Mystery Man In Viral Videos Outed
NFL Hero Shocks The World With Rocker Sex Scandal
New Year, New Power Couple?
From Sidelines to Stage: Luc Martín’s Secret Romance Goes Viral
Private Leaked Footage Goes Viral Again After Mystery Bottom Uncovered
Is Luc Martín’s Relationship Proof that the Super Bowl is Staged?
Integrity On The Line: Can Luc Martín Survive Scandal as Cyclones Head to Super Bowl?
Faith, Family, and Football: Did Luc Martín Betray the League’s “Good Guy” Ideal?
Conservative Critics Call for Cyclone’s Defensive Player Suspension
On and on and on they go, until I’m forced out of bed to hunch over the toilet. Last night’s celebration tastes twice as bitter on the way back up.
By the time I make it to the team facilities, there’s no question that all my teammates, coaches, and trainers have seen it. I enter our usual post-game film and debrief meeting to wolf whistles and jeers. Even if most of the reactions seem playful and teasing, not disgusted or hateful by any means, I’m still humiliated. Every man in this room, every teammate with whom I’d found mutual respect, has seen me at my base, most vulnerable moments. They’ve seen parts of me that no one other than Jesse should have seen.
I try to play it cool, laugh it off where I can. I keep my head down and speak even less than usual. Every phone in the room is buzzing and pinging with the trending news blowing up all over sports news, social media, music blogs, and political trash fires everywhere.
Unsurprisingly, the leaked photo and confirmation of my involvement in a major rockstar’s sex scandal overshadow our team meeting. I’m excused from the mandatory press interviews that are supposed to take place this afternoon, but the story dwarfs the team’s accomplishment. Our rise from the bottom to the biggest championship in American professional sports is diminished to a byline under the news of me bottoming for an international superstar.
I wait until most of the team is gone before braving the swarm of media waiting for me outside. As soon as the doors open, I’m hit by a wall of flashing lights and shouted questions that range from stupid “Can you show us a smile?” to downright intrusive “How long have you been Jesse Moore’s gay lover?”
The driver Jesse’s label hired to help protect me from the vultures is trapped inside the SUV, cameras and people pressed closely against the vehicle. The poor guy looks as panicked as I feel. There’s no clear path to get to the SUV, much less for Graham to get us out.
A firm hand closes on my shoulder.
“Come on, Martín,” Coach growls, pulling me back inside. “This way.”
I let him steer me away, pulling my cap lower as a member of the janitorial staff leads us through a service door and down a maintenance hallway. The shouts dull to a muffled buzz behind us.
“Thanks Jerry,” Coach calls to the janitor, who nods as he holds a door open to the loading dock behind the stadium, where a black sedan idles. “Get in before any of them get wise,” he orders, and slides behind the wheel.
A few people snap photos and try to run after the car when we exit through a back gate, but we’re gone before most of the mob realizes we’ve given them the slip. My pulse throbs, too hard and too fast, and no amount of deep breathing will make it settle.
“Hell of a mob out there,” Coach mutters finally, his hands steady on the wheel. “You kept it together alright.”
I’m a little shocked those are his first words to me. If anything, I’m expecting him to ream me out for embarrassing the team and making a spectacle of myself.
“Doesn’t feel that way,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Sorry for all the trouble this is causing. I didn’t mean–"
“Of course you didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It’s not your fault the press is no better than a pack of wolves.” He glances over. “Listen, right now your best move is to lay low. Take a break for a couple days and let the hype wear down.”
“But Coach–”
“You can’t tell me that a couple of days is going to get in your way of helping your team bring home a Super Bowl win.”
“No, sir.”
“Let the PR team mitigate this mess and do what you need to do to get your shit in order.”
“Yes, sir.”
I wonder if he noticed that I don’t put up much fight. The truth is, I’m not comfortable in the locker room with my teammates right now. Not because any of them are being inappropriate, but because I feel exposed. All my nerves are raw, and I am way too aware of the eyes on me.
