Carter
The past two games were absolutely horrific. I fumbled the football and rushed for less than fifty yards in both games. To top it off, I dropped all four passes thrown my way in both games. We lost both weeks six and seven. I know it’s not all my fault, but I sure as hell haven’t helped.
Nate’s been amazing through all of it. He always knows how to cheer me up when I get home.
I love having him live with me. His cheerful attitude toward everything is infectious.
He’s been making decent money at recent singing events, mostly thanks to that incredible Boom Lounge performance.
We’ve also been spending a lot of time with Mel, brainstorming about the cafe.
***
It’s the start of our Sunday, Week Eight home game, and Coach is doing his best to pump us up.
He gives us the typical ‘you got this, and we can do it’ speech.
But I can feel it; we’re all feeling the lack of confidence.
We all feel defeated. And it’s not just me playing like shit.
Miller’s been throwing well, but he and Jack Sawyer haven’t been connecting lately. We all know we’ve got to step it up.
As we rush out through the tunnel, Coach grabs my arm before I can get through.
“Please don’t get demoralized,” he says, “but I’m having you play with the second string for today's game. You’ll still get some snaps, but we’re starting the backup this game. We have to try something new, just to see if it can spark something offensively.”
“Come on,” I say, with frustration. “It’s only been a couple of games. I’ve got this.”
Coach gives me a sad look. “You’ll get your shot again. I promise. But we need to find a spark. Winning is all that matters.”
I nod, but it hurts. I can’t help but feel depressed.
I know I’ve been in my head lately, and I can’t stop wondering if it’s because of what he saw at Boom Lounge, with me and Nate.
The rumors have definitely been spreading.
I’ve heard things on social media and in passing, but none of my teammates have said anything nasty.
At least nothing directly to my face. Still, this lingering panic eats me alive daily.
This sense of doom. Like, what if people look at me differently?
What if they expect me to be the face of “gay” in the NFL?
The first half goes exactly as I expected, which is bad.
We’re still playing like crap. The backup running back doesn’t bring any kind of spark, and honestly, I feel bad for him.
He’s playing for a contract, too. We running backs have to stick together, even if we’re technically competing.
When he rushes off the field after a rough couple of plays, I slap his butt and say, “Dude, you got this. Kick ass.”
Coach gave me three carries in the first half.
Ten yards total. Not awful, but nothing to call home about.
We all walk into the locker room at halftime, down two touchdowns and looking totally defeated.
We’re losing by two touchdowns to the Colorado Ravens, which is a team we should be beating.
It’s not their talent that is beating us.
It’s their drive. Right now, they want it more, and it shows.
As we file in, I feel this growing urgency. I need to do something. Say something. I don’t know why I feel this urgency, but I feel I can help the team overcome this defeated mentality.
I grab Coach and Josh Miller and pull them aside before we go in. I want Josh there because I trust him, and he already knows about my sexuality.
I take a deep breath and say, “Coach, I know this has nothing to do with you and honestly nothing to do with football, but I’ve been hiding who I really am.
That guy you saw at Boom Lounge a couple of weeks ago is my boyfriend.
Has been for months now. I don’t usually feel the need to tell anyone about my sexuality, and it’s nobody’s business, but I’ve been in my head a lot lately.
Playing like shit. And part of that is because I thought you’d find out I’m gay and maybe judge me. ”
Coach holds up a finger. “I would never judge you. Who do you think I am? What makes you think I’d do that?” His voice is firm, not angry. Just firm.
He continues, “Carter, I’m always here for you. I couldn’t care less who you’re with. I just want you to be happy, and I’m grateful you told me.”
Josh gives me a faint smile. I look back at Coach and say, “I think opening up to the team might help. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but I just want to be open. I feel like if I can be myself, I’ll play better. And maybe it’ll help the team.”
Coach nods. “You’ve got five minutes. Say your piece. And if anyone gives you shit, they’ll answer to me.”
That went better than I expected. I always knew Coach wouldn’t care, but this isn’t about him.
