Chapter 1 #3
He swept the room with his gaze. “I stayed in the closet for over twenty years, through eleven seasons of pro ball, and even after I retired. I spoke up against racist bullying in the locker room, against misogyny, but not against queer-bashing, for fear someone might ask why. It took me all of those twenty-one years to work my way past the terror and yes, the shame, that the locker rooms of my youth dug deep in my soul. It took finding an online community of other queer men where my story was common ground, a place where I could explore my identity, to find pride in who I am. I walked a long road to find the courage to say these words out loud on camera here tonight. Part of that courage also came from finding a man I fell in love with, and recognizing that ‘love is love’ is a simple truth, not just a slogan.”
I’d been stunned he still said that without me in the room. That phrase marked the moment where we’d planned for me to join him. At those words, I was supposed to get up out of my chair and walk to his side, and we’d have faced the rest together.
Only I’d been on that train, and Miles must’ve known I wasn’t there, though he wouldn’t yet have understood why.
Instead, he continued, “But this isn’t about my personal journey, it’s about smoothing the way for the next generation of players.
The best time for me to come out and make a difference would have been years ago, when I was being paid millions of dollars in the NFL.
But the next best time is now. I want all the queer kids in this room and out there playing sports to know you’re not alone.
There are hundreds of gay men in professional sports, I guarantee it.
I can’t say how long it will take for your orientation not to matter to teams and fans.
I’m not going to lie to you— it’s still scary, and it’s still not wrong to hide, for your own safety— but I want you to know not to be ashamed.
Fear is rational, practical. Shame is something other people impose on you from their screwed-up viewpoint. ”
Miles took a sip of water from his bottle and smiled.
I thought the smile looked sad, but perhaps that was me knowing what came later.
“Being queer is awesome and has zero to do with how well you play a sport. Look at Scott Edison. Look at Karl Nassib, or Tom Daley, or a dozen other out gay men who reached the top of their sports. Be proud. And straight folks in this room, let me lay something on you. It is your job to protect those kids. Your job to stand up for them, and make sure your team, your school, your locker room, is a safe place. So that one day, gay players don’t spend half their time and energy figuring out how to hide, and can actually focus on the game.
You want to win? Make sure your Scott Edison or Tom Daley doesn’t quit from being bullied, before he finds out how amazing he can be. ”
There was a scattering of applause, and Miles held up his hand.
“That probably wasn’t the speech you expected to get from me, but it was the one I needed to give.
Sports have been an enormous, wonderful part of my life.
The games we love build bodies, build teamwork and friendships, they build character.
It’s up to us to make that even better, for all the players, regardless of race, religion, orientation, size, gender, or nationality.
I’m throwing that out to you as a challenge, and asking each and every one of you to step up to it, especially those of you who can shrug off all the nastiest insults because none of them apply to you.
Be a part of getting the bullying out of the locker room and off the field. Make a difference. Thank you.”
There were another few minutes of the video, where the organizer of Way to Play thanked Miles without mentioning the big gay reveal, and then Miles gave out the “Most Improved Team” award, but I turned off the video.
I skipped the comments too, with their assortment of approval, crude insults, and passive-aggressive “We don’t need to know who you sleep with. ”
Instead, I went to our message thread, where my last two texts were marked with a little red exclamation point of “message could not be delivered.”
At the beginning, after a string of texts from Miles asking ever more urgently where I was, came my answer, an hour too late.
Logan: ~ I got called up to the Tornados! One of their guys is on LTIR with some upper-body injury. On the train to Tacoma. Can you wait with your speech?
Miles: ~ Are you okay?
Logan: ~ Yeah. I'm fine. Great. Just had this call-up hit me out of the blue.
Miles: ~ Why the train? What happened?
Logan: ~ The Tornados called and my fucking car died in the arena parking lot and I had to have it towed. Had to scramble and pack. I’m so sorry about the speech. I’m literally traveling rn.
Miles: ~ Oh.
Miles: ~ Congratulations.
Logan: ~ Thanks. We should plan differently.
Miles: ~ I gave the speech. I didn’t mention your name, though.
Logan: ~ Fuck. Is it that late? I lost track.
Miles: ~ It’s after seven. The banquet was at six.
Logan: ~ Shit. Sorry.
Miles: ~ Yeah.
Logan: ~ So you came out?
Miles: ~ Yeah, I did.
Logan: ~ How did it go?
Miles: ~ You know, about what we expected. Some great folks, some uncomfortable, a few “how can you be a six-five football player and be gay?” No one really shitty to my face.
Even though my stomach had been in knots right then, I’d tried to be happy and proud of him.
Logan: ~ I’m glad.
Miles: ~ I’ve already had some calls with invitations to do media.
Logan: ~ Are you going to?
Miles: ~ Yeah. We talked about that. I want it to mean something.
I’d rewritten the next text a few times before sending it.
Logan: ~ Thanks for not outing me. This is totally the wrong time. How would it look? The Tornados call me up and I turn around and say “Thanks and BTW you now have a gay player.”
Miles: ~ I guess you should play a couple of games for them before that, sure.
Logan: ~ I need to establish myself. This is my last shot at the AHL, probably.
Miles: ~ Establish. How long is that?
Logan: ~ However long it takes.
Miles: ~ So you’re going back in the closet for a week? A month?
Logan: ~ I never came out.
Miles: ~ Good thing they didn’t call you up three hours later, huh? After you would’ve stood up next to me and said we were in love.
I’d typed out about fifteen different answers to that, from apologies to self-righteous pointing out this was for the best. I finally sent one.
