Chapter 19 #2
“Tell me how many times you’ve heard your daddy say,” she clears her throat and tries to imitate my dad’s voice, “I don’t care what somebody’s got goin’ on behind closed doors, just keep it to yourself.”
“What’s wrong with keeping your personal business to yourself?”
“You ever hear him say the same thing about a straight person or a straight couple?”
I open my mouth to defend him, but I stop short. As usual, she’s right. Not that I’d tell her that to her face. I’d never hear the end of it.
“I’m not saying he’s a bad person, or that he’d be outright homophobic to someone.
People say shit like that all the time and don’t even realize how fucked up it is, but that’s exactly why more of us need to put on our big girl panties and speak up, correct them, point out their mistakes.
Because people are going to stay set in their ways until they’re taught better. ”
I snort. “I’m not sure Dad can be taught anything.” He’s a good man, but he’s old and stubborn as hell.
“Maybe, maybe not. But when or if it comes up someday, especially if you’re serious about this guy and have to weigh the risk of getting publicly outed, what do you want from him?”
“From my dad?”
“Yeah. You want him to be okay with it, right?”
“Of course.”
“And you want him to be okay with you bringing Jesse home, and him being welcomed and treated the same way a girlfriend would be, right?”
That’s when I take a pause. I see where she’s getting at.
“It is not enough to be tolerated. Especially when that tolerance comes with the caveat of making yourself smaller. Tolerance is bullshit. You deserve and should demand acceptance. You can’t hide who you are to protect small minds.”
“You’re right.” I know she is, but that doesn’t mean I want to get mobbed by reporters every time I leave my house or place of work.
“Duh.”
I focus on my phone a bit, sending Jesse a text now that I know he’s probably sitting backstage, taking a breather.
ME: I wish I could see you in person, but I think I’m sold on live-streaming for concerts. It’s way better watching from my couch. Less people-y.
Ghost: Next time you can watch from side stage. You’d only have to deal with crew.
Ghost: Well, and Blake.
ME: Tempting.
Ghost: Good. It’s happening.
ME: Ha. Ha.
Ghost: So cute how you think I’m kidding.
Ghost: Are you having fun with Shawna?
ME: Yeah. Except she’s a know-it-all and a slob.
Ghost: The love you have for this woman is astounding.
ME:
ME: I told her about you.
Ghost: Really?
Ghost: What’d she say?
ME: She didn’t believe me at first. But she might be a little over-excited.
I don’t want to tell him about all the realistic worries she brought up.
It’s too early to be worried about what kind of future we could or couldn’t have, or whether I’m brave enough to step outside my comfort zone in such a big way.
Right now we’re just getting to know each other and enjoying each other’s company when we can manage to get together.
Ghost: I am too. *winky face emoji* *heart hands emoji*
Ghost: Tell her I said hi.
“Jesse says hi,” I say, not looking up from my phone.
The kitchen towel hits me in the face. “You jackass.”
“What? He’s not allowed to say hi?”
“Not that. That,” she says, pointing to the television screen.
A banner flashes across the screen:
$50,000 donation made by Luc Martín!!!
Wait. What? No! “Th–That was supposed to be anonymous!”
Shawna cackles. Loudly. Like an old, evil witch. “That’s definitely going to help y’all stay incognito!” There are actual tears streaming down her face.
“This isn’t funny, Shawnnnaahhhh!”
My phone pings several times in a row.
Ghost: Did you mean to do that?
Ghost: You know what, I don’t even care.
Ghost: The next time I see you, I’m going to drop to my knees and worship your cock until you’re trembling. Then I’m going to bend you over and tongue fuck you until you cry.
“Ooh, spicy–” Startled, I accidentally smack Shawna in the face. But to be fair, she shouldn’t have been creeping over my shoulder like that.
“What is wrong with you?” I ask.
Shawna folds her arms. “You’re the one sexting your boyfriend when I’m busy making fun of you! I just said that you should hire a third grader to teach you how to work your phone so you don’t do stupid shit like this, but if y’all are gonna be nasty over text, that’s probably not a good idea.”
My phone pings again, and Shawna’s eyes light up a little too much for my liking.
“Is it a dick pic?”
“What? No! It’s AJ.”
AJ: You meant for that to be anonymous, didn’t you?
Shawna snorts. “Can I have his phone number so I can have someone to talk shit with?” Then she stops and makes a face. “Wait, if he knew about Jesse first, I’m going to riot. That’s bullshit.”
“He doesn’t know about Jesse.”
“You mean he didn’t know about Jesse.”
