Tanner’s throat worked. He took a long drink of his coffee. “What happens after this season ends? And I know we’ve talked about this, but I need to hear it again.”
“Grad school. Athletic training and sports medicine. Applications already submitted.” I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together. “Six more games, maybe a bowl if we’re lucky, and then I’m done. No matter what.”
“And if you get there and realize you miss playing?”
“Then I’ll find a flag football league. But I’m not making decisions based on hypothetical regrets.” I brought his hand to my mouth, kissed his knuckles. “I’m choosing what feels right now. And right now, that’s building something that lasts longer than my knees will.”
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’m going to need you to keep saying it. Probably a lot. But okay.”
We moved to the couch with fresh coffee and got into the logistics—the unsexy but necessary conversation about how to actually do this without imploding.
“Who knows about us?” Tanner asked. “Specifically.”
“Hunter. John, since Hunter tells him everything. That’s it, unless you’ve told someone.”
“Just Hunter. He’s been getting updates since trivia night.” Tanner pulled his feet up onto the couch, curling into the corner. “What about your teammates? Do any of them know you’re into guys?”
“A few I trust. They’ve never made it weird.” I set my mug on the coffee table. “But being out to a couple of friends and being publicly out are different things. While I’m still playing, I want to keep it low-key. Not because I’m ashamed?—”
“But because you don’t want it to become the story,” Tanner finished. “The media circus, the locker room dynamics, your family finding out through ESPN.”
“Yeah. Exactly.” I studied his face. “Is that going to be a problem? If we have to be careful in public for a few more months?”
He considered it. “Define careful.”
“No making out in the quad. No holding hands where teammates might see. When we’re out, we’re just roommates unless we’re somewhere safe.”
“And what counts as safe?”
“Off campus, mostly. Places where no one knows us. Hunter and John’s place.” I shifted close enough to touch his knee. “I’mnot asking you to be a secret. I’m asking for discretion until the season’s over and I can control my own narrative.”
Tanner was quiet for a moment. “I can do discretion. But, Seth—I’m not going back in the closet for anyone. I spent too many years watching my dad hide his symptoms, pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. I won’t pretend about this.”
“I’m not asking you to pretend. Just to be strategic about timing.”
“There’s a difference?”
“I think so. Pretending is lying. Strategy is choosing when and how to tell the truth.” I held his gaze. “After bowl season, I’m done being careful. I want to be able to hold your hand without checking who’s watching. I just need a few more months.”
He searched my face, looking for something. Whatever he found made his expression soften. “Okay. A few more months of discretion. But you have to promise that when the season ends, we’re done hiding.”
“I promise.”
“And I get to tell my mom when I’m ready. On my own timeline.”
“Of course.”
He nodded once, then uncurled from his corner of the couch and shifted closer until our shoulders touched. “This is very adult of us. Negotiating boundaries like functional humans.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m sure we’ll find new ways to fuck it up.”
“Probably.” But he was almost smiling.
By mid-morning, we’d talked ourselves in circles enough that I needed to move.
