Chapter Three Jamie #2
“He teaches freshman honors English, though rumor has it he might take over the AP English classes once Schneider retires, and hopefully that happens by the time I’m a senior, but I guess it doesn’t matter for now?
Anyway, Lizzie’s older sister said Mr. Z’s really strict but also really cool and nice and funny, and I don’t care about the strict thing because English is my best subject and I don’t really get into trouble, right?
But yeah, I don’t have to worry about some terrible teacher making my favorite subject suck. And on top of all of that—”
“There’s more?” I laugh.
“Um, yeah? Of course. He’s also the soccer coach—for the girls, not the boys, obviously—so if I can make varsity as a freshman, then he won’t make that suck either, and I’m okay with the strict thing there, too.”
She pauses long enough to shove too much cheese into her mouth, and I narrow my eyes. “You don’t have a crush on Mr. Z, do you? Because that would be really bad. You know that would be really, really bad, right?”
“Oh, so I’m not allowed to like boys?”
“You’re allowed to like boys, yes. You are not allowed to like teachers and coaches.”
Harper bursts into the same easy laughter I’ve lost over the past several years.
“Oh my god, seriously? I don’t have a crush on him, I promise.
I’m sure some people do because he is objectively hot for a guy in his 30s or 40s or whatever, but Lizzie’s sister says he’s gay and, I dunno.
I can see it, I guess? So, it wouldn’t even matter because he’s definitely not gonna look twice at me, and if I’m gonna drool over an old man, I’ll pick one of your teammates and drive you super crazy. ”
“So, everyone loves this guy and nobody cares that he’s gay?” I ask, missing several other points.
“I mean, I’m sure somebody cares that he’s gay,” she says. “Probably all the girls who do have a stupid crush on him and the boys they ignore because of it. But yeah, no. He’s way popular. And being gay isn’t a big deal to anyone at school, as long as they don’t have their head up their—”
“Hey now.”
With another quick laugh, Harper jumps back down from the island and throws her handful of wrappers into the trash. “I’m gonna go to Kate’s. I’ll be back before dinner.”
“And homework?”
“I’ll do it later.”
She’s already halfway gone, but I call after her anyway. “Hey, don’t think I missed that crack about people in their 30s being old. Or that bit about my teammates.”
“Bye, dad. Love you, dad.”
“Bye, pixie.”
I don’t pick up my phone until I hear the front door slam. Then I distract myself from a few things by finally sending Mateo a text.
Definitely not bothering you while you’re busy. Definitely not thinking about tacos or sunrises or kisses either
There’s no response right away, and whatever I’d hoped, I honestly didn’t expect one.
Or I don’t know what I expected. Hookups with men have never required chitchat.
I've only needed an app or DM or help from a handful of people who’ve looked the other way afterward.
Longer flings with women have been entirely public and predictable things requiring less effort than that.
Or significantly more effort in a dozen other directions, shared custody of a teenager among them.
I consider walking down to the beach. A lonely ex-superstar dragging his feet in the sand would be a more poetic spin on the drama most gossip sites preferred to sell with a tawdry pun.
Then I realize I’m not writing poetry anywhere, and my own backyard has been kinder to me than I deserve.
Maybe healthy choices will make me the person Mateo deserves.
Changing and grabbing a towel doesn’t take more than a minute, though it’s easy to imagine the crack of bone when I jog back downstairs.
It’s a reminder to slow down, and I hate it.
There’s very little splash when I dive into the pool, an incredibly ironic observation given how often I’ve made my presence known.
Because it became a habit, or because I need an easy win, I start with some basics from a rehab routine I haven’t been assigned for a while.
From there I ease into laps that clear my mind better than anything but alcohol and sex.
I exhaust myself, but balancing my mental and physical health has never been my thing.
It's sheer luck that my head’s above water when my phone vibrates against the ground. I lift myself from the pool and sit with some of my scar still submerged when I read the message.
Were the tacos and sunrises and kisses not good enough to think about?
I’ve thought about them plenty. Just wasn’t gonna bother you with any of it today
What changed your mind?
