Chapter - Nate
Nate
I’ve seen Carter three or four times over the past two weeks.
Most of the time, we’re at his place because, let’s be real, it’s a lot bigger and nicer.
There’s an elevator, room to move around, and multiple showers to fool around in.
The sex has been incredible, but even better, it has been getting to know him more.
He’s been lightly pressuring me to move in temporarily, especially since I’ve been open about my money issues.
I’ve had a few gigs with Mel, mostly weddings.
The pay’s been decent, enough to cover rent, but that’s about it.
No extra spending, no going out. Lately, my time’s been split between band practice with Mel and nights with Carter.
I haven’t made any new friends yet, but right now, my focus is on building momentum with my music and figuring out where things are heading with Carter.
The thing I can’t stop thinking about, though, is this: how is Mel not struggling like I am?
We’re doing the same gigs, and yet she, her rent must be expensive, and she always seems chipper and well-dressed, like she’s not stressing about rent the way I am.
Side hustle? Family help? I don’t know, and I’m not judging. But I am a little jealous.
Carter and I always talk about how upbeat and full of life Mel and Paul are.
It’s no wonder they’re so close; they’re like kindred spirits.
Carter and I agree we need to keep that kind of positivity in our lives.
Negative energy drains him more than it does me, but I still prefer to be around people who lift me up.
Speaking of Paul, he and Carter have been spending more time together.
Their friendship is slowly blossoming into something genuine.
They usually meet at the bar where Paul occasionally bartends.
It’s a gay bar, which honestly makes me proud.
He has seemed more at ease lately. Paul told Carter it wasn't a sports bar, which put him at ease, knowing people there probably wouldn't recognize him. I'm sure the free drinks from Paul have helped lure him to the bar, as well. I haven’t joined them yet, as I’ve been tied up with rehearsals, but I plan to do so whenever I’m finally free.
Carter’s second game of the season went decently.
He ended with 70 total yards; rushing wasn’t great since the O-line didn’t give him much to work with, but he did rack up 50 receiving yards on four catches.
He still hasn’t gotten that first touchdown, but he’s not worried.
He’s been proud of his game and is definitely hopeful the Hawks front office is impressed.
The second game's player of the game was Jack Sawyer, who’s been killing it lately.
The team won, moving to 2–0 on the season. They are kicking ass this season.
So yeah, when we hung out after that game, let’s just say…the night was extra fun.
After my midday daydream, I get off my Amtrak at Philly’s 30th Street Station and spot Evan waiting for me by the nearby SEPTA signs.
He leads me to the nearby subway entrance, and we hop on a quick ride toward the stadium.
The train drops us close enough that we finish the trip on foot, joined by thousands of fans as we approach the stadium.
When we get there, my siblings, Ian, Bex, and Rachel, are already tailgating hard, beers in hand, and repping their Philly jerseys like diehards.
Meanwhile, I’m in my usual blue Henley, purposely avoiding any team jersey.
I’m not trying to piss off Carter or get jumped by a group of Philly fans.
Philly fans are known to be a bit intense.
Ian, my oldest brother, is posted up in a fold-out chair, chatting casually with Bex, short for Rebekah, whose hair is so blindingly blonde that it actually hurts my eyes when the sun hits it.
I head over to Rachel, the sibling I tell everything to without hesitation.
Don’t get me wrong, I trust Evan, too, but Rachel’s a therapist. She just knows how to listen and say the right thing, probably because she’s gone to school for it. But whatever the reason, it works.
I nudge her and playfully smirk. “Nice jersey, bitch. Carter gets you free tickets, and that’s how you support him?
Rachel shrugs and sips her beer. “Oh, hun, I could’ve bought my own tickets silly. But I love Philly, and you know how obsessed this city is with this team. I’m not trying to get murdered in the parking lot wearing a New York jersey.” I can’t help but chuckle.
Evan walks over and grins. “Stop bickering, ladies, and go make me a sandwich.”
To my left, I see Ian pulling out a cooler filled with basic sandwich ingredients: sliced deli meat, cheese, and some cheap-looking bread.
“That’s disgusting,” I tell him while pointing to the sandwich. “You’re so cheap. Why not just buy food inside the stadium?”