Logan: ~ I love you, but I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance at the AHL again. It’s been two years since I was called up for even one game.
Miles: ~ So you were willing to come out with me when you figured your career was in the toilet. But as soon as that might not be true, then what? You want to stuff me back in the closet?
Logan: ~ If you gave that speech, it’s a bit late for that, right?
Miles: ~ Yeah. The video has six thousand hits already and three reporters have called me.
Logan: ~ Are you going to talk to them? Wouldn’t it be better to play it cool?
Miles: ~ Better for who? The point was to make a statement, shine a light on homophobic bullying in sports.
I’d flinched, because the last thing I wanted at that moment was shining a light or being a spokesman.
Logan: ~ That was your point, not mine.
Miles: ~ You’re saying what? I pushed you? This was all my idea?
Logan: ~ Well, it was.
I’d regretted that as soon as I sent it. Made a half-hearted attempt to soften it.
Logan: ~ I agreed, of course I did, but the plan was yours.
Logan: ~ Look, I think it’s great you took this step. You’re totally going to be a role model.
Logan: ~ I’d have loved to know a guy like you was gay, back when I started out.
Miles: ~ What about a guy like you?
My throat had tightened to choking at the unfairness of him asking that as I rode the fucking train to my last fucking chance at the AHL. My thumbs flew on the keyboard.
Logan: ~ Fuck off. I’m doing the best I can.
Miles: ~ Right. Well, I’m not going to step back in the closet for you. I hope you realize that.
Logan: ~ I’m not asking you to.
Miles: ~ I’m going to gay bars and queer events and giving interviews and all the stuff we said we’d do. I won’t mention you, at all, but I didn’t take this step to shut up and hide in the shadows again.
We’d made plans, talking in the quiet of evening in his bed, fitted warm together with his skin touching mine.
We were going to be visible. Maybe even a little over the top.
We were not going to do the “is this straight-acting enough?” charade and keep the PDAs chaste.
We’d be out out. Miles loved dancing. I loved Miles.
We’d talked about the clubs we’d go to, in Portland and Seattle, maybe down to San Francisco in the off season.
But at that moment, riding the train, I’d wanted to puke at the image of Miles out there, dancing with other men, even though that’d be my fault. Well, not fault, but choice.
So of course, I sniped back.
Logan: ~ You do what you have to. I won’t be around anyhow. We’re starting a week long road trip after tomorrow night’s game. And I’m sure the paps will be swarming you.
I should’ve left it at that, but acid ate at my gut, and I wanted to make Miles hurt like I was hurting, as if I hadn’t done enough already.
Logan: ~ Just leave me out of it. I need to focus on hockey.
Miles: ~ Of course you do.
Logan: ~ I don’t care what twink will be grabbing your ass in a club. You want to show everyone you’re enjoying your big gay life? Go for it.
Miles: ~ Are you telling me I should fuck other guys?
I’d imagined ripping the other guys’ heads off, but I tried to play it cool.
Logan: ~ Do you want to? You know what, don’t answer that. Go be a gay poster boy and I’m going to take my fucking best shot at my career.
Miles: ~ Gay poster boy?
Logan: ~ What the fuck ever. I really don’t care what you do.
Big fat lie, even when I wrote it. My eyes had stung so bad I could barely see the screen, but I’d wanted to be tough.
Miles: ~ You don’t care?
Logan: ~ Like you care what I think? You want to be the big gay hero, save the world? Do it. Fuck what happens to my career.
Then I’d added the last unforgivable bit: ~ You do what’s important to you, and I’ll take care of what’s important to me.
The old text thread didn’t show the long pause that’d followed. Didn’t show that I’d been choking on a toxic mix of anger and regret, almost apologized, almost tried to take back my words and say Miles was important too. Till the reply came back.
Miles: ~ You know what? I’m going to block you now.
Logan: ~ The fuck you are.
Miles: ~ Not forever, just for a bit. If I don’t, I’m going to say something awful that I can’t take back. Good luck with hockey.
Logan: ~ Fuck you. Don’t run away from a fight.
That was the first message marked by a red circle and exclamation point. “Message cannot be delivered.”
Probably just as well, since I’d followed it with a torrent of angry words I wasn’t proud of. Those now sat there blank as “message unsent” after I gained some sanity and shame the next morning.
Then there was one more, from three days later, when the pain of loss had burrowed deep in my heart and drowned my last resentment.
Logan: ~ Hey, are you there?
Red exclamation point.
However long Miles had decided to block me for, it’d been longer than three days.
I hadn’t tried again. I’d decided it was up to Miles to touch base when he was over what I tried to call his hissy fit but, as the days passed, had admitted was his own heartache.
There were a ton of videos online, starting the day after he’d come out.
Miles in a club, dancing with twinks who were nothing like his type but who ground against him and had their hands all over him in ways I’d never dared in public.
Interviews— not the number there would’ve been if his playing days weren’t five years back, but several.
He never said a word about a boyfriend or being in love.
When one reporter asked about his “a man I fell in love with” line, Miles shrugged like it meant nothing and said, “Things don’t always work out.
Fear is destructive. That’s one reason I wanted to launch this initiative…
” and he was off and running about locker-room culture.
If the reporter circled back to that topic, they didn’t air Miles’s reply.
I didn’t want to watch that interview again, now.
Instead, I tortured myself by pulling up new pictures of Miles and Avery, enlarging them to try to decipher the expressions on Miles’s face. Telling myself he couldn’t possibly love her. I didn’t even have the grace to try to be happy for the man I once loved. I got fuck-all sleep that night.