Carter #3
Nate frowns. “Honestly, I wasn’t gonna bring it up. But yeah, he mentioned it to me. He told me it was only two or three guys, and they were just douchebags. He said, other than that small group of a-holes, the rest of the team either didn’t give a shit or openly supported you.”
I nod slowly, then smile a little. “When I overheard it, I started to feel this panic rush through me, it felt like adrenaline rushed through my veins. Everything felt dizzy, and it was hard to catch my breath. But then I looked around, looked at everyone here, and I just simmered down.”
Nate smiles back. “See, bae? That’s exactly how you gotta think. Who the fuck cares what those assholes think? All you should care about is yourself and beating Boston.”
I nod. “You’re right. We’re still in the playoff hunt, so it’s a must-win.”
Something about the way he said it pumps me up. I look at him and whisper, “Wanna go upstairs for a quickie?”
Nate gives me a look, trying to figure out if I’m serious.
I grin. “I’m fucking with you. But I'm gonna go take a leak. You should go have another drink. Get some wine or beer…you’re not playing later. Go get fucked up.”
Nate smirks. “Dude, your brothers and I have been drinking this whole time. I’ve had like, two drinks.”
I gasp, mock-dramatic, covering my mouth with both hands. “Oh. Two whole drinks? Wow. You’re really going hard.”
He points toward the house. “Don’t you have to piss?”
“Right. Good point,” I say, and head inside.
It feels like the longest piss of my life. And when I walk out of the bathroom, my mom is already waiting in the kitchen, finger pointed, clearly trying to lure me over.
“Carter,” she says. “One sec. Get over here. I’m still your mother. I don’t care if you’re this big-shot football player.”
I sigh. “Fine. Just don’t call me that again, please.”
She put her skinny arms on her waist. “Fine.”
I walk over, knowing exactly where this is going.
She looks at me and says, “Listen. I know you don’t wanna hear this, but I feel like you’ve been evading this topic for too long.
Carter, you barely talk to me about your personal life or how you’re feeling inside.
It feels like you are purposely distancing yourself from me and the family.
It’s ridiculous, you don’t even talk about your boyfriend, whom you’re clearly in love with.
Who is awesome, by the way. But you need to open up more.
I’m your number one supporter. Always have been. Always will be. The good and the bad.”
I start to say something, but she holds up a finger.
“I’m not done,” she says. “This isn’t about football anymore.
This is about your mental health and your relationship.
Everyone who matters already knows about your sexuality, and they love you.
But for your own sanity, I feel like you need to rip off the Band-Aid.
I know it’s ridiculous that people still have to come out in this day and age, but you’re in the spotlight.
And if you want this thing with Nate to last, it’s only fair he doesn’t have to hide too. ”
I nod, my chest tightening, knowing how smart and right she is.
“I understand anxiety, Carter,” she continues.
“I’ve had many anxiety attacks in my life.
I’ve lived with anxiety most of my life.
Sometimes it’s triggered by something, but sometimes it just happens for no reason.
But I promise you, if you open up more and stop worrying about how others perceive you, you’ll feel lighter in the long run.
Your mental health is more important than anything. ”
I look at her, overwhelmed with admiration and love. I’ve always suspected she dealt with anxiety, but it’s not something we ever talked about. Neither of my brothers struggle with it, and neither does my dad. But maybe this is something my mom and I share and something we can connect over.
I take a breath. “I’ve been more open lately than I’ve ever been. And my anxiety’s been easing. Sure, I still get the random adrenaline rushes, with the panic surges, but I’m learning to ground myself. Nate’s been amazing for that. His presence calms me and makes me feel safe.”
She smiles, and I go on. “My relationship with him is the most important thing to me. I see a future with him. I love him more than anything. He’s the first person I’ve ever loved…romantically.”
I wink at her, and she smiles.
“I’ve been planning to go public after the next home game, in two weeks,” I say. “Maybe take Nate on a date, just kiss him in front of everyone. If people care, if people post about it, then so be it.”
