17. Finn
SEVENTEEN
Finn
“Ready?” Atlas asked for the tenth time.
My statement had been ready an hour ago, but lawyers calling in, keen to avoid any negative implications for the Rapid movies, had demanded to sign off on everything I said.
I’d wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves, but refrained given the way Atlas made a slicing motion across his neck as their demands echoed over the phone speaker.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The statement was going live on all my social media, on the studio socials, plus more importantly, it was going to be backed up by Byrnes-Rose and the teams on the Rapid movies, plus River Grierson and his team on The Cup production.
It spoke about courage and authenticity, but my courage was more like manic fear.
I couldn’t stop tapping my fingers on my knees, I couldn’t sit still, the room was too warm, then too cold, the sun too bright, then thunder clouds too dark.
In the first draft, Atlas had used words such as talent, charisma, and dedication, but I’d nixed them all.
No one wanted to have to appreciate the newfound understanding of my authentic self, nor that my statement came after a period of self-reflection and personal growth.
I wanted it to be simple. I wanted to add my love for my family and my friends, and I wanted it done.
“Cameron?” Atlas asked, as Cameron took my hand and laced our fingers. He’d wanted to add a line about our new relationship, and even though I wanted any fallout to be just on me, I agreed. Seems like this really was love because I wanted his name entwined with mine forever.
“It’s okay, Finn.” Cameron squeezed my fingers.
“It should feel better than this,” I murmured. “It’s what I want, so why am I so nervous.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked, and I wished I didn’t have a huge list of worries. “Your family loves you; I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I was going to wait until after The Cup was released,” I said once more, just to hear the words.
“You can still pull the statement,” Cam said, and leaned his head on my shoulder. “Doesn’t change a thing between us, or with whatever understanding you have with River Grierson and his new movie.”
“But it could change things for kids, ones like Manuel.”
“Yeah.”
I nodded at Atlas. “Do it.”
He pressed a button to begin the process, and that was it.
I was out in Hollywood.
And I had a hockey player for a boyfriend.
Coming out was a mass of public statements, private messages, family support, expressions of support and love, but along with it came the hate. A lot of hate.
Some of the worst was online, and I chose not to look at it after the first twenty or so comments, which were irrational and cruel. Other vitriol came by letter to the makers of the Rapid franchise—accusing the studio of leading people astray thinking that I could even play a hero when I was queer.
Like a gay man couldn’t be a swashbuckling archaeologist with a psychic sidekick.
Whatever.
The news was met with overwhelming support from many, but the hate was enough that it burrowed into my thoughts, one conflicting nest of yuck.
The sense of relief and freedom after sharing my statement was filled with the hope that coming out could inspire and empower others who may be going through similar experiences.
However, no more than ten minutes after the statement went live the magnitude of the attention and expectations was big.
It was as if the entire world had something to say about who I was and scrutinized every step I’d ever taken.
The heaviness of responsibility as a potential role model fell like one of those ACME ten-ton weights on my shoulders, and I went from hope to concern in the first day, and straight on through to fear.
The threats were real.
Jed and Todd were now a permanent addition to my life, and whereas before I could get around with a car, now I was facing paparazzi at my gate, and worse, they were messing with Cam’s life as well.
There were mixed reactions from the public, despite the majority being supportive.
Many were cool with what I’d done, some even saying I was brave, and it was wrong to be labeled as brave just for wanting to be myself.
Then, there were those who criticized me.
I even drew the attention of a couple of church groups who had an awful lot of hate-filled rhetoric to throw at me and threatened to hold demonstrations at all my movies.
I could handle criticism, after all I was a himbo in three made-to-sell movies, so I’d had my fair share of shit thrown at me, but when they’d started in on Cam, that was wrong.
The negative comments and judgment I’d encountered moved on to judging Cam with LA Storm hockey forums pushing the blame on me being with him as the reason they lost the Stanley Cup.
Never mind we weren’t even together then.
Fuckers.
In less than forty-eight hours, I went from thinking I was doing the right thing to questioning my decision to come out publicly at all.
