I scrunch my nose. “My dad can come off kind of cranky, but he means well. I know I’ll have some preconceived notions and outdated ideals to contend with, but I truly believe he’ll love and support me–us–no matter what.”
“And your sisters?”
“Shawna says Talia has a poster of you on her wall, so things might get awkward.”
He laughs. “I think I can handle that.”
We talk for a couple more hours, about our families and pasts. We touch a little on our hopes for the future, but I think we’re both feeling a bit tender in that regard. Everything feels too good to be true. But now we have a plan.
“I have to get to bed, long day tomorrow,” I tell him. “But I have a present for you.”
“A present?” His eyebrows lift, and he looks wary, excited, and confused all at the same time.
“Yeah. It’s not quite as good as showing up out of nowhere and fucking you senseless, but since it’ll be another five days before I get to see you again, I thought this might help us pass the time.”
I send over the file on the encrypted app that Tad installed on my phone. I hear his phone chime and watch his face carefully as he navigates to the app to open the video link. Immediately, his eyes go wide and then glaze over with lust. I can hear the sounds we’re making in the video, the dirty way we were talking to each other.
It’s a compilation video of all the times I fucked him on Sunday, filled him with my cum, and plugged him up. The last frame of the video is when I finally let it all pour out of him, pooling and squelching.
“I think I might love you,” Jesse groans.
We run off the field, feeling high. We’re undefeated this season so far, and today we absolutely annihilated Tampa Bay, 38 to 7. It was almost a shutout, but their quarterback threw a hell of a Hail Mary in the last quarter to put some points on the board before it was over for the Buccs.
I’m all smiles and feeling good. Jesse and I have a plan, and I’m taking him home to meet my family in two days. It feels like my whole life is about to start. Really start, since I’ve been coasting through the last twenty-seven years like a ghost. In the locker room, spirits are high, and I even sing along a little as my friends and teammates dance around to our unofficial new team song byLest Is Moore.
After a shower, I’m ready to join the guys for a celebratory dinner. I’m getting more and more comfortable with testing the waters of public appearances.
I get dressed and pull my phone out of my bag, my heart slowing to a sluggish, slow-motion thump-thump that I can hear in my ears. There are dozens of missed calls in just the last few hours, and texts from Jesse, Shawna, and Mr. Holland. Ignoring all the other calls and not reading any of the messages, I dial Jesse’s number. When he answers, his voice is rough like he’s been screaming. He sounds wrecked.
“I’m so sorry.”
TWENTY-THREE
JESSE
“Luc, baby. I’m so sorry. I–”
The line goes dead. He…he hung up.
“No, no, no.” I fumble with the phone, staring at the screen like I can will him back. There’s a fist in my chest, squeezing so tightly my stomach gets pulled into the knot, twisting and tightening until the weight of it all slams into me all at once.
My knees hit the carpet, the phone clattering beside me.
I’m so fucking stupid.
I fall forward, fists beating the floor, a wail ripping from the depths of my soul until there’s no air left in my lungs. I crumple in on myself, pulling my knees to my chest in an attempt to stem the flow of my heart leaking out through my throat. There’s nothing left in my stomach to throw up, and I’ve barely any voice left to scream with. All that’s left are tears and heartbreak.
No one runs to check on me this time. I’ve screamed at them all to leave me alone more times than I can count. I’ve pushedeveryone that loves me away, and I ruined the only man I’ve ever loved enough to want to be a better person.
Too worn out to move, I stare straight ahead, the wet bar taunting me from across the room. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, and I squeeze my knees harder, trying to blot out the merciless droning of the news anchor on TV.
“Breaking now: international rock phenomenon Jesse Moore, frontman ofLest Is Moore, appears to be the victim of a targeted cloud hacking attack. Personal information, as well as several explicit photos and videos, believed to have been hacked from Moore’s personal devices, surfaced online early this evening. At this time, Moore is the only known victim of the breach. While some are pointing fingers at the recent barrage of right-wing media attacks on the bandLest Is Mooreand their unwavering support of the LGBTQ+ community, many seem to be more focused on the content of the breach, specifically intimate photos and videos of what appear to be Moore in explicit encounters with another man. While the superstar has always been open about his sexuality, fans and critics alike are already speculating about the identity of the partner, though no names have yet been linked.”
The words rattle around the room, jarring my bones. The reporter’s voice is too bright, too loud, too sharp with her words. All I can do is lie there and take it, as clip after clip and quote after quote are played and played and played again.
“Sex, drugs, and rock and roll: Targeted hack exposes rockstar Jesse Moore.”
“Private videos leaked online: Who is the mystery man?”
