My finger hovered over Nixon’s buzzer and I took a few steadying breaths. This was it; one way or the other, walking through those doors and riding the elevator up to the eighth floor would answer the questions in my mind. It would be a new beginning or closure. Either was better than the limbo I’d been in since Nixon called me last week.
I pressed the button and took a step back, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my slacks so I couldn’t pick at the skin at the corners of my nails.
“Linc?” I looked at the small monitor above the buzzer panel. Nixon leaned closer to the camera on his side of our connection, concern evident in the deep ridges across his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I glanced around, trying to make sure no one was watching me. Again, something I wouldn’t have done in the past, but it seemed knowing what I thought was a private conversation had been recorded and was possibly getting ready to be broadcast to the world had me a bit paranoid. “Can…um…I’m sorry, Nix. I should’ve called. I was hoping we might be able to talk a bit.”
“Yeah, absolutely,” Nixon said without hesitation. The door buzzed and I stepped inside. I willed my heart to slow down while I waited for the elevator. Told myself there was nothing to worry about as the elevator car ascended to Nixon’s floor.
The tension in the air thickened as I stepped off and turned to the left. My chest tightened, making it impossible to draw in a breath when I saw Nixon leaning casually against the wall waiting for me.
His proffered hand spurred me into motion, and I closed the distance between us. “This is an unexpected surprise.”
“I should’ve called first,” I repeated. “I’m leaving tomorrow and we need to talk about what happened between us. I mean, I’d like to if you’d be willing. I think both of us could’ve handled things better and… I miss you.”
Nixon ushered me into his apartment. While I sat on the couch, in the spot that’d been holding me most of the day, Nixon grabbed a bottle and two crystal glasses. He sat in the chair across from me, his chair as I’d come to think of it. I wanted to ask him to come closer, to sit next to me the way he had earlier when it’d just been the two of us. But this was for the best.
“I already told you, I was a complete asshole to you,” he said, but it wasn’t that clear cut in my mind.
I couldn’t deny the emptiness I felt after he’d ghosted me. As often as I tried telling myself it was his own hang ups, I couldn’t keep myself from wondering what I did to push him away?
Okay, I knew the role I’d played, but I hadn’t thought it would’ve been enough to make him cut off almost all communication.
“That’s nothing new,” I said, trying to hide my own pain. “In fact, it’s one of your more endearing qualities most of the time. It’s refreshing to have someone in my life who will always say what’s on his mind without considering how it sounds to anyone else. But this time, your bluntness is what’s left me so confused. You didn’t like what I had to say and you cut off all communication.”
“Because I opened myself up to you and you hurt me, you jackass,” Nixon spat out. Seeing him finally showing some sort of emotion made me feel better, even if I wasn’t thrilled to be on the receiving end of his anger. “I ignored everything I felt for you for years. First, it was because you were a player and I was a trainer and there were rules against us being together, or there would’ve been if anyone thought it was possible for gay men to be into sports. And you couldn’t do anything that might lead someone to question your sexuality. You had Isabella and Hunter and the perfect, all-American life.”
“It wasn’t perfect, and you damn well know it,” I shot back. Nixon stared me down, silently asking if I was going to let him finish. Yes, I was. This was what I’d come here for. “Sorry, please continue. What did I do to hurt you? I really don’t understand that part.”
“When you told me you were getting a divorce, it was like something opened inside of me. I was sad for you, because I know you did love Isabella, even if not the way you felt you should have, but at the same time, I was happy because you were finally going to be able to live the life you’d always wanted,” he continued. It was a level of raw honesty I wasn’t used to from Nixon. He could give his opinion on just about any topic, but whenever conversations ventured into his own emotions, he shut down in a hurry. “In my head, it was a sign that I could finally tell you how I felt about you, beyond you being my only real friend. You were single and not looking to come out of the closet; I was tired of being alone but didn’t want someone who would pressure me to be out in public.”
“And I shot you down.” So far, none of what he said was a surprise, but it was the first time I’d tried putting myself in his shoes. The way he’d brought it up at the time sounded more like he was offering to be a nice distraction from everything that was happening in my life. I’d been trying to protect both of us, because I wasn’t in the right mental space to start a relationship with anyone and I couldn’t bear the thought of getting closer to him, knowing Idideventually want something real with a man I loved. Quite possibly him. But that could never happen because of his own messed-up perceptions about sharing your life with someone else.
“Yeah, you did,” Nixon confirmed. “So, I did what I do best; I pulled away, figuring the ache would subside the longer I avoided you. When that didn’t work, I shut down completely because I’m not the guy who waxes poetic about what might’ve been.”
“And now?”
Nixon sipped his drink and hung his head. He knew what I was asking.
Is there a chance for us to be together now? Say yes, Nix, and I won’t hurt you again.
“I’m still the same man I was back then,” he warned me. “After hearing you talk about going out on dates with men, testing the waters, as you put it, I’m back in that fucked-up place where I have no idea. You want to live your life. You want to be seen for who you are. Me? I don’t want anyone thinking they have the right to judge me, so it’s easier to hide out at home when I’m not required by the Breakers to be somewhere.”
“Do you think I’m looking for someone to march in parades with me?”
Yes, I was tired of hiding, but that didn’t mean I’d be doing a press junket once I finally fell in love. Part of the reason I finally felt safe coming out was that I’d slipped into the safety of being a retired football player and people didn’t give a damn about me anymore. That was proven by the fact that no one gave me a second glance, even in Birmingham.
“I don’t want someone to put on display to prove how much better my life is now than it was back then. I’m not making any grand political statements here. I needed to prove to myself that Icouldbe open and not have it blow up in my face. And it hasn’t, because no one cares.”
“What about when Hunter enters the draft?” That one question was exactly why Nixon was the perfect man for me. He knew the lengths I’d gone to, would always go to, in order to protect my son.
“Whether I’m with you or someone else, that’s something we’d have to deal with,” I pointed out. His argument might’ve been intended as a way to deter me from pursuing a relationship with him, but all he did was strengthen my resolve and desire.
Nixon wouldn’twantto be out, so if I wanted to delay doing anything in public, I wouldn’t be pressured. He’d understand I was trying to make sure Hunter had a fair shot in the NAFL.
“And what about Isabella? Isn’t she going to have questions if we’re suddenly together?” It seemed Nixon was going to challenge every single reason I’d given him for why we couldn’t be together.
“At this point, I don’t think she’ll care.” My ex-wife was now happily engaged to a man who treated her like a queen. She was happier than she’d ever been when we were together, despite the fact that she no longer lived the life of an NAFL star’s wife with the bank account to match.
