"He seems like a dick."
"Yeah." I stayed by the window. I couldn't see Joel's face from this angle, just his back, his shoulders, the rigid line of his spine. Sean was doing most of the talking.
Then Joel turned. For just a second, through the window, his eyes met mine.
The look on his face made my stomach drop.
The door opened. Joel walked back in alone, and something was wrong.
His face had that competition look, the one he wore when he was about to skate a program he'd done a thousand times, perfectly composed and completely empty.
"Joel," I said. "What did he—"
"We need to talk."
Behind me, Derek set down a pan too hard on the stove.
"Okay," I said. "Let's talk."
"Not here."
He walked toward the back of the house, toward the guest room. I followed him, and the hallway seemed to stretch longer than it should have.
He closed the door behind us. The room was small, just a bed and a dresser and a window that looked out on the backyard, where the kids' swing set stood motionless in the fading light.
"Joel," I said. "Whatever he said to you—"
"He's right."
That stopped me cold. "What?"
"My father. He's right." Joel still wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the window, at the swing set, at anything else. "He didn't even have to try to find out about us. He just paid attention. If he can figure it out, anyone can."
"Joel—"
"Your teammate just lost his sponsor." His voice was flat. "His boyfriend lost his job. That was two hours ago. And you sat on that couch and shook because you knew it could be you."
I couldn't deny it.
"This is over." His voice didn't waver. "Us. This. It's done. You should go back to Vegas. Focus on the playoffs. Forget this happened."
"Joel, you can't just—"
"I can." He picked up his bag. "My father's driving me to the airport. I have training to get back to."
"No." I grabbed his arm. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to drive all night to be here and then just leave because your father told you to."
"Let go of me."
"Talk to me.”
"It doesn't matter what he said." He pulled his arm free. "What matters is I'm leaving, and you're going to go back to your life and stop risking everything for someone who isn't worth it."
"That's bullshit."
"Is it?" He turned on me, and there was something ugly in his face now. "You're not ready to come out. You said so yourself. I'm the reason you might have to. I'm the risk." He gestured toward the living room. "You want that to be you? You want to sit at a press conference and watch your sponsors drop you in real time?"
"I want you."
