Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
HENDRIX AVERY
“How . . .” I stare unblinkingly at the piece of paper in my hands, frozen in shock. “How did this happen?”
Beside me, Micah jumps to attention. He points wildly over the page while explaining everything he has learned this season. “Oh! I know this one! Okay, so. Skittles and M&Ms, remember? You guys were the number six ranked Skittle, then you beat the third. Then , you beat the first Skittle. Apparently, you guys weren’t supposed to win, but you did. Big scandal. In the Skittles championship game, you played the number two Skittle—see, ’cause they beat the number four and seven before that. You guys won the Skittle championship, so now you’re going to the Super Bowl to play the number one M&M. Yay! Good job!”
I collapse backward onto Micah’s bed, covering my face with my hands and groaning. The completed playoff bracket in my hand crinkles as I mistreat it. “Micah, I know how the schedule works. I mean, how could this happen? Us versus the Treasures . . . in the Super Bowl.”
“Well, the Treasures were the number one M&M, so it was kind of—” He breaks off as I cast him a sideways glare and nervously taps his bloodred fingernails—the same shade as his shaggy hair—together. “. . . expected.”
“I can’t do this,” I whine pitifully.
Micah scoots closer, patting my knee in an attempt to comfort me. Yesterday, my team won—as Micah put it—the Skittle championship, and the Treasures won theirs. That put both LA teams in the Super Bowl together. I hadn’t believed it, so I’d filled out an empty playoff bracket to be sure. I needed to see it, and now that I have . . .
Last night, Tahegin slept at his house, and I stayed at the middle house. I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him, but I’m also not sure how to face him. We thought we were done going head-to-head, at least until next season. The relief off our shoulders after the last game against each other in November was enormous. And now, the stress has returned tenfold.
My relationship with Tahegin has been amazing with that stress gone. After resting his hamstring during the Treasures’ bye week, Tahegin returned to the line and kicked ass, helping to earn his team the top spot in the playoffs. We continued switching off houses, staying together when we could. When Willow’s birthday came around, I wrote her a second princess book to go with the first, even adding some helpful pictures instructing how to sign words she might not know yet. I spent Christmas morning with Micah’s family, as usual, but I ended the day exchanging gifts with Tahegin under the giant tree in his living room, junk food wrappers scattered around us as we realized neither of us had bought any groceries to cook with and all nearby restaurants were closed. On New Year’s, we attended Aleks’ inclusive party at his house, then left to celebrate our official one-year anniversary where it all began—in the back of his truck in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour burger joint. It was perfect for us.
When January came around, it was all football, all the time, so our communication has suffered slightly. We still make time to video chat at away games and call at least once a day, though.
“Hey,” Micah coos, patting my knee. “It’s okay, buddy. You guys already played two games this year. What’s one more? It can be practice for next year.”
“The Super Bowl is not practice , Micah.”
“What’s the big deal? You guys can’t have friendly competition in your relationship?”
“It’s not just that.” I stare at the ceiling above me without really seeing it. “Tahegin and I are almost always going to be matched up—as in, he is the one running with me when I go after the ball,” I tack on when I realize Micah probably doesn’t know what a matchup is. “But I am one of the only people who knows exactly where Tahegin’s hamstring twinges, how his range of motion is affected, and what move always has it acting up. How do I use that information? Do I play less aggressively to keep my boyfriend uninjured? Or do I play to exploit my opponent’s weakness? He could have a career-ending injury when we play, and I would always feel responsible.”
Micah whispers a quiet “Oh.”
“I’ve seen their playbook,” I confess. “I know their routes and the way they line up. I could use that knowledge to run where I know there will be a gap. It’s an unfair advantage.”
“I see?—”
“What if Tahegin has so many interceptions that he only needs one more to break a record? Am I supposed to ignore that? Or do I give it to him?”
“Um—”
“Or—”
“I get it!” Micah cuts me off with a shout. He waves his hands in the air as if to wash away my negativity. “I understand where you’re coming from, but you and Tahegin are going to have to work this out before the game, which is in two weeks . You need to nut up and talk to him.”
Did Micah—my sweet, flamboyantly gay best friend—just tell me to “nut up”? “Dude, when did you grow a pair?”
He lets out a dramatic gasp, feigning hurt with one fake-nail-tipped hand clutching an imaginary set of pearls on his chest. “How dare you? I will have you know, Zeke has introduced me to a whole dictionary of words and phrases.”
“Oh, has he?” I roll my eyes, but internally, I’m happy that my friend and his man have gotten closer, though I’m still not sure how serious they are or if Micah has told Aleks about his . . . extracurriculars.
“The man makes way too many ‘ass over tits’ jokes,” he insists.
I laugh because— “That is a little on the nose for you, isn’t it?”
Micah makes a face at me. “Ha ha. Very funny. It’s an honest living, okay?”
My gaze circles the room, tracking every needlessly extravagant piece of furniture. “Uh-huh.”
“It’s good for the economy!”
Raising my hands in surrender, I grin at my best friend and the ridiculous floor-length silk robe he is wearing. “I’m sorry I woke you,” I apologize, sobering up. “I know you probably had a late night.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He waves me off. “I’m always here for you, Rix. No matter what.”
I hold my hand out for a fist bump. “Love you, bro.”
