I don’t mark those videos as fake news, but I still spend most of my trip going through her old shit and reporting those. I also go through the comments sections, which have new, less bullshitcomments now. I also leave those, but mark the blind followers as hate comments.
Clearly, my hours spent doing this haven’t made a difference because all her bullshit is still there. But what else am I going to do on a late flight? Sleeping isn’t an option. It’s notthatlong.
The one she posted right after Caulder’s interview was simply her laughing for the first minute. Waving her hand in front of the screen. Holding a finger up for her audience to wait.
“My man, you can’t just call yourself gay, now. It doesn’t work like that baby.” She leans forward and gives the camera a haughty look. “You stuck your dick in me. You weren’t gay then, Caulder Haines. This isn’t going away because you decided that you’re going to suddenly like boys.”
I do enjoy the comments after that. Almost all of them are in Caulder’s favor.
His point isn’t that he suddenly decided to be gay. It’s that he’s been gay all along and never touched your ass.
THAT’s that part you want to comment on? Not the fact that he’s calling you out to prove your bullshit?
You know what? We should have gotten behind him all along. You crazy.
I admit, if you were coming after me with bs like this, I’d turn to dick too.
You’re right—it doesn’t work like that. He is gay and he didn’t touch you. How about you take the paternity test?
It kills me not to tap the little heart next to some comments. But I don’t want my name showing up anywhere in relation to this. To any drama, not just this.
In the two weeks since Caulder’s interview went live, there’s been a lot of support for Caulder. Not just in hockey—where everyone finally woke the fuck up and decided to speak up on his behalf—but within the LGBTQIA+ community too. There have been a lot of LGBTQIA+ influencers and content creators making short, brief supporting statements. Some of them stating that they understand completely. Straight sexuality isn’t a title when heterosexuals are talked about—why should gay men and women be labeled as if it’s a salutation? Mr. Smith just won gold. Mr. White was promoted. The gay hockey player just scored a hat trick.
Caulder’s full interview lasted more than an hour. I’ve listened to it several times. The pride that fills me from everything he said makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. It did nothing but emphasize that he’s legitimately a good person.
It’s been difficult to get back to him in the last two weeks. We managed one thirty-hour visit just north of Nashville when we were both close with away games. Otherwise, we’ve been stuck with several hundred miles of distance between us. It sucks.
But since Caulder’s interview, he’s looked a lot better. He sounds better. Not back to where he was before this bitch blew up everywhere, but the stress in his voice doesn’t have me so concerned that he’s going to have a heart attack. And his skin isn’t so sallow.
It’s close to one in the morning when my plane lands. Since it’s such a short trip, I only have a backpack, so I don’t have to stop at the carousel. My Shuttled arrives within five minutes and I’m on my way.
Caulder stopped responding to texts an hour ago, so I assume he’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him since I know he hasn’t beensleeping well over the last month with all the bullshit happening. He gave me a house key the last time I was here because he had to leave for practice, but didn’t want me to be stuck at his house while he was gone. It works out now because I don’t have to wake him with a text or the doorbell if he is asleep.
The car drops me off and I let myself in. After locking up and slipping out of my shoes, I walk through his dark house and stop in his bedroom doorway.
Caulder is on his back, blankets low on his waist giving me a teasing view of the dick bump under them. I swear, if the lighting wasn’t so dim, his head is likely poking out. His arms are up, as if he fell on his back and remained that way. In the hand closest to the nightstand where the lamp is casting a very low light is his cell phone, his head turned that way as if he were watching it.
I take a breath, admiring him. He looks so peaceful. So beautiful.
A yawn overtakes me and I creep quietly into the room so I don’t wake him and shut myself in his ensuite. I take a shower to get all the airport germs off me and brush my teeth before stepping back into the bedroom again. I contemplate underwear, but ultimately decide against it.
Caulder jumps a little when I climb on the bed, his hand not holding the phone coming down to rub at his chest. He turns his head and tired eyes meet mine. He smiles and reaches for me.
“Lo,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
I bring my body down on his and we wrap around each other. His arms are tight, letting me know how much he missed me. I grip him just as tightly, hoping he feels the same from me in return.
He sighs.
“Go back to sleep,” I murmur.
Caulder rolls us so he’s on top of me. His mouth moves lazily over my neck as he gives me sleepy kisses. I smile, eyes dropping.
“How long are you here?” he asks.
“Thirty-two hours,” I answer.
He sighs again. “I hate long-distance.”
