“I’ll remember that when your life implodes.”
“Wouldn’t happen. I have no secrets. I give away my bullshit for free. In fact, I give it away so freely that nobody really wants it, so it’s not interesting enough to anyone to be newsworthy.”
“You’re the worst.”
She nods solemnly and pats my hand. “If it makes you feel better.”
Ping.
AJ: We got you, fam.
What’s happening?
Ping.
Ghost: How many people did you recruit to do this?
Ghost: Oh, baby. I’m going to do so many delicious, depraved things to you. When’s your next day off?
Ghost: I hope you’re still watching. We have a surprise for you now.
I look up at the screen and watch the crowd going wild over the on-stage screen lighting up like a slot machine hitting a jackpot.
$50,000 donation made by AJ León!!!
$50,000 donation made by Desmond Carter!!!
$50,000 donation made by Monty Nash!!!
$50,000 donation made by Connor Laramie!!!
$50,000 donation made by Giselle St. Vincent!!!
$100,000 donation made by The Shreveport Cyclones!!!
The screen doesn’t stop flashing, alert after alert of my teammates, their friends, and even the organization as a whole. One after the other, other NFL players and teams start donating. And it becomes more than just a couple of my friends supporting me, it becomes a huge statement. Because these big-name NFL players and teams aren’t donating to just any charity, they’re donating to organizations on the frontline of fighting for the LGBTQ+ and BIPOC communities. And that’s a hell of a statement to make given the current political climate.
My eyes get so blurry, I almost miss what the band is wearing when they come back on stage to a roar of cheers and applause from the crowd. Jesse has replaced his t-shirt with my jersey,because of course he has. At least the rest of the guys are wearing our colors, too. Will is wearing a Shreveport Cyclones shirt, Ari is wearing a white tank top with gold cuffs around his arms, and Naz has the top half of his body painted gold and is wearing a Cyclones trucker-style hat.
“Let’s give a shout-out to our friends over at the Shreveport Cyclones, and all the NFL players out there showing support for things that really fucking matter!”
The crowd screams, and I have to smile. Despite my awkward mistake, it actually ended up being a good thing. I’ll have to thank AJ for stepping in. He clearly did something to start that chain reaction. All these guys make good money, and most make a lot more than I do since they typically do endorsements and appearances, but that’s still a lot of money to throw out. It’s pretty amazing that they’d recognize I wouldn’t want my name flashing on a screen alone like that, even if they don’t know the real reason. I’ll definitely explain it to him one day soon, but I’d prefer to have a better idea of what is going on between me and Jesse before I tell anyone other than Shawna.
“I think this deserves something special, and it just so happens we’ve been working on something new that sort of fits the Cyclone’s team colors. Do y’all want to hear it?”
They scream again, but Naz shakes his head and yells into his microphone. “That’s bullshit, we can do better than that. My man asked you if y’all want to hear a new song!?”
The crowd screams even louder, and Naz hits the drums hard, beating a throbbing rhythm that builds into a rapid-fire drum solo. Then all at once, Jesse and Ari join in, a crescendo building before they abruptly stop. A spotlight hits Will, and he leans into a sharp guitar solo. Ari comes back in with a rhythm that sounds like a heartbeat. Jesse’s guitar joins in, and then Naz, and everyone falls into the rhythm of a sensual melody.
Jesse steps up to the mic, eyes closed, and my pants get a little tight.
I’m painting myself in your colors tonight,
Brushstrokes burning under neon lights.
Drip, drip, dripping in your gold,
Paint me a new identity, so we can lose control.
