Chapter 6
SIX
RYAN
I’d told him. Sort of. Maybe. Okay, I actually hadn’t at all, but I had absolutely no regrets about the tentative first step I’d made.
Forcing myself to ignore my pounding heart and the weird hum in my ears, I took a steadying breath. This was Nate. One, he wouldn’t be telling anyone about what I texted. The certainty of that was as clear to me as the full moon that currently hung overhead, casting a bright glow onto my deck.
Two, I hadn’t actually come out, per se. So, if by some freakish chance he lost his phone and someone read our exchange while figuring out who the hell I was, nothing would get out.
And three… for the first time in eight years, I felt like I could truly breathe.
It was a taste of what it could be like living authentically, being my true self, out in the world without giving a shit what the gossip rags, fans, or the management would say.
It was as liberating as it was terrifying.
For now, as I clung to my bottle of water, looking out across the lit city and the moon’s dancing rays on the lake, I chose to latch on to the former.
What I wouldn’t give to be liberated.
What I wouldn’t do to have the guts to say screw it all and shout to the world I loved me some D.
I snorted as the thought filtered through me, amused at the possibility of “D.” An errant thought traveled to Nate, sure he would piss himself laughing and rib me something rotten for spouting on about liking the D. With that thought came the slap of reality. Nate Griffin was gay. Right?
There were times I could get so caught up in my own world and own head that I could miss the blatantly obvious stuff.
I wasn’t arrogant enough to think otherwise.
But Nate choosing to share with me the bar’s name had to be his invitation for me to check the shit out of it.
I always had… done research, that was. While I sometimes missed the obvious, share something with me that I didn’t know, hadn’t heard of, and I’d google the crap out of it.
Nate had ribbed me often enough when we were kids about that. There was no way he’d forget.
So of course I’d researched Bar QK. When I had, and the gallery had popped up, color me fucking surprised.
I’d spent about half an hour poring over images, practically inhaling the write-up and the various pages, and had come away shell-shocked.
Right alongside that open-mouthed amazement that such a place existed not too far from where I was brought up, an honest-to-God sucker punch had hit me in the solar plexus.
Nate was gay, or maybe bi, or at least not straight.
I thought.
Hoped.
I had dreamed about the truth of those words since I was eighteen, and while those dreams hadn’t ridden me hard the last few years due to my blocking the man from my life as well as my mind, the truth was, he was still there, buried under my skin, alongside what I’d thought was a futile hope.
I huffed out a heavy breath that carried a touch of laughter.
That text I’d sent him had been frantic, automatic after my research. There wasn’t a chance I couldn’t send it. By doing so, it felt like I’d changed everything…, but, I thought with a sobering swallow, I hadn’t really changed anything at all.
I was still here, doing what I loved, playing the game, chasing the dream, or one version of it.
The thing was, the other version was the one I’d tried my hardest to bury.
Yet here it was, breaking free like some sort of zombie or vampire or some shit, crawling from solid earth after it had punched its way out of the coffin.
God, I needed something stronger to drink. When I started comparing my dreams to an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, shit had seriously gotten off track.
As I made my way back inside, a quick glance at the time told me what I should be doing was heading to bed. It was only just gone nine, but my alarm was set for five thirty so I could fit a run in before training. We had a big game tomorrow, and like every other game, I needed to be focused.
Heading to bed rather than grabbing a glass of whisky, I glanced at my phone and read my last text. I expected Nate would be freaking out, which led me to wonder a whole lot more about Nate and his life.
Me:
Nate’s gay?!?!
I paced the room, waiting for my sister to pull her finger out and text me back already.
The couple of minutes felt like a million with how long she took.
I’d hesitated a beat before sending the message, that slight concern about outing someone.
A moment later, I’d dismissed the idea. My sister was nothing if not tenacious.
If Nate was not straight, she would absolutely know about it.
Amber:
And?
And? Was she serious? I flopped back heavily on my bed, pissed at my sister being facetious while my fast heartbeat started up again. She hadn’t challenged, hadn’t said no.
It was true.
Right?
Me:
Why wouldn’t you tell me?
