Chapter 21
The Pasty Ass Incident
Gavin
The locker room smells like it always does, sweat, grass, and whatever the fuck they use to clean the floors that never actually cleans anything. I'm pulling off my practice jersey when Bradley starts up.
"Swear to god, this team's getting gayer by the day." He's laughing like it's the funniest shit he's ever said, slapping his thigh for emphasis. "Next thing you know, they'll be installing rainbow lockers and making us sing show tunes in the shower."
A few guys chuckle, but it's... off. Wrong. Like when someone drops a massive fart in an elevator, and everyone's pretending they can't smell it while slowly dying inside. The laughter dies quickly, leaving this weird, uncomfortable silence that feels heavy.
I look around the room, really look. Body language tells stories people don't even know they're writing. Devin's jaw is clamped so tight I'm surprised his molars haven't cracked. His shoulders are rigid, the way they get right before he explodes on someone during practice.
Omar's aggressively untying his cleats, yanking at the laces like they personally offended him, his usual easy smile nowhere to be found.
Even Wyatt, who usually laughs at everything from bad dad jokes to guys eating shit on the practice field, is staring at his locker like it holds the fucking secrets of the universe.
Huh. Not just me who's tired of this shit.
The realization hits me in a way I didn't see coming. All this time, I thought I was the only one cringing when Bradley opened his mouth, the only one who wanted to tell him to shut the hell up.
But looking around this room, seeing the tension in everyone's shoulders, the way conversations just... stop when he starts talking, turns out I'm not alone.
"Cool it with that shit, Bradley." My voice comes out calmer than I feel.
Bradley turns, eyebrows raised. "What? It's just locker room talk, man. Unless..." His face twists into an ugly sneer. "Oh shit, are you one of them? A fucking fairy?"
The word hits different now. Used to slide right off, background noise in a lifetime of casual homophobia. Now it sticks to my skin like tar.
"When did this team get so PC?" Bradley's on a roll now. "Can't say shit anymore without someone crying about their feelings. Fags everywhere, ruining football—"
He doesn't get to finish that sentence.
Devin's got him backed against the lockers so fast I barely register the movement, one second he's across the room untying his cleats, the next he's got Bradley pinned with his forearm across his throat.
The metallic clang of Bradley's back hitting the locker echoes through the suddenly silent room.
"Say that shit again," Devin's voice is deadly quiet, nothing like his usual easy-going drawl. "I fucking dare you."
Omar and Wyatt materialize behind Devin like the world's largest, most intimidating backup dancers. Omar's still holding one cleat in his hand, knuckles white around the laces. Wyatt's cracking his knuckles with deliberate slowness, the sound sharp as gunshots in the tense air.
The nervous laughter from before? Gone. Dead silence except for Bradley's ragged breathing and the distant sound of showers running in the next room.
Even the guys who were minding their own business have stopped what they're doing, towels frozen halfway to lockers, deodorant cans suspended mid-spray.
Nobody's laughing now.
"Whoa, whoa!" Jamal's voice cuts through the tension like a blade as he shoulders his way between bodies. He gets everyone's attention right away. The quarterback's got that captain authority in full effect, the kind that makes grown men twice his size step back and listen.
"Everyone, calm the fuck down before this turns into bullshit that gets us all benched."
He positions himself squarely between Devin and Bradley, one hand pressed firmly against Devin's chest, the other held up in warning toward anyone thinking about escalating this further.
The muscle in his jaw twitches. Jamal looks pissed as fuck, but he's in captain mode now.
"I'm just saying," Bradley tries, but his voice wavers. "Gays in the showers—"
"Get the fuck over yourself," Wyatt cuts him off. "Gavin's got eyes for one twinky geek, not your pasty white ass."
Wait. What?
I laugh, which, okay, probably not appropriate right now, but I'm kinda shocked. My teammates… they're... defending me?
Fuck. I lumped them all in with the assholes. That's not right.
"This is bullshit," Bradley spits. "Fairies on football teams—"
Devin's fist hits the wall beside Bradley's head. The crack echoes through the locker room.
"Enough!” Jamal physically hauls Devin back. Then turns on Bradley with the look that makes freshmen piss themselves. "You want me calling Coach? The Dean of Athletics? Explain how you're creating a hostile environment with conduct unbecoming?"
Bradley goes pale.
"That's what I thought." Jamal's not done. "You need this team. You need that scholarship. Way more than we need your mediocre ass catching balls."
"Barely catching them," someone mutters. Might be Mark.
Omar leans in close to Bradley. "So here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna sit down, shut the fuck up, and keep your bigoted fucking nonsense out of our locker room. Got it?"
Bradley nods, his throat visibly working up and down.
"Good talk." Omar straightens up, casual as anything. "Anyone wanna hit that new Mexican place after this?"
Just like that, the tension breaks. The weird energy that had everyone wound up just fades away into a nice normal, locker room level. Guys go back to changing, peeling off practice jerseys and shoulder pads like they didn't just collectively threaten someone for me.
The casual chatter picks back up, weekend plans, assignments due Monday, and whether Coach is gonna run suicide drills tomorrow.
