"Um, fuck, bro." Ryder’s words only fill me with more anger. He rakes his hands through his hair, not meeting my gaze.
"Ry, explain to me, why the hell did you do this? And right fucking now." My response could have been different. It should have been different.
He stands with his backpack and tucks his hands in the pockets of his suit. "If I have to explain, I've done it wrong. Think about it, Crush, have you ever seen me date a girl? Have you seen how I hang on your every word? It's shameful, but I stare at your naked ass more than I have the right to. Wonder why I hate Alison like I do? She doesn't deserve you. And more so, I've loved you for three years. It's painful to watch you two together. Who the hell knows if I would have done this without the pain of losing my grandpappy. But sometimes I'm the most honest when I'm the most vulnerable. I'm gay. And I love you. If this is a deal-breaker, at least I lost you because I'm brave enough to admit what you are to me and who I am."
Ryder walks out of the locker room and out of my life. I'm left dazed as I touch the lips he's just kissed.
Six years later
Ryder
I detest press conferences. I hate them with a fucking passion. Free agent status means I’ll endure the scrutiny of the media as I say good-bye to the only professional team I’ve ever played for. A new club wants me and only me. After being with Miami since my professional career started, I demand a clean slate, a new start.
“Ryder, is it true you’re leaving Miami? You’re leaving the team you started with?” The media will twist anything I say, considering the announcement I made a year ago.
I lean into my microphone and take a long gulp of air. “Yes, I’m leaving Miami,” I begin and await the next question. I hope it’s going to be about my game play and not my personal life.
“Is it true you’re leaving to start new after coming clean about your sexuality?” Do I want a clean start—hell yes—but there’s more to this decision than simply me coming out a year ago.
“I’ve said it once, and I’ll repeat myself one last time. My personal life isn’t something I’ll discuss in the press. I made a public statement last year when I decided to share my sexual orientation as a way to live my life on my terms. No more questions will be answered.” I clear my voice to continue, “Now, if you have questions concerning my career in the future or my disappointment in leaving Miami, I’ll be happy to answer those.”
A sports reporter and a good friend, who has come through the ranks in his own career as I’ve done the same in my profession, holds up his hand. “Garrison,” I instruct, and a grin overtakes his face. I respect the man. He’d known about my secret from the night a little too much vodka led to our senseless fucking. Since then, he’s been my booty call when I needed more than just my hands.
“So, don’t beat around the bush, man. Tell us all what we want to know. Where will you be playing ball for the next several years?” Garrison gives me a subtle little wink only I see.
I’ve been secretive and instructed the new team to hold it tight, too, until I decided to announce it. There’s a specific reason I want it hush-hush and wouldn’t allow anyone else to know.
“Thanks for keeping it about my game. And to answer your next question, my new team, my next home, will be in Nashville, Tennessee.”
After several more questions, I walk into the only locker room I’ve called home for the past six years and look over at the space where my jersey hung for every home game one last time. This team has taken me to the big game. Sure, we lost in the last play, but it’s a fond memory I’ll hold dear to my heart. They were the ones to wrap their arms around me when I chose to come out last year. I wanted a quick departure because hell, saying good-bye has been hard. I give the place I’ll always consider my first home one last glance, and then with tears in my eyes, I make my way out of the stadium I’ve played every home game since becoming a professional football player. With another glimpse at my old sanctuary and my phone blowing up with text messages and notifications, I pull out of the parking lot for the very last time.
Nashville, the home of country music, is only four hours from my childhood home. After my grandpappy died, my closest and favorite person in my life, my baby sister, Kelsey, announced her pregnancy to the entire family. Her baby, my niece, replaced my grandpappy as the most important person in my life.
They say when someone dies, a new life begins. Lawrence John Hanley left the world, and I’d never grieved another person as I had him. However, nine months later, we welcomed Loretta Jane—named after our grandpappy. And at the age of five, she’s a spitfire and the love of my life.
I bought a private home sight unseen in one of the most prestigious parts of the city. Until I find the family I want to complete me, this will be a place to lay my head. I desperately want someone to come home to and celebrate all our achievements together.
I can only handle one hurdle at a time, and the biggest hurdle is still ahead of me. Sure, finding a footing with the new team has its difficulties, but I know most of the men from college and my six years in the league. Last year’s record speaks for itself—1796 receiving yards with eighteen touchdowns. This caused many teams to pursue me.
Coming home to Tennessee made sense on so many different levels. This team is a championship contender, missing the big game when their wide receiver was injured in the second to last play of last year’s game.
Being a free agent and the best wide receiver in football had given me an in. My flair for dramatics on the field has been both celebrated and condemned at the same time. My little celebration routine before games is definitely something people either love or hate. My wardrobe falls under scrutiny for my colorful palette. I’ve kept my nose clean, but the drama follows me as my sexuality still comes under fire on many occasions. It came to a head when the media never caught me with a girl.
I’ve been again praised and criticized for being myself. Then I’d get hate notes. How could you be a role model for young boys when you like boys yourself? It had been the most ignorant statement I had read. But making it to where I am didn’t stop the offers of every team who approached me.
Like the over-the-top man I am, I didn’t save anything from my place in Miami, except a few personal items. The interior designer I hired, known for his impeccable modern footprint with his creations, has everything in my new place according to my minimalistic standards. Everything I want has fit into my Lamborghini.
The drive from Miami to Nashville is easy, and I take this time to calm my spirit. I’ve been on edge with only one major concern with this transition. It continues to gnaw away at me as I take the exit for my new home.
I’ve never minded starting over because I hope I’ll discover what I’m looking for.
What I want in my life is not a mystery, and as I drive up to the secluded home, I see the house is ultra-modern with large windows and clean lines, all bright white. I park in my garage, anxiously awaiting a peek at my new home.
My heart thumps at the idea of the small piece of heaven I’ll have for myself after a scorching day at practice. I catch a glimpse of a sizeable F-150 truck parked in front of the house before the garage door closes. My designer could still be here working on the last-minute touches inside. He’d mentioned he’d leave after my long drive, only to go over anything not meeting my style at a later date.