Page 55 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

“We have a long way to go in the league,” Diego says. “I know there’s closeted players still fearful. Depending on where they play, that situation could be really different.”

“True.”

“But in Chicago, it’s all good.”

I’m quiet for a moment, gazing out the window at the passing city. “How did you meet Callan?”

He snickers. “At a gym. I had that hip injury, you know?”

“Oh yeah.”

“One of my teammates sent me into a gym called Sweat. Callan ended up being my trainer.”

“Nice.”

“And my bisexual awakening.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. Thought I was straight as a nail before that. Turns out, not so much.”

Relatable. I swallow the word down though, not quite sure I’m ready to say it out loud to anyone other than Trav just yet. “Do you think it’s weird to be a fully adult person and realize your sexuality is different than you always thought it was?”

“Not weird, but definitely interesting.” He glances at me. “If you ever need anyone to talk to about whatever, hit me up.”

“Thanks.”

I’m not ready to talk about my feelings for Trav yet. I don’t even really know what they are. Not enough to put into words anyway.

An hour and a half later, I’m sitting in my new temporary apartment, stomach full, glancing around at the beige neutrality of it all. I miss the deep colors and masculine vibe of Trav’s apartment. My own place was nice enough, but his was better. It smelled like him.

I glance at my phone, wondering if talking to him would make me feel better or worse. I’ve had a good day so far. The team was cool, practice went well, and Diego could be a friend. Not a best friend, of course, but a good one.

I unpack a few things and hang my suit for tonight’s game. I’m sure there will be media all over the place trying to get the first pics of me entering the Huskies’ stadium as one of them. With a sweater draped over my arm, I flop down on the bed. This is the meaning of bittersweet. All signs point to this being a positive move for me, but how can I enjoy anything without Trav?

Chicago has some nice architecture, but it’s missing that slightly salty scent in the air. It’s missing all my comfort spots, my routine, my favorite restaurants.

But mostly it’s missing Trav.

It could be the best city in the world, but it would still be lacking without him.

Somehow, I force myself to finish unpacking and setting out my toiletries. I take another shower, then shuffle back into the bedroom to relax for a little bit before I have to head back to the arena.

Thirty minutes later, as I’m putting on my suit, my phone buzzes and my stomach flutters. I hope it’s Trav. I grab it, swiping the screen open and smiling.

SHOW: Hey, Bozy. Show Chicago what’s up tonight. Good luck for your first game. I’m rooting for you.

My whole body warms as I read the text several times.

BEAU: Thanks, Trav.

SHOW: How’s it been so far?

BEAU: So far so good.

My finger hovers over the screen. Should I be honest? Would it make things weird? Ah, fuck it. This is Trav.

BEAU: I miss home. Boston. You.