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Phil’s parents were here. Senator and Mrs. Kestrel. And they had sent their goons up to fetch me.

Oh shit. I knew I should have stayed home to study.

I’d never felt more spotlighted than I did being led down those bleachers.

Everyone at the opening day game was staring at me. Sure, I was kind of getting used to fellow students and faculty recognizing me from the livestream. I’d even picked up followers on social media from other states, and a few from other countries, but on the whole, Archimedes Kee was one of those people no one really paid any attention to.

That was not the case today.

Carrying a small banner with LU Lions on it, a thermos with green tea, and a ton of worry, I followed the two big men with bigger attitudes down to the exit nearest our seats.

“I’ve never met the Secret Service before,” I said as we walked into the main concourse past a men’s room.

“You haven’t today either,” Beefy Dude One replied. “We’re private security for the senator when he visits woke colleges.”

Oh. Huh. Wow. I wasn’t aware Liverswell U was a woke college. I mean, sure, we had liberal arts classes, but did those really count?

“I see. Did someone threaten him?”

“This way,” Beefy Dude Two replied. Not really an answer to my question, but okay. We approached the trainer’s room at a clip. I could hear raised voices inside the medical area as we drew closer. The two other bodyguards were stationed outside, flanking the door. They nodded at my escorts, knocked, and then opened the door. I glanced around nervously as the ruckus inside fell into a horribly unhappy silence. Stepping in, banner pressed to my chest, the sleeves of Phil’s football jacket hiding my hands, I found myself standing before the Kestrel family. Phil’s blue eyes were snapping with anger when they flew to me. Then, because Phil was a golden retriever if ever there was one, his gaze softened.

“Hey,” he said, his voice tight. Senator and Mrs. Kestrel assessed me as one would a bug smashed on a windshield. They both looked like they wanted nothing more than to flick on the wipers, hit the washer fluid, and scrub my dorky Asian ass off. He reached out a big hand. I took a few steps, slipped my hand into his, and smiled shakily at the parental units. They did not smile back. “This is Archie, my boyfriend.”

The introduction was a total “I dare you to say something” if ever I heard one.

Phil was generally a sweetheart. He rarely got angry, jabbered good-naturedly to everyone, and loved to play with balls. Pun intended. So seeing him so aggro was totally out of character. But then again, even the gentlest golden will bite when abused. And Phil had been treated like shit by the two people staring at our clasped hands with barely disguised disdain.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kee,” Senator Kestrel said while wearing his politician’s face. You know the one. The mug all elected officials plaster on when dealing with the huddled masses. “This is my wife, Lydia.”

“Sir, ma’am,” I replied as my grip on Phil’s hand tightened. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Phil speaks about you often.”

There. That sounded polite. Yeye would be proud. I’d not offended anyone so far.

The senator cocked an imperious gold brow. He really was a handsome man, and his wife was stunning still. Both had aged with the rich glow that wealth provided. Nice white teeth, supple skin, maybe some tucks here and there, slim forms, designer clothes. Not like us poor slobs who had to rob Peter to pay Paul to go to the dentist.

“I’m sure he does,” Senator Kestrel said as he tore his sight from our joined hands. “Philip has not mentioned you to us.”

I glanced at Phil. He shook his head, wavy gold hair falling down into his eyes now that his baseball cap was…ah, lying over on a table filled with gauze wrap. Thrown there in a pique maybe?

“You threw me out, remember? Why would I tell you jack shit about my life?” Phil barked, his hold on my fingers growing slightly painful. “You hated everything that I was or wanted to be, so fuck you.”

“Philip!” Senator Kestrel snapped as Mrs. Kestrel gasped. “You are not to use that kind of language in front of your mother. This is what happens when a good, decent child hares off to join some backwater liberal college while deciding to date men.”

“I didn’t decide to be bi, Dad, I was born that way!” Phil’s voice was rising again.

“No, you chose to date men. You could have easily picked a woman. This whole bisexual thing is beyond my grasp. I can understand the homosexuals like Mr. Kee. Sad as it is, he has no choice, as mental illness is a disease, but you…”

The rest of what he said melted off into white noise. “Uhm,” I said, drawing a look of shock from the senator as if he were stunned I would interrupt him. “Sorry, but being queer is not a mental illness. Being queer is not a deviance or a disorder. Your thinking is terribly outdated, sir, and you should also know bisexuality isn’t like picking a red or green apple at the fruit market. Bi people, like Phil, don’t choose their attraction. It just happens to them. Sometimes they’re attracted to a member of the opposite sex and sometimes to a member of the same sex.”

“I love you so much,” Phil whispered while his father, and yes, his mother too, gaped at me like I had a string quartet of lobsters sitting on my head.

“Love you too,” I softly replied, waiting for the explosion. The senator drew in a breath as his wife, who I had started to wonder if she was allowed to speak, stepped up to look me in the eye.

“Thank you for your explanation, Mr. Kee,” she said in a cultured voice thick with New England flavor. “My husband and I are of a differing opinion.”

I heard Phil huff in exasperation at my side. My fingers were numb now, but I was not letting go. No way was I letting him face this kind of bigoted BS alone.

“Yeah, I kind of knew that. So why are you two even here?” Phil asked as a soft rap on the door drew all of our attention. The door cracked open. Beefy Dude Two stuck his head in to address the senator.