It's surreal. Five minutes ago, I thought I might lose my team, and now Wyatt's asking if anyone wants to study for the sports psych exam while Omar debates the merits of carnitas versus barbacoa.
As they filter out, I get shoulder pats, fist bumps, even a hair ruffle from Devin that leaves my already-messy hair sticking up at weird angles. "You good, big guy?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
Devin grins, that trademark smile that gets him out of trouble with coaches and professors alike. "Course, man. Besides, anyone who can make Sebastian Moretti smile like that? You're doing God's work. Little dude is straight up scary."
Les claps me on the shoulder as he passes. "Team's team, Robins. Don't matter who you're taking to dinner."
"Fuck that guy," he says simply. "Team's a team, but dude, that shit was just wrong."
Jamal lingers after everyone else leaves. "You okay? For real?"
"I'm good." And weirdly, I am. "Didn't expect... that."
"Bradley's an ass. Has been since freshman year." Jamal shifts his weight. "And for what it's worth? Your guy seems cool. Haru mentioned they are roommates."
My guy. Like it's just... normal.
"Thanks, Cap."
"No need." He heads for the door, pauses. "Team's got your back, G. Always."
Then I'm alone in the locker room, trying to process what just happened.
Guess the guys meant it when they said they didn't care who I was dating. They actually threw down for me. Called Doc my twinky geek, accurate, and joked about me not wanting Bradley's pasty ass. I actually shudder at the thought.
Like it's just... normal. Like I'm still just Gavin, their defensive end who happens to be into a pre-med guy instead of a sorority girl."
I walk out of the stadium in a daze, letting my feet carry me wherever. End up at the quad, same bench where Sylas gave me advice earlier.
The word Bradley used keeps echoing. Fairy. Fag. Same words Dad uses when he's ranting at the TV. When a celebrity comes out. When that NHL player announced he had a boyfriend last year.
Fuck, I'd forgotten about that. No, not forgotten. Buried it.
Dad had been watching the press conference, a few beers in, getting louder with each word. "Fucking disgusting. Ruining the sport. Someone should teach that fairy what happens when you shove that shit in people's faces."
The violence that had poured out of him that night, dripping with disgust and barely contained rage. The way his fists had clenched around his beer bottle like he was imagining someone's throat.
How his knuckles had gone white with the force of it, like the very idea of gay people existing was a personal insult he wanted to beat out of the world.
And Troy… Jesus, Troy had agreed so fucking quickly, practically tripping over himself to echo Dad's hatred. No hesitation, no pause to think it through. Just instant, eager agreement, like he'd been waiting his whole life for permission to say those things out loud.
Lately, too many people out there seem to think they have permission to say the horrible things they think out loud.
Back then, I'd made some excuse about studying the team's playbook and escaped to my room. But not before Troy called me a pussy for not wanting to hear "the truth about those people."
Those people.
I'm those people now.
The thought should scare me more than it does. Should make me want to run back to Doc and call this whole thing off. Save us both the inevitable shitshow when my family finds out.
But...
My teammates had my back. Didn't even hesitate. Devin nearly punched through a wall for me. Wyatt made jokes to diffuse the tension. Jamal threatened Bradley's whole future without blinking.
And my Doc...
Fuck. The way he smiles when he thinks I'm not looking, this soft, open look that makes my chest do these dumb twists. How his entire face changes when he talks about medicine, like he's discussing magic instead of cardiovascular systems.
The way his voice gets all excited and lively, hands moving as he explains some complex procedure, I pretend not to understand even though I follow every word. And that little breathy sound he makes when I find that perfect spot on his neck, right where his pulse hammers against my lips.
I'm falling for him.
Like, properly fucking falling. This is the kind of falling where you crash hard and either shatter into pieces or figure out how to fly. The kind that changes everything about who you thought you were.
The kind that makes you willing to face down your own teammates' homophobia. Makes you want to text him stupid things just to see him get flustered.
"Well, shit," I say. A couple of students walking past give me weird looks, but I don't care.
I'm in love with Sebastian Moretti, and it's terrifying and great and completely fucked up all at once.
My phone buzzes. Text from
Twink Doc
Interview prep didn't go great, but I want to say sorry for being weird. Can we talk later?
Me
Always,
I type back. Then add:
Me
Your twinky ass is worth fighting for, btw
Twink Doc
...what?
Me
Tell you later. But my team thinks you're hot
Twink Doc
YOUR TEAM SAID WHAT ABOUT MY ASS?!
Me
I'll tell you later, kinda funny. You free tonight?
Twink Doc
After 7. Panicking now thanks
Me
Don't panic. They approve. Especially of your ass
Twink Doc
GAVIN
I'm grinning at my phone like an idiot. Yeah, I'm falling hard. And yeah, my family's going to lose their collective shit. Dad will actually disown me. Troy will definitely try to kick my ass.
But right now, I've got teammates who'll threaten bigots for me, and a gorgeous future doctor who gets flustered when I compliment his ass.
Could be worse.
My phone buzzes again
Twink Doc
For the record, your ass is better
Yup, I'm definitely falling.