It all started when, the morning after the news broke, a man with a camera climbed my gate. He jumped my fucking wall and sauntered up my driveway.
He didn’t get far, Jed dealt with him, but at the same time, he and Todd declared my house unprotectable, unsafe, and probably open to snipers and camera operators alike.
Snipers? For fuck’s sake, I’m gay, not a terrorist.
I might not have liked the place I lived in much, but it was the first thing I’d bought with my Rapid money, and it meant something.
It freaking hurt to give in to the fear and pack my bags to leave, but that was what I had to do, according to Atlas, who’d booked me a suite in a hotel.
He said it was fancy and big and luxurious, and all the other buzz words he thought might help the transition.
None of them did.
I didn’t want fancy, big, and luxurious. I wanted safe and happy.
“What about my fish?” I asked Jed, and he exchanged glances with Todd, who shrugged.
“I’m not leaving my fish to die! I won’t let you leave them!
” I shouted in Jed’s face, and while he didn’t react to indicate the level of rude I’d descended to, I was immediately sorry, and I apologized so much that Jed had to ask me to stop.
I couldn’t believe I lost my shit like that with the poor guy.
“Atlas said something about having them moved to his office,” Jed explained after I’d stopped apologizing. “He suggested we should get a bucket and—”
“You’re not moving Fred and Wilma in a fucking bucket!” I yelled again.
What am I doing?
“Hey.” Someone pulled me into a hug—Cam was here, and he was holding me as if I was made of glass, as if I could be broken.
“My fish,” I blurted, and then buried my face in Cam’s neck. “I don’t want them to go with Atlas—he can’t even look after plastic plants!”
“Okay, it’s okay,” Cam soothed.
I heard him and Jed chatting over my head, something about finding a fish expert with the aim of moving them to his place.
“You’re taking my fish?” I sounded watery, and my chest was tight. “Will you remember to feed them, but not too much, and the oxygen levels need to be right. Will you—”
“Not just your fish.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I’m taking you home as well.”
I stumbled back. “No.”
He frowned. “No?”
“I can’t ask you to do that. The paps will stand outside and make you miserable, people will fly drones over your house—and none of this is your fault.” I scrubbed at my eyes, and then left my hands there, feeling way out of control.
“Can we have a moment, guys?” Footsteps on the marble floor indicated Jed and Todd had left us alone.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” he asked, and after a sniff I did.
His eyes were dark with emotion, and bright, as if he was close to tears, or injustice was making him angry.
I couldn’t tell. All I know was that he was there by my side, and he was my everything. “Come home with me.”
“I thought about going home to my parents, but it’s not fair on them—”
“Move in with me.”
“And my sister has the kids, and she’s pregnant—”
“Move in with me,” he repeated, insistent and so damn caring.
“I can’t. It’s better if I give you space. Atlas has a suite for me at the—”
“Let me rephrase this. Please come home with me. I love you. I’ll look after you.”
Nerves coiled inside me on top of anxiety, and it was all too much.
“What if we can’t separate our personal and professional lives?
What if we have no privacy, what if coming out is more newsworthy than my acting or your hockey career?
Jesus, Cam, they’re saying dreadful things about you.
Like it’s your fault you lost because you were too busy fucking the Ken-Doll who pretends to be an actor.
I don’t even look like Ken! Not to mention the things that they’re saying about the rest of the team.
Shit. I’m so sorry. Are they angry with me?
Do they hate me?” Pain knifed into me at the thought of all those people at the party having targets on their back because of me.
He cupped my chin and nodded. “It’s nothing we haven’t heard before, okay?
When the Storm lose, we’ve had our fair share of slurs thrown at us, saying we’re weak because a few of us are open about who we might want to love, accusing me and some of the other guys of orgies in the locker room.
Then, the next game we win, and suddenly, we’re gods among men.
Look, babe, it’s just words, and what’s important is you and me.
So, please come to my place so we can work through this—”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Please.” Cam was so focused, gripping my upper arms, almost willing me to say yes.
