Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
It was a sweet stolen moment that someone had made into a weapon.
Bile rose in my throat as I read the comments.
Is that Jett Erickson?
Who is he with?
That’s a dude.
Is Jett gay? Doesn’t he play hockey?
Did anyone know Jett was queer?
It went on and on.
There were other couples featured in the segment, but every single comment was about the star hockey player…kissing a man. Me. I dropped Layla’s phone on the sofa, too shaken to process the enormity of the situation.
“What can I do?” I whispered.
Layla moved to my side and hugged me fiercely. “Call him. Talk.”
I swallowed hard. “Y-yes.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay? Did he want to come out?”
“No. Not yet. Bad timing. New contract. I—he—oh, Layla…I don’t want to ruin his life,” I cried, swiping tears away.
“You haven’t ruined anything, Mal,” she replied sternly. “Whoever snapped that pic probably thought they were being funny. I’m going to find out who’s responsible and wring their fucking necks.”
I stared, unseeing. My mind was pure chaos, a mire of recriminations and accusations. No, I hadn’t taken a selfie and posted it for public consumption, but I was responsible.
“I have to fix this.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
And I didn’t. I only knew that this couldn’t be how we ended.
CHAPTER 21
JETT
The rush of game-time adrenaline was like nothing else. Except maybe post-win adrenaline.
Yep, the Bears won again, and tonight, I’d been part of the action. No goals, but I had three assists and had played some good defense. Best of all, my knee hadn’t bothered me at all. I’d ice once I got home.
But first, we had a two-hour bus ride back to campus.
I slipped into a seat and slid toward the window, ignoring the curious looks from the guys in the rows behind me.
Ty flopped next to me, stretched his long legs into the aisle, and glanced around. “What are you staring at, Pritchard?”
Pritchard shook his head. “Uh…nothin’.”
Ty and I shrugged and settled in as the bus chugged along on I-90, dissecting the finer points of the game and generally shooting the shit. I hadn’t checked my cell yet, but I wasn’t going to with Ty nearby. The guy didn’t understand personal boundaries.
Neither did Langley.
He turned from the seat in front of us. “Uh…Erickson, you might want to check your socials.”
Ty and I exchanged glances. He pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolled, and…froze. “Oh, shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
He handed the cell over. “Fuck, Jettster.”
The kiss cam revelation no one expected! Jett’s dating a man?
The comment jumped out—one of many attached to a blurry photo of Malcolm and me.
If I hadn’t been sitting, I would have passed out.
I couldn’t breathe.
At all.
Dramatic, right? Judge away. I was struck with a sudden fear that I’d lost everything I’d just won. Gone in a click with thousands of likes and even more comments of the “Is Jett Erickson really gay?” variety. And by the subdued twitter permeating the bus, everyone knew it.
I returned Ty’s cell to him and dug mine from my pocket.
Hi, I need to talk to you, but I’m on the bus. I’ll call you when I’m home. We won, btw.
Malcolm responded immediately. Congratulations.
That wasn’t like Malcolm…at all. But he was still typing. Three dancing dots appeared and disappeared for what felt like ten minutes. Between the buzz on the bus and my suddenly upset stomach, I couldn’t take the suspense.
You saw the picture.
I did and I’m very sorry. I’ll fix this for you. Please don’t worry, Malcolm replied.
Huh? I was confused.
There’s no reason for you to be sorry. Or to fix anything. I’m coming over.
No. Don’t. Tomorrow is better. Please trust me. It’s going to be okay.
I had no idea what to make of that, and sitting on a bus in the dark while watching my cell light up like a fucking Christmas tree with messages from friends who wanted to know what was up was unnerving. I ignored those texts and flipped to the more ominous ones.
Randall: Did you come out without telling me? What the fuck. Call me. Now. I don’t care where you are or what you’re doing. Call.
Dad: Call me.
Fuck. Me.
Coach had to have heard the whispers and noticed that the mood on the bus was off, but he didn’t say anything. He was either oblivious or tired after a long day. A “Good game. See you at practice,” was all we got.
“What now?” Ty asked.
“I don’t know.” And I didn’t. Talk about being blindsided.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. I just…nothing. Thanks, though.”
“We all knew he had a crush on you,” Langley added. “But it looks like he took it too far.”
I had no idea what the fuck that meant. I shook him off and headed straight for Malcolm’s.
The building door was locked for the night, and there was no way to get inside without a key. He could have buzzed me in, but he’d gone radio silent. That wasn’t good, but it was late. Too late to call my dad or my agent… Thank fuck.