Twenty-Nine #2
Fighting to contain his smile, he turned back to the interviewer and raised his brows with an attempt at faux solemnity like he was ready for the next question.
“Wow,” the man said, the crowd barely quieting. “Congratulations. Although, I must ask for those who perhaps saw you and Matteo play at the US Open, whether this has just been since then, or . . .?”
Leaving the question hanging, he held out the microphone. “No, since before that,” Miles said, giving his one-shouldered shrug and a wry smile. “It was a difficult match for us both and I imagine that’ll be true any time we play. But I love him and he loves me, so we make it work.”
I hadn’t thought it possible for the crowd to get louder.
“Well, I don’t think anyone wants me to ask more questions about the match after that,” the interviewer said with a laugh, all but shouting into the microphone. “So, I’ll just say congratulations again, and uh, Miles Callahan, ladies and gentlemen, through to the fourth round!”
Miles raised his hands, smiling broadly as the cheers rolled on like a storm.
And having acknowledged the support, he abandoned his bags to jog across the court toward me.
I was out of my seat in an instant, leaning over the edge of the player’s box to watch him swim through the press pool before climbing their bleachers like stairs.
Stomping and shouting added to the thunder around us as he reached the top, and there over the metal wall surrounding the court, we were almost of a height. He took my hands.
“Hey, you,” he said, his smile lighting my world. And as the noise in the stadium rose to a deafening roar, he stretched up to kiss me softly.
We were swimming in noise and every camera would be on us, but nothing mattered except for him. Nothing but the press of his lips against mine as our kiss lingered lovingly for all to see.
When he pulled slowly away, phone lights were waving all around us and somehow the crowd had gotten even louder.
“How long have you been planning that?” I asked, smiling so wide my cheeks were aching.
He gave one of his half shrugs, still holding my hands.
“Since I first asked you to sit in my box at Wimbledon. I knew I couldn’t do it then.
But now . . .” Miles glanced over his shoulder at the big screen – he and I up there together, larger than life.
And though everyone could see us, I was glad that when he said, “I love you, Matteo,” the words were just for me.
Before I could reply in kind, he kissed me again; a quick peck before he reluctantly let go of my hands and climbed back down onto the court.
Waving and grinning to the crowd, his cheeks a little pink, he jogged back to his bags.
He needed to clear the court for the match that was to follow, although how anyone could follow such a show was unclear.
“Mat?” I turned to find Tina at my side, smile stretching ear to ear.
She gestured to the rest of Miles’s team, all flicking grins at me as they made their way out of the box.
At some point, I’d entirely forgotten I wasn’t alone.
“Come on,” she said. “We’re heading down.
And I’m very sure it’s not us he wants to see. ”
“Right, yeah,” I said, and followed her up through the crowd toward the stairs in a daze.
People went on cheering and calling out to me, and everywhere I looked phones were raised, capturing this moment in endless snippets sure to already be on social media.
I realised then with a thrill bordering on panic that there was no going back now. Soon, the whole world would know.
As we headed down into the bowels of the stadium, the thunder of the crowd seemed hardly to abate. Cam and Marcel were laughing quietly together as they led the way, while beside me, Tina had pulled out her phone.
“No one,” she announced, “is talking about anything else. I mean, look at that!” She held up her phone, and there was a picture she’d snapped of Miles and I, our heads close over the court wall, looking into each other’s eyes and grinning like idiots – or like two men who utterly adored each other and could finally show it.
“This one of them kissing is better,” Jada said, holding up her own phone to show a photo captured mere moments earlier, Miles and I mid-kiss. My chest constricted at the sight of it, a combination of joy and terror.
“That one might make the front page of more than a few newspapers,” Tina agreed.
And as she spoke, realisation dawned. “You knew he was going to do it.” I looked at each of his team as they slowed to laugh at me. “You all knew!”
“Yup.”
“Sure did.”
“Of course we knew!” Tina patted my arm. “He told me he was going to do it during the tournament before he even flew out here.”
“Before he flew out here?”
She laughed and went back to scrolling through her phone, leaving me stunned by just how wild it felt to be the centre of Miles Callahan’s perfectly planned-out world.
At the bottom of the stairs, the main corridor was bustling with tournament staff.