“Someone got over my gate, Cam. They could have…” Hurt me, hated me, I didn’t know.
“The security around my place is insane, it has to be with the number of idiots who try to get close to Rottie next door. Say yes, Finn.”
“You really want me to—”
“Move in with me?” he pleaded. “And not just on a temporary basis. I know it’s quick, and maybe we would have danced around the subject for months, but, fuck, I love you, and my place is a home you’d fit right into.”
“I love you too.” Not that it was the point of what he was saying, but it was worth repeating.
“We can get anything important you have here moved over.”
I blinked at him. “I don’t have anything important apart from Fred and Wilma.”
He glanced around. “Huh?”
“My fish I mean.”
“You named them Fred and Wilma?” He smiled, and it was so infectious I couldn’t help but smile in return, and a tiny part of my fear lifted enough to let the sunshine break through the growing clouds in my head.
“I can’t believe I never told you, but I like the Flintstones, and Scooby Doo, oh and Tom and Jerry. They’re cool, and I’m a massive nerd.”
“Says the man who’s sleeping with the person who jumped him when he dressed as Thor.” He smiled. We kissed. It was perfect. “Anyway, I already have Jed finding an expert to move them to my place. It’s all good.”
“Okay.”
“Come live with me?”
“Can I pay rent?”
He laughed and hugged me tight. “Sure thing, Mr. Richie Rich.”
I lasted a couple of weeks, right up until we were three days out from filming on The Cup.
The furor had died down, everyone was right about that, but there was so much pain in the world, and bit by bit, it nibbled away at me.
The kids who wrote and said I gave them hope, the parents who saw their kids in a new light, contrasting with the nutjobs who blamed me for anything that ever went wrong, including the weather, and hoped I died.
I could take the hate, but being responsible for carrying the torch for queer kids and families was too much to bear, because how could Finn Kerrigan, soap star, lucky fucker, wannabe serious actor, be held up as a beacon of hope?
Moving in with Cam was perfect. We fit. Fred and Wilma arrived and had pride of place in Cam’s kitchen—our kitchen, he kept saying—and waking in his arms every morning was bliss.
But out there, with filming, and the messages, and the hopes and fears, there was more than I could handle, and the complex emotions were a fizzing ball of worry that stole my creative thoughts.
I didn’t have a therapist, but Atlas hooked me up; only one session in and all I felt was that I was a fraud.
Who was I for people to look up to?
“Finn? Earth to Finn?”
I glanced left at Cam, bobbing next to me in his vast pool, the faint sounds of rock music echoing from the property next door, and a camel staring at us over the fence.
“Huh?”
“You were miles away.”
“There’s a camel.” I pointed at the inquisitive animal, who huffed and turned to leave.
“Yep. But that isn’t what’s got you staring into the middle distance.”
He floated us back to the side, into the shallower end, and we sat on the steps, the early evening sun warm on any exposed skin.
“What if I fuck everything up?”
“You’re worrying about the movie? Don’t. River says you have an eye for the script, and he’s convinced it will be big.”
“I don’t mean the movie.”
“Then what? Sweetheart? What?”
I leaned on him, every emotion bubbling to the surface, and my eyes filled with tears.
“What if I can’t be the person that people want me to be?”
He held me when I cried like a confused, exhausted toddler, and I felt foolish and low and fucked-up, and still he held me.
We both heard the buzzing at the same time, and I glanced up, a drone hovering over the pool, way up high. I heard a bang, and the thing disintegrated, some of the pieces splashing into the deep end of the pool, one larger part slamming into the gazebo.
“Got it!” someone yelled next door.
“Fucking paps!” another voice yelled back.
“See!” I shouted at Cam, right in his face. “It’s hurting your life now! We may as well end it before this destroys us. Fuck! I need to go.” I knew I wasn’t making sense, but the heartbreak in Cam’s eyes turned to flinty determination.
He held my hand and tugged me up and out of the water.
“Fuck them and fuck this shit. We’re going inside.”