Amber:
Why would I? I don’t go around telling you about people’s sexuality. That’s just weird. Hey, Ryan, my friend Pippa is straight. I repeat… and? What of it? And more to the point, why would I out someone?
I hesitated and hung my head, feeling like a prick for sending her the message in the first place.
Me:
Just came as a surprise, is all. Heading to bed.
I had no idea if the brush-off would work, but a man could hope.
Amber:
Snort. You’re such a loser.
Me:
Whatever. Give my niece a kiss.
After that, I turned my phone to silent and got into bed after washing up and brushing my teeth. As I expected, my brain worked overtime. Falling asleep thinking of a shirtless Nate and the new possibility that provided made my dreams ridiculously sweet and a lot dirty.
Me:
So how was it?
I’d woken up Saturday morning more than aware that it was Saturday evening in Australia and Nate was out.
And not just out, but out at a gay bar. Nate should have been the last thing on my mind as I’d pulled on my running shoes and completed a five-mile run.
He definitely shouldn’t have been on my mind as I drove to meet up with the team for briefing and basic warmups before our game this afternoon, but by midday, I’d sent the text anyway.
I figured it was early hours in the morning over there and hoped a little too hard that he was tucked up wherever he was staying—which I didn’t want to think too hard and long about—all by himself.
There was a strong possibility Nate wouldn’t be by himself.
The guy was hot, and it was safe to say the few years that had passed looked good on the man.
It gave me a new level of understanding of the saying about aging like a fine red, or however it was, because, yeah, an eighteen-year-old Nate had been sweetly sexy, but the twenty-six-year-old version was mighty fucking fine.
“Broadwater, get your head out of your ass and pick it up,” Coach hollered at me. We were in the middle of drills, and what I should have been doing were sprints and free throws.
I hadn’t been.
Instead, my mind was occupied with my unanswered message. That was a whole shitload of dangerous.
I was the king of focused, of switched on.
Nothing messed with my games, ever. Shout shit at me?
I could barely hear the words. A crappy personal foul, and I was motivated as hell.
Nate possibly having a hot and heavy night, staying who knew where, doing who knew what, and I was in danger of making Coach’s head explode and getting some bench time.
Forcing myself to get my head in the game, I pulled it out of my ass and worked through the drills. After that, Coach left me alone, and I continued my same routine, preparing to go back with the team in a short while before they opened the doors for the spectators.
With drills over, I headed to the locker room, Jayden at my heels.
“You doing okay there, Broadwater? What was Coach chewing your ass about?”
I shrugged. “Nothing, all good.”
“You’re the golden boy. That’s the first time ever Coach has given you shit, so that’s not nothing.”
A barely there sigh escaped, embarrassment more than anything pushing the air past my lips. “I wasn’t focused.”
I cast a quick glance at Jayden, seeing his brows springing high in surprise. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel so ridiculous.
“You focused now?” While worry wasn’t in Jayden’s voice, something close to concern was.
I got it. My screwups were rare, and that wasn’t arrogance talking.
It was hard work and dedication. We were drawing in closer to the end of the season.
These games mattered. The points mattered.
While we weren’t running for the championship, our performances would impact contracts next season.
There were a few guys about to become free agents.
I wasn’t one of them, with a year left, but me messing shit up for them, potentially screwing up a pass, their chance to play their best, would not be okay. It never would be.
It was that I reminded myself of every single game, every single practice. So yeah, I understood Jayden’s furrowed brow, the slight apprehension when he looked me over.
“I’m focused. You know we’ve got this shit. Dead set legend, remember?”
He snorted at that—one of the phrases I’d introduced to my American friends—Sutton joining us and releasing a low chuckle too, no doubt hearing the tail end of our conversation.
“There he is… the boy wonder from down under.”
I shoved Jayden gently to the side—always fucking gentle, as I’d heard too many times about injuries been caused by the stupidest shit. “You’re a dick.”
“Yet again, you’re confusing that with me having a big dick.”
Jayden was incorrigible. “And I’m interested in knowing your dick size because?” Every single time I played this sparring game, I cringed on the inside. Such expected humor flew close to the radar.