But Jamie puts on a pair of flannel pants and punches his pillow before getting in, back to me. Still hopeful, I roll toward him and kiss his shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby,” I say. “Let me make it better.”
“My head kind of aches,” he mumbles.
If I were the crying type, that would have done me in.
Instead, I kiss his shoulder one more time. Then I roll onto my back and start counting the weeks until the end of the season. I don’t think I can take this anymore. Not if it makes Jamie unhappy.
TEN
JAMIE
The next morning passes in a slow grind of tension and frustration.
Wes and I are not doing so great. He knows I’m upset over what happened last night. Running into him at that pub, having to pretend we’re old acquaintances instead of lovers. No,partners.
To make matters worse, Wes’s dad calls the afternoon after our debacle. Since Mr. Wesley never bothers to call, I get tense the moment I hear Wes say, “Hi, Dad. What do you need?”
The man never calls unless he needs something.
“Uh-huh,” is all Wes says after listening for a moment. “I suppose it’s possible.”
This tells me nothing. I scrub down our kitchen sink as if I’m angry at it, wondering when he’ll get off the phone and tell me what’s up. And when he doesn’t do that immediately, I find myself blasting the water in the sink. Then I whistle to myself. I’m making these noises because Roger Wesley doesn’t like it that his son lives with a man. I don’t exist to that asshole, so it’s fun to remind him that I do.
Fun, if pathetic.
But Wes only moves out of range, carrying his phone into our bedroom where he can hear better.
So my childish quest to be acknowledged ends without satisfaction. But hey, I have a very clean sink.
When Wes finally reappears, I’m so cranky that I don’t even ask what the old man wanted, because I’m not sure I can speak calmly.
He sits down at the bar and watches me until I finally give up the charade and throw down the sponge. “What?”
A beat passes before he speaks. I have never felt as raw as I feel right now. I’ve just discovered that falling in love has a dark side. When you’re mad at the love of your life, it’s impossible to feel joy.
“My dad called,” he says finally.
“I got that,” I say, but my tone is kinder than the words.
He nods. “Remember his buddy atSports Illustrated?”
“Sure. The guy wanted to do an all-access kind of series about your rookie season.”
Wes nods. “Well, now that my rookie season looks fruitful, he’s pretty bummed that I said no. So he’s pressuring dad to pry an exclusive interview out of me.”
“Can’t you just say no?” He had before.
My boyfriend stares at his hands. “This time he’s working both ends of it. He’s leaning on Frank to get him the story.”
Ah. Frank is the PR guy, and Wes never says no to him, because he thinks the whole coming-out thing will go easier if Frank’s on his side. “So...how about this—tell the guy that if he waits until June, you’ll give him a story worth waiting for.”
Wes looks up at me quickly. “I can’t dothat. It would be like dangling a mouse in front of a python and asking him not to strike. He’ll just start digging. With that kind of hint, howhard would it be for him to find what he wants, then just break the story without my help?”
Shit. “Okay. That won’t work.”
“You think?” His voice cracks. “Babe, this is all I think about. I’ve been through every possible scenario. It’s not for lack of trying, all right?”
I know he feels cornered. I get it. The problem is that I don’t see why that will just go away come June. I’m worried that he won’t go through with it. That the idea of a media circus will be so abhorrent to him that he won’t be able to bring himself to pull the trigger.