It’s the first time I have ever said those words to him, and I immediately regret it because he squeals and attacks me in a giant hug. I’m stuck with a twink-sized koala attached to my torso until my phone begins to ring.
It’s Tahegin. Wondering when I will be home.
? ? ?
I am complete and utter chicken shit.
I’ve avoided talking to Tahegin about our game, and now it is only hours away. These past two weeks, we have shared the middle house every night, living like domesticated partners. I have learned so much about Tahegin these last few months—enough to know I want to keep doing this. Living with him, here or at his house or wherever. His contract is up for review at the end of the season, and mine will be up next year, so who knows where life is going to take us? All I know is I want to be with Tahegin wherever we end up.
Messy habits and all.
Tripping over a pair of abandoned shoes in the hallway, I roll my eyes to myself as I toe them closer to the wall, out of the flow of foot traffic. I cross the living room, ignoring the pile of clean laundry on the recliner—this man has been so spoiled his entire life with housekeepers he struggles to pick up after himself without them—and follow the amazing smell of breakfast leading to the kitchen.
Tahegin is standing at the stove, cooking something. Pots, pans, utensils, and various food items litter the counter all around him. My lips twitch into a small smile because the clutter means Tahegin is here with me. The days I wake up to a clean kitchen are the days I know I will miss him the most.
I eye Tahegin’s ass covered only by a pair of thigh-hugging boxers and can’t help but give him a good slap on a cheek, gripping it tight. “Mm,” I hum in his ear. “Have I ever told you how much I love waking up to you cooking breakfast practically naked?”
Chuckling, he turns his head to kiss me. “Nope. You’re usually too busy sleeping, and I have to wake you up with breakfast in bed.”
“Love that, too,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his bare torso. My chin settles on his shoulder, and Tahegin widens his stance just a bit to lower it to a more comfortable height for me. “What are you making?”
“Your favorite,” he replies in a smug voice.
“No shit?” I peek over his shoulder, spotting the wheat-grain toast, hummus, avocado, roasted vegetables, and feta cheese. Scrambled eggs fill the pan in front of him. If he keeps to his usual regimen, there are two smoothies full of protein and vitamins waiting for us in the refrigerator. “That’s it. We’re going to the courthouse first thing tomorrow.” The words just . . . slip out.
Tahegin startles, the spatula in his hand catching air before crashing to the tile at our feet. I pull away from him and use the action of picking up the dropped utensil to hide the blush warming my face. He clears his throat as I deposit the spatula in the sink. “What . . . What did you mean by that?” he asks softly.
Pausing at the sink, I brace my hands on the counter to ground myself. The fluttering in my gut makes it feel as if I might float away without an anchor. “Um, you know,” I mutter into the sink. “It’s just a thing people say.”
“But what does it mean when you say it?”
I laugh nervously, barely breathing. “T, don’t make me say it.”
“You already said it. I’m just asking for clarification, and— Rix, will you look at me?” His hand lands on my shoulder, and he carefully urges me to face him. I turn, staring at our bare feet to avoid meeting his gaze. Of course, he can’t have that, and he stoops to catch my eye. “Hey.” He brushes a thumb across my burning cheek. “You’re cute when you blush.”
“Tahegin,” I groan, exasperated and embarrassed.
He points to his chin, then his chest, signing, “ Tell me. ”
Not fair.
I respond in kind, letting my hands say what my voice is too scared to. “ It’s too soon. I know that. But I can see myself being with you forever, in any way you will have me. If that means marriage or domestic partnership, I am here for it. ”
“You’re such a sap,” he teases, punching my shoulder playfully.
“Asshole,” I grumble.
“You love me.”
“Mhm,” I hum, accepting the lingering kiss he presses to my lips. “And you love me.”
He chuckles as he moves to divvy up our breakfast. All my favorites fill the plates, each one perking me up that much more despite the early hour. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” he says as he carries the plates to the two-seater bar.
Stopping at the fridge to grab the smoothies on my way, I join him at the table. “Should I be nervous?”
“No, no. Sit. Eat.” He waits until we’re both settled down to eat before continuing. “Basically, it’s an extension of what you said—or, signed, rather.”
“Okay . . .”
He takes a bite of toast, then washes it back with a gulp of green smoothie, stalling. “I . . . I’m tired of hiding.”
Oh.
“You outed yourself to Mathis. Do you ever see yourself, maybe, coming out to the public? Not a press announcement,” he quickly clarifies when he sees my look of horror. “Just out of the closet , you know? Being seen with-with me. As boyfriends.”
“What about the league?”
“Maybe we can get ahead of it. We make our relationship known on our own terms during the summer. That gives everyone a few months to get used to it.” Tahegin captures my hand, his sapphire blues open and vulnerable. “I want to get a house—together. No more of this ‘your place or mine.’ I want to come home to you every day. It’s not too soon, I don’t think. Not with the way I feel about you.”
I stare at him, searching for any doubt and finding none. He’s all in, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to be right there with him. Ride or die.
I give him my biggest grin, for once not worrying if he’ll be put off by my slightly crooked teeth because I trust that he’ll see it the same way I see his shoes on the floor, his laundry on the chair, and the dishes cluttering the kitchen counter.
“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s do it.”