She beams. “Honestly, great idea. Just don’t do what that other guy, what’s-his-name, Charlie? He did with some press release, which was too much.”
I laugh. “Do you know me? I would never do that.”
She pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek. “Don’t tell the others,” she whispers, “but you’re my favorite son.”
I laugh. “Shut up. You probably tell us all that.”
Before I can say more, the back door swings open, and Nate walks into the kitchen. My mom gives us a knowing look before heading out to the yard.
Nate puts his arm around my waist. “What was that about?”
I look at him and ask, “Do you want to go out with me, publicly, in two weeks? Friday before the Week 12 game?”
Nate grins. “Can I kiss you on the date?”
I smile. “That’s the whole point.”
I pull him in for a slow, wet kiss.
It’s 4 o’clock, and Spencer, Roman, and I are getting ready to head out for the game. We say our goodbyes, well, they say theirs. My family is too busy hyping up Spencer and Roman even to acknowledge me. Clearly, they’re siding with Boston today.
My mom, though, winks at me. I know where her heart really lies.
While the guys are finishing up goodbyes, I turn to Nate and whisper, “Are you sure you’re okay tailgating with my family without me?”
Nate grins. “Your mom assured me we’re gonna have the best time and get wasted.” He continues, “Can’t believe you got us seats on the 50-yard line. Again!”
“They’re only the 10th row, this time,” I tease. “Not as good as when your family came.”
Nate smirks. “True. But it’s not a competition, babe.”
I laugh. “Oh, bae. It’s always a competition.”
I kiss him, slap his butt, and wave goodbye to the chaos of my family. Then the three of us pile into Spencer’s car and speed off toward Boston Stadium.
***
The score is tied 20–20 heading into the fourth quarter, and it’s been a high-scoring game from the start. Both offenses are unstoppable. Every drive feels like a battle, and we’re all playing with such determination to win.
I’ve had a solid game, but not over 100 yards yet, and still no touchdown. I’m still doing great, and I know it.
I glance into the stands and spot Nate with my family.
They’re all jumping on each other every time anyone scores.
It’s like they can’t decide who to root for.
It brings me weird joy seeing Nate squeezed between my parents, as if he’s been part of the family for years.
They just met him yesterday, but you’d think he was their son, too.
Seriously, what the hell have they all been doing for the last five hours? He’s been with them all day, and yet he looks like he’s having the time of his life.
The fourth quarter starts, and we get the ball at the 50-yard line thanks to our speedy kicker returner’s monster return.
First play of the quarter is a handoff to me. I follow my left tackle around the edge for a 10 yard gain. As I jog back to the huddle, I see my family, with Nate included, celebrating like I just scored the game-winner.
Next play is a quick 3-yard pass to Briggs, where he gets tripped up immediately.
We waste no time and go no-huddle. Miller gives me a quick look, and I already know the balls coming my way. He hikes the ball, fakes a drop-back, then hands it off. I hit the gap up the middle and grind out 15 yards.
Now I’m freaking pumped.
We’re sitting just outside the red zone at the 22-yard line. I look at Miller and mouth, feed me. He smirks, claps, and lets ten seconds tick down before calling, “Break!”
Miller snaps the ball, fakes the handoff, and throws me a quick screen. I sprint for 12 yards and tip-toe out-of-bounds.
We’ve only managed to take three minutes off the clock during this drive.
No huddle again. Miller yells "hike" and fakes another handoff to me. I’m wide open on the 5-yard line, but he throws a dart to Briggs in the corner of the end zone instead.
Briggs jumps in the air and pulls the ball into his chest. He manages to get both feet in bounds for the game-leading touchdown.
The team explodes, with every offensive player rushing to Briggs. I head straight for Miller, give him a light tap on the helmet, then one on the ass, and start jumping on Briggs, with the rest of the offense.
I glance back up at the stands and see that Nate’s literally bouncing up and down, hugging my mom. She’s jumping with him while my dad and brothers look furious as Boston is now trailing.