I can’t blow up Mateo’s phone with a story about Harper and a gay teacher and being reminded of my age and teammates she’ll tease me about even though they’re not actually my teammates anymore.
He only knows me as the pretty, arrogant stranger who made him spend the night on a bench.
That can’t change with a couple of texts.
I missed you
Another minute passes, and I almost take it back. I don’t know whether you can miss someone you’ve been without for all but a single night, but Mateo must think so.
I’ve missed you too. Every day. And I wish I could see you this weekend.
But you’re busy this time of year
I’m going out with coworkers and then I have brunch with my best friend. Both are traditions.
Brunch should be everyone’s tradition
Absolutely. But is it terrible that I keep daydreaming about brunch with you instead?
I pause before responding. Of course it’s not terrible, but omelets aren’t bar food and mimosas aren’t on tap.
For the first time in a while, I imagine the flash of cameras exposing me.
Then I stare at Mateo’s name until I remember what it was like to be held by him, and how much I want him to hold me again.
I love that you daydream about me. I pause again, but don’t let it linger. I guess weeknights aren’t great for you?
I go to bed embarrassingly early on weeknights. You’d laugh at me.
I would never. Well. Maybe I would. A little
I’m smiling now. I hope Mateo is, too.
I’m sure we can find plenty of other reasons to laugh. Maybe next Saturday night at Kai’s?
For a moment, I consider pointing out that the bar will be at least as crowded as it was the last time he pressed himself close to me.
I stop when I decide there’s a better way to handle it—something I wouldn’t be able to avoid even if I wanted to.
And after all these years, I really don’t think I want to.
Definitely. Just let me know what time works for you
I haven’t asked about your schedule. I guess it’s open?
Harper has a back-to-school night thing coming up, but that’ll be on a weeknight.
Haunting the rink will be a daytime activity, if it becomes an activity at all.
Guest commentator gigs won't start for at least another month.
Same with appearances at fan events. And binge-watching tv from my couch remains blessedly flexible.
My wild weekends are a thing of the past
Then I guess I’m lucky I got treated to beach night.
I think I’m lucky you said yes
Jamie?
Yeah?
It might take me a while to respond sometimes, but you can always say hi. You don’t have to miss me first.
You can say hi too
He sends a smiley face, and I swim away from my phone, another few laps doing what they can to calm whatever just got kicked up again.
My leg feels great, and I think the rest of me is getting there.
By the time I climb out of the pool, I’m steady enough to spend a few minutes appreciating the ocean view I’d shared with Mateo, and I think Harper and I should have dinner out here tonight.
She brings Kate back with her, and the three of us enjoy the fresh air.
The next day I say hello to Mateo because he told me I could, and I’m helpless.
He says hello to me, too.
Our next several messages are so simple—boring, maybe—but nobody who’s kissed me has ever wanted simple before.
It’s overwhelming to think about a future so unlike the one I had when millions praised or cursed me, and I let the heavy quiet of it keep me company each night as I fall asleep.
It’s as easy to hold on to as the blanket that shielded Mateo and me from the ocean air and my very famous name.
When Sunday morning rolls around, I decide it’s as good a time as any to have a conversation that could’ve happened twenty years ago.
On every intellectual level, I’m remarkably calm.
Nothing will change for the worse after today, and maybe we’ll both be relieved to stop pretending we’ve never kept this open secret.
Physically, though. Physically, my body’s not entirely sure it wants to be upright long enough for me to shower.
I’m shaking when I fasten my jeans and tug an old t-shirt over my head.
I don’t even consider trying to eat breakfast when my coffee barely stays down.
My phone becomes dangerous company when I use it to scroll through years of escapades that have come and gone, but Harper isn’t here to distract me from my worst habits, and it’s not her responsibility in the first place.
I haven’t let myself consider what this conversation would look like if I were having it with her.
Will. Will look like. When I have it with her. Because if everything goes well the next time I see Mateo, she and I will need to sit down with a lot more string cheese.
Intent on leaving some of my bullshit behind, I give up on trying to settle everything inside me before I go.
I’m in my car before I think about it more than that, and blast one of my pregame playlists because it feels right.
Parking near Kai’s feels right too, even if another wave of nausea tries to convince me otherwise.