Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“I’m really glad you guys are still here,” Leo says, sitting between Tess and Ollie, his back against the cushioned headboard of his hotel bed.
“Um, duh,” Tess says, popping a bite of a chocolate chip muffin in her mouth. “You’re in the final girls club now. Like I would miss this.”
“Tabarnak,” Ollie says, “I’m actually trying to watch.”
It’s the day before Leo plays none other than the White Walker himself, Sascha, in the final.
The three of them are watching The Golden Girls before Leo’s practice session this afternoon.
Tess and Ollie asked him what he’d like to do to unwind before the mayhem begins, and this is obviously what he chose.
They ordered room service: a brunch spread of coffees, juices, fruits, eggs, croissants, muffins, the works.
It’s all splayed out on the bed across several silver trays.
They’re watching the episode where the girls are in a local pairs bowling competition.
Dorothy and Blanche are facing off against Rose and Sophia for the championship. And it’s heated.
As it comes to a close, Rose bowls a strike, giving them the lead.
“I did it! I did it! We’re gonna win!” she shouts, jumping for joy.
“Rose, aren’t you forgetting something?” Dorothy asks confidently. “We haven’t bowled our last frame yet. We can still win. And we will.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Rose says. “You see, I’ve bowled with Blanche before. Maybe this isn’t the best time to mention it, but when the chips are down, Blanche chokes. Don’t you, sweetheart?”
Blanche pauses, then glares at Rose. “Eat chalk, Nylund.”
“Oh, shit,” Tess says.
“I know, Rose is so intense, I love it,” Leo says.
“No,” Tess says, scrolling on her phone. “Shit. Leo. You and Gabe. It’s you and Gabe. A photo of you together. Kissing. It’s all over Instagram.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Leo feels cold and clammy and short of breath.
Fuck.
Who would have a photo of them? Who would have posted it?
It must have been Sascha. Of course. That fucking homophobe would want to screw Leo over right before their match.
Or, no, it must have been Serving Looks.
They’re always posting the latest photos of players.
They’ve basically become the Deuxmoi of tennis.
“Who? What? Where?” Leo asks, eyes bulging, hovering over Tess to see the photo. Ollie pauses the episode as Blanche bowls her last shot.
“It looks like What a Racket posted it first,” Tess says, and she hands the phone to Leo, her face wincing in sympathy pain.
There it is. A zoomed-in photo of Leo kissing Gabe in the hallway outside Gabe’s hotel room in Paris, saying goodbye after their first night spent together.
His stomach drops.
The caption reads: “Has Gabe Montoya, the first homosexual player on the ATP Tour, met his match in US Open finalist Leo Chambers? We got our hands on this photo of the pair getting close in Paris during this year’s Roland-Garros.
A major distraction as Chambers looks to win his first major title.
We’ll get into all of it during our next episode, coming ASAP! ”
Fucking. Paul.
Leo hands Tess her phone back and picks up his own. His hands are shaking so much, he can barely hit the right buttons as he calls and texts Gabe. He calls. He texts. He calls. He texts. But the calls go to voice mail and the texts turn green, undelivered. Where is he? Has he gone into hiding?
He looks at Tess and Ollie, all of them unsure what to say.
“I think I have to go,” Leo says abruptly, then turns to leave, hands still shaking.
“Leo, maybe we should—” Tess starts to say, but he’s already halfway out the door.
“Sir, you can’t just go back there,” the security guard yells as Leo marches toward the lobby’s turnstiles, making his way to the elevators.
Leo stops in his tracks and looks over to the security desk. Above the guard, he sees Sascha on the giant TV mounted on the wall.
“Can you turn that up, please?” he asks the guard.
The guard raises an eyebrow in confusion, but after he glances up at the TV and sees the photo of Leo kissing Gabe, he glances back at him, grimacing. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he says, and turns up the volume.
Next to the enlarged photo of Leo and Gabe, Sascha is being interviewed outside his hotel, a mic in his face.
“This is what I am talking about,” Sascha is saying angrily, throwing his hands up.
“This is what I have been saying from the beginning. Knowing about homosexual players is distracting. It is not right. Now that I have seen this photo, how do I concentrate on practice? How will fans concentrate on our match tomorrow? What do they tell their children? We should not have to see this. Chambers should forfeit.”
Leo stands there, fuming.
“Okay, yeah, you can go on through,” the guard says, looking embarrassed as he hits a button to unlock the first turnstile.
