“Maybe I did. I suggest you read it out here before you go back inside,” he stated, seemingly pleased with himself.
“I will, and I suggest you go fuck yourself while you’re at it, asswipe.”
“You jocks are all the same,” he began before I stepped into his space.
“Yeah? And how’s that?” I hissed, thinking he’d back down, but he didn’t budge.
“You never figure out your place in life after the fame and fortune disappear,” he said, glancing around to see who might be listening. “You’ll just be another dumb, broke, jock when all this is over.” He turned and took several steps away before turning back. “And let’s get real, Mr. Man, you and that immigrant? Please.”
“You mother…” I said, rushing toward him. Three crew members and one camera man came running to hold me back. “You fucking twit!” I hollered, struggling to get free. I wanted to smash his fucking face in.
Dickwad, assistant producer, or whatever he was didn’t matter to me. Bryce Swift was a douche of a gay man. He looked me over from head to foot, shaking his head. “You aren’t even attractive, Mr. QB. I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”
“Fuck you, you waste of skin,” I raged, fighting to get loose so I could kick his lily-white ass.
“Read your little letter before you threaten me, asshole,” he hissed. “I’ll see you in the studio.” He headed for the boat, camera crew in tow as I stared at the sheet of folded paper in my hand.
“This can’t be good,” I muttered, unfolding the note and reading its contents.
Drew,
I don’t know what kind of shit you’re stirring up with your wild antics as you play to the cameras, but I’m telling you that you need to shut that gay shit down right now.
I know these shows are all a game to you and you probably have your reasons for why you’re playing this season the way you are, but you don’t need that million bucks, so I suggest you smarten up quickly.
Pretending to fancy another male on national TV is a huge mistake for your image. I’ve heard through the grapevine that ESPN may not still be interested in offering that fifty-million-dollar announcer’s contract to an NFL superstar that decides to engage in an alternative lifestyle. I can support you while you’re in the closet but do not open that proverbial door one single inch or we’re fucked.
Shut this down now!
Pete
I folded the note into even smaller piece and palmed it in my hand before joining Erik in the tent. I hadn’t thought something like this could happen. Perhaps living authentically wasn’t really an option for someone like me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: ERIK
Day Forty-Two
Drew and I went to bed with full stomachs for the first time in weeks, but we didn’t sleep. I was freezing all night, and the knot in my stomach tightened as the morning came. Drew wasn’t himself. He was quiet and distant, but what did I really know? I boiled a pot of water and prepared instant coffee by the fire, reloading the cooling embers after a night of poor sleep. I wish I could read his mind. This was out of my element.
Drew remained on the bed of cedar bows with his hands behind his head, staring at the tent’s blue ceiling. There was a sense of gloom hovering above him.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” I said. “Last night too.”
“I have a lot on my mind,” he replied, offering no additional information of why he was acting differently.
“Is that why your on-camera wrap-up was so short?” I pressed. “We usually share the screen and play off one another,” I added.
“The shows over,” he muttered. “Nothing more to say.”
“Yeah, I get that, but we’re still here. What about us? What happens now?” I asked, feeling like I’d known this would be the outcome once reality set in.
“I’m not sure,” he said, sitting up. His eyes trained through the tent opening and on the beautiful morning, but I doubted he was seeing it.
“How about I make things easy on you and agree to be on my way later today with no drama?” I suggested. “I’ll see you at the reunion show in a couple of weeks, and then we move on with our separate lives.”
Still nothing—not even a “kiss my ass.” His silence was starting to piss me off. Calm down, I told myself and breathed in a lungful of cool air to chill my brewing emotions. “I can take a hint, Drew. Plus, I knew this would happen. I’m good enough for you away from everything, but God forbid when we have to return to our real lives.” I was acting up. I knew it. It was a defense mechanism I developed to guard my heart.
“It’s not like that,” he muttered, throwing a ball of wadded-up paper at me, barely missing the fire. “Read that shit.”