Ian says, dead serious but clearly messing around, “Dude. I have four kids. I can’t even afford to breathe.”
I laugh because, honestly, he's right. I don’t even know if I want kids; maybe someday, but four? That’s wild. I have no clue how he does it.
Bex, definitely on beer number five, grabs another and stumbles over, half-slurring, “So how long have you been with Carter? That’s wild. He’s like…a famous football player. Is his apartment, like, super nice?”
I smirk. “It’s huge. Among other things.”
Rachel chimes in immediately. “Big, you say? How big are we talking?”
I shoot her a look. “Relax. I was kidding. I’m not telling you that, but yeah, it’s impressive.”
That’s the thing with my siblings; we’re close, we mess with each other constantly, and no one holds back. They are all my best friends and kept me sane throughout my childhood. I’d never actually spill personal details like that, but messing with them a little is part of the fun.
I look over at my family, all devouring turkey sandwiches like it’s their last meal, and shout, “We gotta get going; the game’s about to start! I need one more drink. Maybe some chicken tenders if I can find them.”
Before anyone can argue, I flash a grin and drop the real surprise: “Oh yeah…Carter got us fifth-row seats. Dead center. Right on the 50-yard line.”
All four of my siblings freeze mid-bite, exchanging wide-eyed glances. Bex literally drops her sandwich.
“Let’s get the fuck inside!” Ian shouts, already on his feet.
We make our way to our seats, and yeah, they’re amazing. The energy in the stadium is unreal. Deafening screams echo from every direction, but it’s the kind of chaos that makes your skin tingle. I'm three fast drinks deep and buzzed, that it all feels euphoric instead of overwhelming.
The crowd erupts again, and this time, the noise around me gets louder. I glance over to see the home team rushing through the tunnel, hyping up the crowd like they do every home game.
I scream along with everyone else. I grew up a Philly fan, so technically, they are my team, but I’m biased toward New York now. Although, the Philly love never fully left.
A second later, Rachel leans in and whispers, “Look, it’s your boo running through the tunnel. That ass. Those muscles. I totally see why you’re into him.”
I laugh. “You perv.”
Both teams sprint to their sidelines, and for a moment, the stadium actually quiets down. I turn to Rachel and Evan, the lucky two who scored the seats next to me.
“So,” I say, “where are we eating food after this? One of your places, right?”
They exchange a glance before Evan says, “We can go to mine. It’ll be tight, but it’ll work.”
I nod. “Good. And obviously, Mom and Dad aren’t coming?”
Evan snorts. “Obviously.”
“Honestly, it’s for the best,” I say. “They still can’t be in the same room without ruining everything. Grow up already, am I right?”
Rachel cracks up at that.
I look at them and grin. “Ugh, I love trauma bonding with you two.”
From a few seats down, Bex shouts, “Hey! We’re still here, idiots. I wanna trauma bond, too!”
We all burst into laughter. It’s true; our parents are a disaster when they’re in the same room, but at least we’ve all learned to laugh through it.
I’m glad we’re heading to Evan’s later. My siblings get why Carter’s not open about his sexuality.
He’s not comfortable being out at bars or restaurants with just me.
He worries too much about rumors. Though I honestly don’t even know what the rumor would be for later.
“Carter Elliott spotted with random group of loud siblings. He must be gay!” Maybe people would think it’s for charity.
Who knows. I just want him to be happy and anxiety-free.
Just as kickoff is about to happen, Ian jumps up and announces, “I have to pee!”
We all groan and roll our eyes.
“No one cares, dude,” I shout. “Go take a piss, and grab me a beer while you’re at it. Thanks, babe.”
Ian glares at me but nods like the reluctant big brother he is and heads off.
As soon as Ian disappears up the stairs, the stadium lights flash, the music gets louder than I can handle, and the crowd jumps to their feet. It’s kickoff time. Philly receives the ball first.
The opening play is electric. People are screaming, jumping, pounding the backs of seats like they’re trying to piss everyone off in front of them. I glance at Evan and Rachel, who are already fully immersed in the current vibe.
“What the fuck is wrong with these people?” I yell.
They don’t even look at me. Evan’s screaming at the field like he’s coaching, while on millions of stimulants, and Rachel’s already lost her voice, yelling for the first pass, which wasn’t even completed.