pizza competition was one thing, but I wasn’t willing to drag Mateo into my narrative for the sake of entertainment.
I didn’t want to hurt him.
I didn’t want to care too much or get too attached, either. Mateo wasn’t the kind of guy you fell for. No, he was the bad boy you fucked and forgot about. And I was definitely going to do that. But I couldn’t deny that I liked him.
Maybe too much.
“You don’t have to bring wine. Aunt Sylvie has the good stuff shipped from Italy.”
“California Pinots are pretty amazing too.” I held up a bottle. “How about this one?”
Mateo inspected the label and nodded. “Sure.”
“I’ll get flowers, too.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbled. “Total overkill. What are you, trying to date my aunt or something?”
“Very funny.” I slugged his biceps and headed for the registers.
I bought the wine and an autumn bouquet much to Mateo’s dismay, and followed him to my SUV, checking my reflection in the driver’s side window to be sure my shirt wasn’t wrinkled.
“You look very nice, dream boy.” He smirked and waggled his brows. “Now open the door, and let’s get this over with.”
I slid behind the steering wheel and dropped the wine and flowers on Mateo’s lap. “How many people will be there?”
“I don’t know. Thirty…more or less.”
“Thirty? For dinner? Shit. I have to get more wine.”
Mateo grabbed my sleeve and shook his head.
“No, you don’t. Hey, this is family, Rob.
They’re easy. I mean…mostly. They’ll ask a lot of nosy questions, but it’s harmless.
For you, anyway. They think I’m lusting after you, remember?
And they’re not wrong. You really do look pretty damn hot.
I’m itching to mess up your hair and rip the buttons off that shirt. ”
“Please don’t. It took a lot of product to get my hair to cooperate.”
He chuckled lightly. “Don’t be nervous. I won’t feed you to the wolves. I promise.”
“I know. I just…feel like I’m lying to them.”
Mateo’s expression softened. “It’s not lying. It’s called not sharing something that’s no one’s business. Including my family’s.”
“Maybe so, but I need to plan my coming-out statement and just do it.” I fitted the key into the ignition and continued. “I talked to my agent about it today.”
“And?”
I twisted to face him. “He wants to know how I want to handle things, and I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“You’re nervous.”
“Yeah.”
“I get it. It’s scary. I lost a lot of sleep over coming out to my family and in the end, it was anticlimactic.”
“How so?”
Mateo shrugged. “It was a Sunday dinner, and my mom or my aunt had some new girl they wanted me to meet. Every freaking Sunday for years…same story. It felt like we’d just buried my dad and, I dunno…
I guess the dam burst. I got so angry and frustrated, and I yelled, ‘Leave me alone! I’m gay! ’ or something like that.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “I’d held that truth for so long and I couldn’t do it any longer.
And get this…after years and years of heartache, stomachaches, and seriously dark thoughts, they cheered for me.
Honest to God, they stood up and clapped.
My mom and aunt hugged me, and my cousin Lucia wanted to set me up with a doctor in her practice. ”
“They’re good people.”
“They are. I expected fireworks and got acceptance instead. I’m grateful for it, but they all know I chickened out.”
“How so?”
“My dad was gone. So was Uncle Sal. And I’ve always struggled with it. I’ll never get that chance again.”
“You regret not telling him?”
Mateo blew his cheeks out and shook his head.
“Yeah, but that’s easy to say now. At the time…
I wasn’t ready. No way. The thought of my dad finding out made me sick to my stomach.
Never mind me actually telling him I was gay.
Sounds crazy, huh? A grown adult, shaking in his shoes at what his father might say. Look at me. I’m sweating now.”
He pointed at his forehead with a laugh, and he wasn’t kidding.
“Would he have reacted badly?”
“I think it would have been explosive. A huge drama. I think I would have felt unwelcome and I might have left home. And if any of that had happened, I wouldn’t have been here for him when he needed me.
I wouldn’t have been here for my mom either and the rest of the family.
But we’ll never know.” Mateo sat pensively for a moment.
“I did what I had to do, but it eats at me…still. And that’s something I have to live with. ”
I reached across the console and squeezed his hand. “You’re hard on yourself.”
Mateo let out a huff of agreement and absently linked our pinkies. “Maybe. It doesn’t do me any good. Can’t live in the past, right?”
“Right.”
He released my hand and shifted in his seat. “Do what’s good for you. If it makes it any easier, just know that you’d have a ton of support in town.”
“Thank you,” I said, touched by his earnest expression.
“Mmhmm. You won’t thank me if my mom tries to set you up with me. Speaking of which, let’s get this show on the road. You’ve got a boatload of puttanesca waiting for you.”