Wrath: A Sinful Secrets Romance, page 54
Ezra tells Carl the most edited possible version of his story the next morning, with me beside him on the couch. And for the next half a day, I feel like Ez was right: It really doesn't feel like Christmas. Knowing Carl and my mom so well, I can feel the weight of what Ez told them, even as they move about the house, both clearly trying to be festive.
But then my cousins come to ice cookies, and little Hank, the evil seven-year-old, ends up icing Ezra's face and hair. And somehow, a fight breaks out with the flour. Ez and I are smearing it all over each other, and my Uncle James' dog Petey eats two sugar cookies, and by the end of it, the whole kitchen is filled with screaming family. Ezra's on his back on the floor, letting children paint him, and Carl is snapping pictures.
My mom gives me a grin. "You're on clean-up duty," she says. She quirks an eyebrow up at me and nods me over by the fridge.
"I got the Nintendo like you said, honey. But once I found out the boy is Ezra, I ordered all the games for it."
"All of the games?" I gape at her.
Mom shrugs. She leans in and whispers, "Also, a gift card to that bookstore in Tuscaloosa for four hundred dollars. I got you one, too, to your Auburn bookstore."
I take my mom by her hand and tug her into the dining room on a whim. "I'm going to have to have a heck of a shopping spree right after Christmas. Because, Mom..."
"Yes, honey?" Her eyes are peeling wide.
"I'm transferring to Tuscaloosa. Starting January."
Her jaw drops and her eyes pop out, and she looks like she might blow a gasket.
Finally she manages, "Does Ezra know this? I suppose he—"
"No, he doesn't. I'm giving us both Crimson Tide sweatshirts on Christmas morning. Dad knows, though, and we're working out the details."
"So it's serious?" she asks me softly.
"The most serious," I manage, my voice rasping as I say it.
"All that bit about the writing your name on his arm." My mom fans her reddening cheeks. "That's the stuff of real love stories, Joshua. That boy really loves you."
"I love him, too."
I'm wiping a tear when Ez runs into the dining room, covered in icing and beset by small children. "Get out of here!" My mother shoos them all back into the kitchen. Carl shoos them out the back door. Ezra collapses in the grass and my cousins jump on him. Wendy, the littlest, scoops some icing off his face and eats it.
"A good daddy, too," my mother whispers as we watch from the sidelines. "Just like Carl."
It's the last cringe moment until Carl gives Ez and me matching rainbow underwear on Christmas morning.
"Is that still cool?” he asks. “Rainbow stuff?"
Ezra and I look at each other.
"We don't know," I tell Carl. "We're baby gays. And we live in Alabama."
"I was thinking...you know...taste the rainbow."
And I die. We both die.
At least we’re together.
Four
Ezra
Holy shit. Here we are. In the clouds, up in the blue sky, cruising toward LAX on a chilly winter afternoon—an afternoon when I'm not taking Xanax...or drinking. I'm in first class, in an aisle seat, sitting beside Clint Ross, one of the running backs. I've got a lot of leg room, a decent handle on my claustrophobia, and my phone in my hands.
I send Mills a dumb selfie with my head tipped back against the chair's headrest. Then I take one with a smile for Dad and Suzanne. I fire it off to Luke, too, on a whim. He replies before my dad or Miller—with a picture of two Rose Bowl Tickets.
'Whatttt,' I reply.
'It's too close for us to pass up. National championships is big stuff. V says tell you hi.'
I text back, 'Hi to V.'
'See y'all after the game?' I text them both. 'Quick hello, or dinner?'
'For sure,' V texts back. ‘Eden is being babysat during, but we'll grab her after, and Luke and I will make some reservations.'
'Could you make them for 4 adults?' I include a blushing smiley, and I watch Vance texting for a minute before he actually sends something.
'You bringing someone for us to meet? See if he gets McDowell approval? U know Eden is the harshest critic. 10/10 would recommend bringing a baby treat.'
I send a laughing face. 'His name is Miller...'
'Oh fuck,’ Vance replies. ‘Is this the situation you told us about on the phone a few weeks ago?’
‘Mmhmm’
‘You doing ok?’ he asks. ‘Feeling happy?'
'Actually- very. It's kinda weird.'
'I know the feeling. Take care of yourself, ok? Hoping for a great game- nothing but fun.'
I think that might be Vance's way of telling me not to take things too seriously. That they don't care if Bama wins?
'For sure. Nothing but fun. Josh Miller. That's his full name.' On a whim, I send them a pic of Miller and me—taken up on the cemetery wall the day we left Fairplay.
I spend the rest of the flight texting with Mills as he makes his way through security and pre-flight at Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta. By the time we're dipping into the smooth, cotton-candy pink sky over LAX, he’s boarded his plane and is sending me a smiling pic of him with AirPods in his ears and a Crimson Tide hat on his head. He's doing the American Sign Language sign for ‘I love you’ with his hand.
Ross leans over right as I smile, and he screws up his eyebrows. "That's a boy?" he says.
My stomach dips as I laugh—trying to sound smooth. "Yeah, that’s a boy."
"That's a boy doing the I love you?"
I arch my brows. "That's a boy doing the I love you."
"He sending that to you?" To his credit, I think he tries to ask me in a neutral tone.
"If he was, would that be too weird for ya, Ross?"
"If you're gay?" He bugs out his eyes, and I bug mine out, too.
"Are you gay?" He's hissing. "You swing for that team, brother? All this time, I didn't know?"