Leo bites his lip the entire elevator ride up to the floor of the podcast studio, obsessively running a hand through his hair and tapping his foot on the floor. He doesn’t want to lose his nerve, feeling as if he’s about to serve out a match.
As Leo enters the studio, he first spots Jesse, who looks rightfully shocked to see Leo standing before him.
“Where is he?” Leo asks. “Where’s Paul?”
“I think he’s in the restroom,” Jesse says. “But wait, Leo, can we talk—”
Before Jesse can continue, Leo finds the restroom in the hall and stands outside it.
What should he do? Trip Paul as he comes out of the bathroom? Punch him squarely in the nose? No, he doesn’t want to resort to violence. Or risk an assault charge. Or, worse, risk hurting his right hand before the final. Yes, priorities.
“Leo,” Paul says, measured, as he pushes open the swinging door. “What are you doing here?”
He can tell Paul is doing his best not to seem guilty, but the growing reddish tint to his normally pale cheeks betrays him.
“What am I doing here?” Leo asks incredulously. “Are you serious?”
“All right, that was a stupid question,” Paul says, still giving his best shot at a calm demeanor. He adjusts his glasses. “I can see you’re angry. But listen, Leo—”
“No, you listen,” Leo says, and the strange taste in his mouth, a metallic one, is still there. “You had no right to post that photo. And I’m assuming you’re going to put out an episode about me and Gabe now?”
“Well—”
“Fuck you,” Leo says, shaking his head. “How dare you? This was my thing to share. It’s my decision when to tell people.
And you robbed me of that. And now … now the whole world knows.
Now I have no control over any of this. Everyone just knows now.
It’s going to be total chaos, as if the final wasn’t already going to be wild.
What made you think this was okay? What made you think you could take this away from me? ”
Paul doesn’t speak right away, just stands there. For the first time, after all his appearances on Paul’s podcast, swallowing Paul’s inane comments, Leo has finally shut him up.
“I, well,” Paul begins. “I’m sorry, Leo, but look, I’m just trying to save the show here.
It’s not what it used to be. Nobody’s listening like they were before.
It isn’t keeping up with all the new podcasts and Instagrams and TikToks, and I thought this might be it.
This might be my shot at keeping it alive.
I had this photo of you and Gabriel, and all your generation seems to want is gossip, so that’s what I gave them.
Leo, it’s not that big a deal, is it? Gabriel’s already the first homosexual player. People knew that. This will blow over.”
“What the fuck do you know?” Leo yells, refusing to let the hot tears behind his eyes flow. “It is a big deal! And it’s gay. Just say gay. Fuck! Where did you even get that photo? Were you just creeping around that hotel? The one in Paris?”
Paul looks even shiftier than before. “You might want to talk to Jesse.”
Back in the studio, Leo finds Jesse in a swivel chair, biting his nails and bouncing his leg.
“Leo, we really need to talk,” Jesse says, standing up as Leo storms into the room.
“Ya think?” he says. “Why did Paul just tell me to talk to you about the photo? Please, enlighten me.”
“Okay,” Jesse says, and gulps. Leo has never felt this threatening in his life. “We ran into each other at the hotel during Roland-Garros. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I remember that.”
“Well, I was staying on the same floor as Gabe. That’s why I bumped into you that day. And, the next morning, while I was heading out to get coffee, I saw you. Leaving his room. Kissing him in the hallway. You were saying goodbye, I think.”
Leo’s head spins. He sits down, but Jesse remains standing.
“I took a quick photo when I saw it. It was like a reflex or something. I don’t know.”
“Why?” Leo asks, looking up at him wildly. “To jerk off to? Why?”
“No!” Jesse says. “I guess I thought—well, I just thought maybe it would work for Serving Looks.”
“You were going to send it to Serving Looks? Seriously? Who cares? I know they’re big now, but what the fuck?”
“Not they,” Jesse says. “Me.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I … run Serving Looks,” he says hesitantly. “And, well, you do follow.”
Leo is glad he’s sitting down.
“It’s just a side hustle,” Jesse says frantically.
“I never thought it would take off. Paul didn’t even know I was running it.
But it did take off. It keeps gaining more followers.
And I guess I got carried away. I knew the podcast was fizzling out, and you know how I feel about Paul.
The account has been an escape for me. I thought maybe it could turn into an actual gig.
When I saw you kissing Gabe, I didn’t even think.
I just took the photo. But I didn’t post it!
I never would! It’s been months, and I still haven’t.
I would never out someone. I know what that feels like. ”