Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
He might have a point.
“I can’t help thinking if this was offered to a straight guy with a scandal under his belt, it would be considered insulting, but I’m supposed to suck it up.”
“Something else might come,” Damon says. “The Warriors aren’t expecting an answer until training camp. The GM knows it’s a long shot, but he wants you. The coaches too. I’ve heard from nearly the entire management team.”
“I’ll think about it.”
My feet propel me out of the office at a faster than normal pace. I tell myself to keep going before I do something I regret like tell my agents to fuck off or, worse, accept the shitty contract.
“Babe?” Noah says as I bypass him and my brother and head for the exit.
“We’re going,” I bark. I push the call button for the elevator harder than necessary, but it doesn’t make me less frustrated.
“What happened?” Jethro asks and slings his guitar strap over his shoulder.
“I thought Damon said he had an offer,” Noah says.
“He did. For about a fifth of what other guys with my stats get.”
“Ouch,” Noah says.
I turn to my brother. “You coming with us?”
Jethro averts his gaze as he admits, “Got nowhere else to go.”
“I’ll look into getting a hotel—”
Noah squeezes my hand. “He’s cool to stay with us. I don’t mind.”
“Thank you,” I mouth.
The elevator dings, and the three of us pile in.
“So, what’re you gonna do?” Jethro asks.
“I don’t know.” My tone is defeated. I’m defeated. Maybe retirement is my only option. I’ll become one of those guys, and people will continue to believe gay men don’t belong in sports.
Or I could swallow my pride, ignore all the shit that’ll be thrown my way, and accept the offer that’s beneath my worth. Isn’t that as bad as retiring though? Admitting that I’m worth less because of my orientation?
Fuck that.
But it’s football, I remind myself. And the offer is still more than what most people make in a year. If I turn it down, my income will be zero until I work out what I want to do without football.
“Is it this or nothing?” Noah asks.
“Dunno yet, but probably.”
We hit the parking garage and cram into Noah’s BMW. With Jethro’s duffel and guitar taking up most of the backseat, my brother has to somehow fold himself in half to fit.
“Lucky we didn’t bring the Lambo,” Noah says. “Where was the offer for, anyway? You never said.”
“Chicago.”
Noah stiffens but hides it with a fake smile.
Jethro leans forward between the two front seats. Somehow. I really don’t want to contemplate my brother’s flexibility right now, but what the fuck?
“The Warriors? Take it,” my brother says. “Now they have Talon, they’re gonna go to The Bowl next season, for sure. They’ve spent the last few years building their offensive line to kick ass.”
“Football fan?” Noah asks.
“Our whole family is,” I say. “We were raised on it. We were even quizzed at the breakfast table on highest stats in the league, teams tipped to win the Super Bowl before the start of each season. Dad is a freak when it comes to football.”
Noah opens his mouth to say something but hesitates.
“What?” I ask.
“Are you sure you enjoy it? I mean, it sounds like it was forced on you. It’s all you’ve known. Maybe you should try something else you could love just as much. Maybe even more.”
“You don’t know Matt well, do you?” Jethro asks.
“Umm—”
I stop Noah from answering that. “I don’t expect you to understand. You hate the things your family has forced upon you. Public image. Politics. Money. I was lucky enough to love what my father forced on me. If I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t do it. I’d be a skinny ass like Jethro but doing something worthy like designing buildings instead of plucking a guitar.”
“Hey,” my brother complains.
I try to hide my smile. I’ve missed giving my brother hell. He’s four years younger than I am, so he was the easiest target. Char gives as good as I do, and it seemed mean to pick on the younger ones. The thoughts of my siblings remind me of the ugly news Jet gave me before my meeting. None of my brothers and sisters have been given a cent of their money.
“So, when you say you haven’t seen any of the money …” I turn to my brother.
“I mean, I haven’t seen any of that money. No other way to put it, is there? Yeah, Mom and Dad fed me and gave me a bed, and with four of us kids still living at home, that can’t be cheap, but my guitar, my car—which I gave to Char when I got on a bus to New York—everythin’ I own is because I paid for it from working at the movie theater.”
“You still work at the movie theater?” I ask. “You got that job when I left for college.”