The room at the top of the staircase had been mine, and to now see it co-opted by my father, the built-ins filled with books he’d written or edited, felt like an important part of my life had been erased. I left the office and saw Hugo waiting for me at the far end of the hallway, next to one of the guest rooms.
“Here we are,” Hugo said brightly, but his downcast eyes told a different story. He knew what my parents had done to me.
“Thanks. I think I’ll pass on the lunch for now.”
“Whatever you like. Just press number one on the house phone as always, but you should have what you need.”
He left me, and I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. For two years I’d been playing for the Kings, just a skip across the river to Brooklyn, yet my parents had never bothered to attend a single home game. Not even for the playoffs. I rolled onto my side.
“Probably a good thing. They would’ve berated me for losing.A Summers doesn’t come in second,” I mimicked my mother’s patrician voice. God, just half an hour in this house, and the walls were closing in on me.
With it nearing the end of the off-season, I missed Brody terribly, but he had endorsement commercials filming in London, Paris, and Rome. Prior to him leaving, we’d managed to coordinate our busy schedules and spend some uninterrupted time together. I relived our final night together.
“Do you know how much I hate watching you walk out the door?” I played with the ends of Brody’s hair as we lay together, snug in bed. My personal assistant, Fallon, had found us a secluded fishing cabin, deep in the 9 Lakes region of Tennessee. We’d heard Vette talk about the area for years, and we’d managed two glorious weeks to ourselves. But now it was time to leave.
“About as much as I do leaving you behind, knowin’ when I come home, it’s trainin’ camp and preseason and another six months of not seein’ each other.” His sigh gusted in my ear. “But I’d rather have half a year with you than nothin’ at all. So I’ll take what I can get.”
I rolled on top of him. “You can have it all. Everything. You already do. Dammit, Brody, I didn’t think it was gonna be so hard.”
His fingertip traced my mouth. “I was taught it ain’t worth having if it’s too easy.”
“And I’d rather have you in my heart than nothing at all. We’re gonna make it, Brody. As long as we keep our eyes on the prize. And know our end game is to be together.”
So I was left to myself, which I hated, and I’d even contemplated flying to Europe to see him, but then my parents sent their cryptic message, and my first thought was,Are they sick?I immediately dismissed the idea. No germ would dare enter the bodies of the great Professors Leonard Summers and Sandra Roan-Summers.
I pulled out my phone.
Hi. What’re you doing?
My phone pinged.
Night here. Gonna go eat with some of the actors on set.
I sighed.
Don’t meet some sexy Italian man who’ll whisper sweet nothings in your ear.
Brody responded immediately with a laughing emoji.
Why would I want anyone else when I’ve got you?
And he did have me. Body and soul. Every single inch. Happiness settled in my chest, and I sent a heart emoji in return.
“God, we were so dumb. Four years we wasted, too afraid to let each other know how we felt and what we wanted.”
It was more than simple want, though. I’d never lacked for sex. It was easy enough to find guys like me—unable to come out, afraid because of family or the society they lived in. Fear walked hand in hand with shame. Not shame that I was gay, because I loved who I was. But shame that I didn’t have the courage to come out and be that hero some kid might need, all because I wanted to play pro ball.
Being with Brody these past two years, taking our stolen moments where we could find them, I’d realized I craved a real life with him. The going-out-for-breakfast-at-the-diner, walking-hand-in-hand-on-the-street kind of life. Early on we’d decided to keep our relationship secret, knowing if we did come out, our careers would most likely be finished before they’d barely had a chance to begin. It hurt like hell, and we hated lying to our friends, but we didn’t know what else to do.
“It sucks,” I muttered, folding the pillow under my head. “We shouldn’t have to hide. This isn’t the Dark Ages.”
Voices filtered through my closed door, and I sat up. “Speaking of the Dark Ages.” I hopped out of bed and opened my suitcase to change, then decided against it. My parents would have to take me as they found me.
From the top of the stairs, I studied my parents as my mother gave Hugo her wrap. It had been more than a year since I’d seen them—I’d had to play on both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Not that I’d received an invitation to dinner for either holiday. When I’d called to speak with them, Hugo had informed me that they had been invited to a dean’s home for Thanksgiving, and they’d spent the Christmas vacation skiing in Gstaad. I’d ordered takeout after I’d returned home from the games.
My mother, elegant as ever, had kept the same upswept blond hairdo which drew attention to her delicate bone structure. The black suit fit her bone-thin frame, and the artfully applied makeup made her appear ten years younger than her fifty-seven years.
As for my father, he stood tall and trim in a handmade charcoal suit, his once thick head of dark hair now salt-and-pepper, which only made him more distinguished. Here I was, the black sheep—hair longer than proper in their eyes, stubbled cheeks, and tattoos adorning my arms and body.
