Chapter 23 #2
“Buy him a car,” Davy says, waving his hand with a frown before crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Always works for Tatiana when she’s mad at me. Or shoes and purse. Does he want bag? More dogs?” he asks, his Russian accent growing thicker as he seriously contemplates my situation.
“Yeah, I don't think buying things for Tucker is the way to fix this. He’s not that kind of guy,” I say gently, not wanting to shut down the offer when the boys are leaning in, caring about my situation.
This is the first team I’ve played on where my teammates are this open and accepting without a second thought.
When Ryder came out, I worried that a few would be typical douchey toxic athletes, but everyone just rolled with it and moved on.
They know Ryder doesn’t find them attractive, and I guess they realize the same thing about me.
Hell, I don't even know if I’m bisexual, because I’m not attracted to men in general, just Tucker.
I consider my options while stripping out of my gear and showering.
I fucked up by trying to play it safe and made Tucker think I wasn't serious about him.
I need to fix that immediately. I also need to figure out how and when to explain to my kid that the guy he thinks is the best, because of the dogs, is now my boyfriend.
I should probably clue my parents in at some point as well.
Fuck, there’s so much to do, and I need to do it all fast.
When I return to my stall and get dressed, I pull out my phone, wondering how many notifications I have.
I swipe away all the social media notifications because they don't matter.
I scan my call log looking for my family or Tucker, but notice my agent called and left a message.
I hit his contact to get this over with quickly.
“Sebastian, finally,” Larson says when the call connects. “I’ve only called you five times since last night, but thanks for finally getting back to me,” he snarks.
My eyebrows furrow at his tone. He’s pretty direct, but this is a new level of curt I hadn’t expected. “Hey, Larson, what’s up?” I ask, trying to ignore the irritation churning in my gut.
“What’s going on over there in Atlanta? I didn't expect the South to be a hot spot for homosexual activity. You’re the second player on the team to go fruity, so it must be something in the air, or ice, maybe.”
“Whoa, Larson, chill the fuck out,” I snap.
“There’s no need to be hateful or disparaging.
There’s nothing wrong with Atlanta, the team, or who any of us wants to be with.
” I’ve used Larson for the majority of my career because he’s gotten me decent deals and worked out advantageous contracts, but I’ve never liked his personality all that much.
“Relax, man, I’m just joking,” he says, voice rising with his agitation at being called out for his assholery.
His tone grows more serious as he continues.
“Listen, things aren't looking good for you with the latest news dropping about your new…relationship. Photos of you were splashed around hockey socials, and some eyewitnesses had a few things to say about your outburst and your new guy’s unstable nature.”
“What outburst?” I ask, rubbing my temples.
“When I told a crowd of people who were too close to a man having a panic attack to get the fuck away? Because that’s not an outburst, it’s doing the right thing to help someone in an uncomfortable situation.
And what the absolute fuck are you talking about?
Tucker isn’t unstable. He needed space and a reminder that he was safe. ”
I pop off the bench, pacing the dressing room as I fume over the allegations Larson is throwing out so casually. I fucking hate hearing that anyone would’ve viewed what happened last night as anything other than Tucker needing a moment to himself with someone who made him feel safe.
“It didn't look like you were giving him space from the photos. You were basically smothering the guy, so forgive me for looking out for you and letting you know what’s being said in the wide world of sports and social media about you. I have your best interests in mind, Sebastian. I want you to know what’s going on without sugar-coating things to make you feel better.
” Larson is matching my snappy energy, and we’re not going to get anywhere this way.
I stop pacing and lean my head against a wall, closing my eyes, trying to get my shit together.
I need to rein it in so I’m not a walking catastrophe.
I have to be a better leader for my team, show up with my head in the game at all practices, be a present dad, and now, apparently, I have to think about what social media thinks of me.
“Okay, moving on. What is it you wanted to tell me other than I’m the subject of some viral stories that are blowing up because of who I want to be with and how it came out to the general public?
” I ask, looking for clarity and a way forward.
I have better things to deal with, like getting Tucker to forgive me for not instantly claiming him like I should have. Like I said I would.
“That’s just it, Sebastian. Your sponsors aren't liking the coverage. They liked your wholesome, clean-cut image as a family values man. What’s coming out now doesn't line up with their brands. The shoe company and the electrolyte brand dropped you. Neither wants to be represented by a volatile player who screams at innocent bystanders and coddles mentally unstable men. And honestly, I don't blame them. They said the partnerships have run their course and come to a close as of today.” I can hear the disgust in Larson’s tone, and it turns my stomach.
“They dropped me, and you did nothing to try to figure out the truth and advocate on my behalf?” I ask, not even surprised.
Why would he try to hold off their judgment and work in my favor when he obviously has prejudices he’s been harboring that are so fucking blatant now?
“I think you, as my agent, no longer align with my morals and priorities as a human being and player. I guess our partnership has run its course and found its rightful end. You’re fired, Larson. ”
He starts to protest, but I end the call and stifle a scream of rage.
Fuck my life. Now I have to find a new agent on top of everything else.
“Bro, my bad for catching the end of that conversation,” Ryder says, pulling a shirt over his head in a stall to my right. “Sounds like you ended things with a shitty agent?”
I nod and sit down next to him, exhaustion settling on me with the addition of another burden to carry.
“The fucker is homophobic, and so are a couple of my sponsors who decided they didn’t want to partner with me now that it’s out I’m with Tucker.
Well, if he’ll have me. This is so fucked.
It might all be for nothing if I can't get him to listen to me.”
“You’ll figure it out. I saw how he held onto you.
That was trust, and you don't get that unless you really care about someone. You might have to work for his forgiveness and to prove yourself to him, but it’ll be worth it.
” He squeezes my shoulder with his giant hand.
“I can help with the agent. Mine is the best, and he’s cool with us queer guys.
I’ll call him and let him know what’s going on.
I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take you on, so that’s one less thing for you to worry about right now. ”
I lift my head slowly and look at Ryder.
He’s usually a grumpy bastard who’d rather make everyone else’s life miserable than help them out, but here he is, going out of his way to do something nice for me because he sees me in a bad spot.
It gives me heartburn or something. I rub my chest and shake my head. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“I’ve been there. You know, the one who fucked up and needed to make it right with my guy?
I feel you, and I hope it’s easier for you than it was for me.
At least it seems like you’re accepting your sexuality a lot better than I did, so you’re already ahead.
” We both laugh at that, knowing how much he fought his bisexuality and was a raging asshole about it.
“Yeah, well, Tucker’s worth everything I need to accept to be with him. He gets me, and makes life so much better just being around him,” I admit, shrugging.
“Dude, save that for your man. I don't need to hear you gush about him,” Ryder says, punching me in the shoulder with a laugh.
I hiss in pain as he nails the one I hurt last night. It’s been fine most of today, but it's still sore to the touch, and I had to be careful not to overwork it. Getting hit by a six-foot-four giant with bricks for hands is not a comfortable experience.
“You fucker.” I gasp on a strangled breath.
“Oh, shit, sorry, man. I forgot.” He raises his hands and leans away like that’ll make it better.
I stand rubbing my shoulder and make my way back to my stall. It’s about time I figure out how to fix things, anyway. I won't see Tucker for a few days with this road trip, but I need to make the most of that time to ensure he even wants to see me when I’m back.