With only ten minutes left, Boston gets the ball and drives down the field slowly, chewing up a little over seven minutes before making it into the red zone. On fourth down, instead of going for it, their coach sends out the kicking unit.
I look at Miller, baffled. “A field goal? They have three timeouts left, but still. We get two first downs, and the games over.”
Miller shrugs. “You tell me. He was your coach.”
They kick the field goal, and it’s good. We’re up by four.
After a decent return, Coach calls us together before we hit the field.
“We got this, don’t fuck it up” he says with pure intensity. Then he looks directly at the O-line and says, “Block Elliot. Block him like your job depends on it.” I know what that means. I’m getting the ball.
First play of the drive, and I’m stuffed at the line for no gain. Boston burns their first timeout, just before the two-minute warning.
On second down, Miller hikes the ball and hands it off again. I punch up the middle for a decent 5 yards.
The two-minute warning hits, and we all rush to the sideline. Coach is yelling at the linemen, tearing into them. While they’re getting chewed out, Miller leans in and says, “He’s gonna run you up the middle again. I’m not doing that. I’m gonna call a screen. Just be ready, we only need five.”
The two-minute warning ends, and we quickly line up at the line of scrimmage.
Miller calls an audible at the last second and waves me over to him, on his left side.
He snaps the ball and fires it to me. I catch it and follow two of our biggest linemen until I am pushed out-of-bounds, gaining six yards. This is enough for the first down.
Coach looked pissed when the ball left Miller’s hands, but now he looks smug as hell.
Miller slaps my ass and shouts, “YES! You’re amazing!”
As I jog back to the huddle, a defender I just burned mutters directly towards me, “Faggot.”
My heart drops to my stomach, but the two linemen, who just cleared the way for me, clearly heard the defender and immediately spin toward him.
“Fuck off. You got beat,” one says.
They slap my back, and I nod in thanks.
Miller gets us back in the huddle. “One more first down, we just need one more!”
Boston’s coach calls their second timeout.
Once the timeout ends, we run the ball to the right, and I get three short yards.
Immediately after I am tackled, my old Coach calls his last timeout. A minute and twenty-five seconds remain.
Coach McCormick has nothing to say to us, so luckily, this time out is good for a thirty-second breather.
Miller looks at me and nods with a clear understanding of what's about to happen. I have no nerves; I'm ready for this. We need seven yards, just seven, and the game's over.
Miller snaps the ball and it’s the same damn play up the middle, but I see Boston is ready. I cut to the outside, swing right, and turn the corner. I stay in bounds as I sprint: five yards, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, and I see the end zone, but I slide inbounds.
I would have loved to get that touchdown, but the game ended with that slide. With no timeouts, Boston can only sit and wait for my team to run out the clock.
After the game clock strikes zero, my entire team rushes the field, piling on top of me.
I glance at the stands, like I’ve been doing all game, and see Nate and my entire family jumping up and down. Even my dad and brothers. I laugh to myself because the Boston fans around them look like they’re about to attack them.
We did it. We’re above .500, and we’re going to keep winning, I know it.
Back in the locker room, the mood is pure joy. We clean up, get dressed, hug it out, and say our goodbyes. It’s just after 11:30, and we’re all ready to pass out.
I watch the team board the team bus to the hotel. I am grateful that Coach gave me the green light to stay with my family this weekend instead of staying in the hotel with the team.
I head outside, heart still racing, and spot my family waiting near the car. They all rush me, showering me with praise.
“You killed it!” yells my mom
“Another game over the century mark!” says my dad
“Fucking monster out there!” says one of my brothers.
But I fade out their voices and only see Nate.
I walk up to him and, without a word, lean in for a kiss. He looks surprised, but meets me halfway.
“Don’t worry, babe,” he whispers. “No one’s watching.”
I smile. “I couldn't care less who’s watching.”
We all pile into my parents’ car, and I wave at the team loading the bus. I don’t care if I’m missing that ride. I’m exactly where I want to be.