I fall back against the couch and cover my face with my hands. “You know what, you two are made for each other.”
“Whatever. I’m loveable as fuck.”
“I’ll remember that when your life implodes.”
“Wouldn’t happen. I have no secrets. I give away my bullshit for free. In fact, I give it away so freely that nobody really wants it, so it’s not interesting enough to anyone to be newsworthy.”
“You’re the worst.”
She nods solemnly and pats my hand. “If it makes you feel better.”
Ping.
AJ: We got you, fam.
What’s happening?
Ping.
Ghost: How many people did you recruit to do this?
Ghost: Oh, baby. I’m going to do so many delicious, depraved things to you. When’s your next day off?
Ghost: I hope you’re still watching. We have a surprise for you now.
I look up at the screen and watch the crowd going wild over the on-stage screen lighting up like a slot machine hitting a jackpot.
$50,000 donation made by AJ León!!!
$50,000 donation made by Desmond Carter!!!
$50,000 donation made by Monty Nash!!!
$50,000 donation made by Connor Laramie!!!
$50,000 donation made by Giselle St. Vincent!!!
$100,000 donation made by The Shreveport Cyclones!!!
The screen doesn’t stop flashing, alert after alert of my teammates, their friends, and even the organization as a whole.
One after the other, other NFL players and teams start donating.
And it becomes more than just a couple of my friends supporting me, it becomes a huge statement.
Because these big-name NFL players and teams aren’t donating to just any charity, they’re donating to organizations on the frontline of fighting for the LGBTQ+ and BIPOC communities.
And that’s a hell of a statement to make given the current political climate.
My eyes get so blurry, I almost miss what the band is wearing when they come back on stage to a roar of cheers and applause from the crowd.
Jesse has replaced his t-shirt with my jersey, because of course he has.
At least the rest of the guys are wearing our colors, too.
Will is wearing a Shreveport Cyclones shirt, Ari is wearing a white tank top with gold cuffs around his arms, and Naz has the top half of his body painted gold and is wearing a Cyclones trucker-style hat.
“Let’s give a shout-out to our friends over at the Shreveport Cyclones, and all the NFL players out there showing support for things that really fucking matter!”
The crowd screams, and I have to smile. Despite my awkward mistake, it actually ended up being a good thing.
I’ll have to thank AJ for stepping in. He clearly did something to start that chain reaction.
All these guys make good money, and most make a lot more than I do since they typically do endorsements and appearances, but that’s still a lot of money to throw out.
It’s pretty amazing that they’d recognize I wouldn’t want my name flashing on a screen alone like that, even if they don’t know the real reason.
I’ll definitely explain it to him one day soon, but I’d prefer to have a better idea of what is going on between me and Jesse before I tell anyone other than Shawna.
“I think this deserves something special, and it just so happens we’ve been working on something new that sort of fits the Cyclone’s team colors. Do y’all want to hear it?”
They scream again, but Naz shakes his head and yells into his microphone. “That’s bullshit, we can do better than that. My man asked you if y’all want to hear a new song!?”
The crowd screams even louder, and Naz hits the drums hard, beating a throbbing rhythm that builds into a rapid-fire drum solo.
Then all at once, Jesse and Ari join in, a crescendo building before they abruptly stop.
A spotlight hits Will, and he leans into a sharp guitar solo.
Ari comes back in with a rhythm that sounds like a heartbeat.
Jesse’s guitar joins in, and then Naz, and everyone falls into the rhythm of a sensual melody.
Jesse steps up to the mic, eyes closed, and my pants get a little tight.
I’m painting myself in your colors tonight,
Brushstrokes burning under neon lights.
Drip, drip, dripping in your gold,
Paint me a new identity, so we can lose control.
Your name–
A secret I’ll take to the grave.
Your touch–
Something that I’ll never claim.
You’re pushing back, can’t hold the line,
Pressure building under different lights.
Drip, drip, dripping in my love,
Don’t let me go, don’t give me up.
Your face–
I see it when I close my eyes.
Your love–
A burning, aching fire inside.
We’re tangled up in lust and memories,
Don’t want to come up, don’t need to breathe.
Drip, drip, dripping in our sin,
Where you begin, and where I end.
The last notes of the guitar reverberate into silence, and then the crowd goes about as wild as my heart is.
Shawna lets out a long, low whistle.“You’re so screwed.”
She’s right. I know I am. This thing between me and Jesse has gotten too real, too big, and it’s starting to bleed into the outside world. I’m scared, but not enough to stop. Because maybe, just maybe, what we have together might be worth it.