“Night, hubby.”
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
SPENCER
Despite someone workingat the café writing #NeverGabriel on his coffee cup, which he was able to cover with a sleeve, our airport date was a breeze. Gabriel and I just parked up by each other for breakfast sandwiches and coffees, bumped knees while a photo explosion erupted around us, and hurried to our separate flights.
Back in Boston, though, nothing feels quite as easy. I usually train at home, thankfully, but every time I go out to meet a trainer or a coach at another gym, my heightened celebrity gets in the way. Even if it’s just on the street outside, someone will take a picture without asking, some other random dude might mumble something vaguely homophobic, and then I’ll turn around to encounter a stranger raving about how wonderful my love with Gabriel is.
It’s exhausting, and not particularly good for the tennis.
For years, highly regimented training and tournament schedules have dictated what I do with my time. Ever since Vegas, though, even as I stick to my grueling schedule, I still feel off-kilter.
I keep wishing Gabriel and I had given ourselves more time to talk. Running drills and lifting weights, I’m constantly mulling over our situation. I’ll catch myself gasping for breath after a hard sprint, hands on my knees, and out of nowhere, I’ll be thinking about his cocky smile again, wondering about his life.
Gabriel’s presence has turned my life upside down, but it feels easier to navigate it all when he’s close.
Luckily, the frustration has fueled an energy burst. I’m training like I never have, as though I could push myself hard enough, and the burn would obliterate everything that’s not tennis.
I even put Gabriel’s old bands on the stereo when I think I’m ready to quit, motivation to drive me in deeper. It hurts my ears and makes me mad, but the frantic energy kind of works for another boost.
It’s two weeks in, and I’ve just put in one of my best sessions yet. Stepping out of the shower at home, I towel myself off, and my thoughts return to my other constant preoccupation, the one that hurts.
When I can’t get it out of my head, I finally walk over to my phone and check the message. It’s a ritual I only allow myself to indulge once a day, clicking on the text I sent two weeks ago.
Dad. Will you please at least call me?
And nothing. No response. No missed calls or voicemails.
Just every other Sunday evenings that I suddenly have free, family dinners clearly off the table.
My chest feels hollow, but I push on. After days of obsessing over Gabriel in my head, he’s finally going to be here to distract me in person.
We’ve texted a few times, but it’s always been about practical matters. He’s here for two nights, staying with me. We’ll do a photo op each day, but nothing complicated. The point is really just to be seen.
While I mess around in the kitchen, waiting for him to arrive, I honestly have no idea whether Gabriel’s been thinking about me at all.
The buzzer rings, and I walk across the condo. I told the interior decorator that I wanted something minimal and tasteful, and she delivered, giving the condo a comfortably masculine touch, plenty of blue with big framed mirrors and polished wood.
I’m proud of my home, but all my attention was on the custom gym and court I had installed above me.
I open the door to Gabriel, who pushes his sunglasses up with a grin. “Honey, I’m home.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t help but smile. “I’ve been cooking all day,” I say sarcastically. “Late at the office?”
Gabriel laughs. He’s got a duffel bag over his shoulder and guitar case in the other hand, and a black wool cap over his long hair. “No, got stuck in a blizzard, I think. Fucking cold here.”
I take the duffel bag. “It hasn’t snowed in days. Where it hasn’t been cleared, there’s barely a quarter inch on the ground.”
He kicks his boots off. “I’d never knowingly marry a man who lived in the arctic.”
I walk him through the condo. “Okay, Seattle. Known for its weather.”
“Seattle is just for now,” he says, eyes dancing around my place. “Staying close to the label while I record. I move all the time. Nice condo, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I push open the door to the guest room. “This is you. I’m on the other side. We can’t hear each other, so you’ll have total privacy while you’re here.” I nod. “Your bathroom is back there. And use the dresser and the closet if you like.”
Gabriel slides the duffel bag off my shoulder and tosses it to the large bed. “This is great,” he says and jumps on after it, landing on the mattress. “Comfy.”