Many stopped to clap as we passed, while the two players from the women’s draw waiting to take the court called out congratulations.
One followed with a wolf whistle and gave me a thumbs up, so it was with heating cheeks that I reached the locker room.
Miles’s team were ahead of me, but at the door, Marcel touched Cam’s arm and tilted his head my way. “Let’s give them two minutes, huh?”
So, I walked alone into the locker room to find Miles towelling some of the sweat from his hair, not long having set down his bags. “Oh, hi,” he said, grin spreading.
“Oh, hi? You rotten, monstrous, rotten monster!” I shoved him against the bank of lockers and pressed against him, capturing his mouth in a hard kiss.
And as I did, I couldn’t but think of how close he had stood in the locker room at the French Open, glaring down at me as I called him a coward.
I ought to have regretted my unkindness, but how could I when it had led us here?
When he loved me and was mine and now the whole world knew.
“Rotten monster, huh?” he murmured against my lips as we paused for breath. “Do you kiss all rotten monsters like this?”
“You could have warned me!”
“I could have, but that wouldn’t have been as fun, would it? Also, it would have been very embarrassing if I’d then lost and couldn’t do it.” A hint of worry flickered in his eyes. “You don’t really mind, do you?”
I pulled back to look at him. “What? No! God, no. It was amazing, I’m just still in shock.”
With a pleased hum, he leant in for another kiss and slid his hands down my back. “It’s nice to know I can surprise you too.”
“You always surprise me.”
Laughing voices passed outside the door, and as my heart jolted with the panicked instinct to pull away and hide, I realised we didn’t have to. The relief was like a dropped weight and I sagged against him, unexpected emotion dampening the corners of my eyes.
“We’re safe,” Miles said softly, cupping my face. “We’re good. I promised I would take better care of you, didn’t I? It just took me awhile to figure it out.”
“Is everything going to be all right, though?” I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat. “With your parents and sponsors and everything.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be the sponsor who dropped me after that, or the parents who sued their son after that, but it’s all still up in the air. I’m just choosing us and letting the rest fall where it may.”
“Fuck, I love you.”
His smile stretched, so fond, and he trailed the backs of his fingers down my cheek. “I love you, too.”
Footsteps halted in the doorway, and in an echo from Roland Garros, there was a member of Miles’s team come to call him away.
Not Tarelli this time, eying me suspiciously, but Cam Michaels running his ponytail through his hand and trying not to grin.
“You did good,” he said. “But don’t forget you played a whole match out there, right?
We’d better get on with your cool-down, before the press eat you alive. ”
“Yeah, I’m coming. I was going to ask if you wanted to stay and do press together,” Miles added to me as he stepped away to pick up his towel. “But I actually think I should take the heat on my own.”
“I can come if you want,” I said.
He shook his head. “Let me be The Gay Player this time. It’s my turn.” He kissed my forehead. “Why don’t you escape back to the hotel and I’ll be there as soon as I can?”
“As long as you’re sure.”
“Very sure. I want them to ask me the questions.”
Katie Zhang
MAT! THAT WAS SO SWEET!
God, he really nailed that whole thing, didn’t he?
Wait! Did you know he was going to do it, too?
Of course! I told you he messaged me the other week, didn’t I?
The look on your face was priceless
I had NO idea he planned to come out at all let alone on the biggest possible stage
Pretty sure that was the point
Now I know you hate looking at social media, but you NEED to see what people are saying! Look!
WHILE I MADE my way back to the hotel, Katie sent me screenshot after screenshot of people reacting to Miles’s admission, or photos of our kiss.
omg they are just the best? someone had written.
Another had said, This is what professional sport needs, more of this please!
#MatAndMiles. Others had spammed heart-eye emojis, announced they would die for us, or claimed to have suddenly discovered an interest in tennis.
Another longer post said, Yaasss Matteeooo!
This man has carried gay rep in sports on his fucking shoulders for years.
He’s an utter legend and deserves every moment of this.
BUT if Miles Callahan breaks his heart I will go to war!
I laughed and forwarded that picture to Miles before scanning through the rest Katie had sent, only to be sorry when she stopped sending more.
Thanks, wow. I don’t know what to say to any of that