It’s about me. All of it is. I’ve accepted who I am, but I still get nervous about being judged.
Social media doesn’t help, with those hate-filled comments always seeming to rise to the top.
I see them even when I’m not looking. It’s like the universe wants me to suffer and fear who I am.
I make my way through the tunnel into the locker room. Everyone’s sitting around, clearly waiting for Coach to give one of his halftime speeches. They all look with confusion as I walk up and stand in front of them, my face burning, sweat dripping.
“I’m going to make this quick,” I say. “I don’t want to be treated differently, and I don’t want any questions. I just want you all to know that I’m gay.”
There is silence, not awkward silence. It's more like silence, where they are waiting for me to continue speaking my mind.
“I’m not doing this because I feel pressure. I’m not trying to be some spokesperson. I just want to be honest with you guys. If I don’t say something, it feels like I’m going to explode. I’m not asking to talk about my personal life, but I just want you to know the truth. Take it or leave it.”
Marcus stands up and says, “I fucking love you.”
Josh steps in behind me. “We all love you. If anyone fucks with you on this team or any other team, I’ll deal with them.”
One by one, everyone starts standing. “We got you,” they chant. “We got you.”
It’s intense, but in a good way. They’re not treating me differently. They’re treating me like Carter. One of the guys. Some of them even come over to hug me or give me a light slap on the ass. Each time, I smile, knowing they’re not repulsed. They still see me as me.
The energy flips. Everyone’s hyped now. It’s like my coming out is old news already. Now, it’s just game time.
Everyone rushes back through the tunnel. I’m the last one, still standing there trying to process everything.
Coach grabs my arm. “You’re starting,” he says.
“I know I said you were second string, but I want to test something. I want to see how you play now, after sharing your deep secret with the team. Trust me, there is no pressure. You’ll always be the starter on this team.
We just need a spark, and I am hoping this is it. ”
As I jog out of the tunnel, everything feels different. The noise from the crowd is deafening, but for the first time in weeks, there are no intrusive thoughts. I’m not overthinking every step, every cut, every glance from the sideline. I’m just playing the game I love.
Miller gives me a nod from across the huddle, and I can tell he feels it too, that something’s changed.
Coach calls a run play to start the second half, and I line up in the backfield.
The ball snaps. I take the handoff and hit the hole hard, lowering my shoulder as I burst through two defenders.
Fifteen yards. The energy from the crowd intensifies.
I hop back to my feet and slap Miller’s helmet on the way to the huddle.
“Keep feeding me the ball,” I say to Miller.
Next play: a sweep to the left. I follow my blockers, stiff-arm the linebacker trying to cut me off, and break down the sideline for another twenty-two yards before getting pushed out-of-bounds. The bench erupts, and the energy is electric.
Coach doesn’t stop calling my number, and I welcome it.
We make it to the red zone, and it’s already third and goal. Miller fakes a toss to me and rolls right; I spin off a defender, get open in the flat, and he hits me. I catch the pass and dive into the end zone for my first touchdown in what feels like forever.
I don’t even celebrate at first. I just look around and enjoy this feeling.
The high-fives and helmet slaps keep coming.
The chants of my name from the stands. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.
I can’t stop thinking to myself, I hope Nate is watching.
This truly is one of the happiest moments of my life.
I'm feeling such momentum, and I know I can keep it up.
We’re still down by seven, but the momentum is shifting. On defense, Marcus gets a huge interception late in the third quarter, setting us up at the Ravens thirty-yard line. I rush it in four plays later, for my second touchdown of the day. I cannot believe it, but the game is tied.
It's the fourth quarter, tie game, and two minutes left. We’re at midfield. Coach calls a screen pass, which I catch with ease. I read the blocks and weave through the defensive linemen like I have a sixth sense. I make one last cut and break free, with no one in front of me.
I hear the crowd rise before I even cross the goal line, which brings us six points ahead. And finally, my first career hat trick. Three touchdowns in one day! Holly shit, I am amazing.
Colorado has one last drive, but our defense holds strong. The final whistle blows, and we win.