I swallow. "I'm not in, but I'm not really out, either."
He tilts the phone down toward him. "I like this boy. He's got freckles. You gonna like a boy, you gotta like a white boy with blue eyes and freckles. I’ve got a cousin who's gay. Lil Nas X’s gay. On some ride that horse shit." Ross taps my phone. "This guy's the horse. Or you’re the horse?" He frowns at me. "You know what, I don't need that detail."
I swallow a laugh. “Does it make you think about me different?" I manage to ask—as quietly as I can.
"Naw. No different. Ben—you know, the tight end—he's got a baby mama back in Daphne. Two months and he's gon be big papa. That shit's weird."
"Are they together?" I ask.
He laughs. "Hell no. He's sending her money, but he's dicking his way through T-town."
We talk for a few more minutes before Ross puts his earbuds back in and starts tapping his foot to some beat I can't hear.
I text Millsy back. 'I love you. Pay for internet so our texts will go thru easier?’
He texts back, 'Did already.'
'Me too.'
'I gathered that.' He sends a laugh emoji. 'U almost there?'
I tell him we're landing in the next ten minutes, and he says, 'Taking off. Phone back on soon. Love u angel’
'Love u more Mills'
We land, and I can't text him because his phone's still off. I text Dad and Suzanne. There's a text from my mom that I notice while we're all waiting on baggage.
'I hope your time in California goes well'
I stand there biting my lip, trying to take deep breaths. Thinking of what Greeley told me.
"You can have contact or no contact,” they said. “It's all a matter of what you want. What feels right for you."
I've been trying to explain to both Greeley and Josh how my mom isn't a monster. Not completely, anyway. When she sent me to Alton, she had no idea what kind of shit they did there. It's not like they said it on the website. When she came to get me, I was so fucked in the head, she had no idea what to do…so she did the wrong thing. I know she did it out of fear. She didn’t want to face what happened to me, so she gave me to Sheppard Pratt and tried to play it all off like I was just mentally ill.
All of that is more forgivable than what she did this past year. I skim over her last few texts. They're all like this: short and to the point. Supportive, generally. But what’s that fucking worth? She wrecked my life—or came damn close. I hurt Miller so badly, and that, I can’t forgive.
Oh a whim, I send her the same pic I sent Luke and Vance: of me and Miller. Almost as soon as I send it, my stomach pitches and I wish I hadn't.
When my phone buzzes, I pray to God it's Miller again, updating me after his last text, which just said the takeoff went well and they were in the air. It's not Miller, though.
My mom's reply is like a kick to the chest. Even though I knew what to expect. I know how she is, and who she is. I know better than to be disappointed. But it still hurts.
'You know I can't accept this, Christopher. Homosexuality is a sin of the flesh. It's based on desire and lust and not the Bible's teaching. It is better to be celibate than living in a life of sin!!'
I want to text back, Is it better to be abused? Almost killed? Than to be gay. Is it better to be traumatized, shaking and sweating in a little office with a trauma therapist? All that shit is better than me being with the person I love more than anything?
I think of Greeley, what they told me, and I know what to do. Even if I have to grit my teeth to do it.
'I know that's how you feel. But I wanted to show you how happy I am. I'm getting well, Mom. Not from being gay, but from the stuff I went through at Alton. I also want you to know, when I was getting my birth certificate out of your closet drawer, I found some letters from Melinda. Your old best friend? Mom, I read the letters. So what if you’re bi, or even maybe gay like I am? I don’t judge you.’ I inhale deeply, hold the air in my lungs, blow the breath out. ‘You know what? It seems like we’re never gonna see eye to eye on this, so let’s not try to. Sincerely, Your Gay (Forever) Son, who goes by Ezra now, and loves Josh’
I'm surprised by how bad I want to cry. Right here. Right now. My own mom just...doesn't fucking want me the way I am. Doesn't see the value in me. As a gay man. Even though, apparently, my mom is fucking bi or gay herself. There's so many other people that wouldn't accept me either, if they knew the truth, and some of them might be on this team.
My throat is stinging, my eyes feeling sore as fuck and blurry, when my phone rings.
Millsy. Oh fuck, is something wrong?
"Hello?" I murmur.
"Hey, angel. Can you do me a quick favor?"
"Yeah. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. Are you okay? You sound a little off," he murmurs.
"I texted my mom. I'll tell you later. What can I do for you?"
"Right behind you,” he says, “there's this bathroom. Behind you and to the left, but when you turn around, it'll be on your right. You think you could slip off in there?"
I can't breathe, and now my eyes are really blurry.
"Are you there?" My voice sounds too high.
"Yeah." He laughs. "I'm in here. Come let me give you a hug and tell you that your mom's a tragedy, a fucking loss, but nothing more than that, and nothing personal. If I were her son, she wouldn't accept me either. You know?"
"I'm glad you're not," I manage as I swallow, glancing toward the bathroom.
I find Miller standing in a stall, a big, sly grin on his face and his ball cap turned around backwards so his dark hair is pressed against his brow. He’s got a look in his eyes that morphs from happy and sly to sad and then concerned when he looks at me for a second.
"Hey, angel." He wraps me in a bear hug, pulling me against his chest. He shuts the door, and his lips move over my hair. "You smell good. And feel good.” His hands rub my triceps. “Fuck, I'm glad I hopped the one before you."
"Deceit," I tease.
"I wanted to surprise you. Welcome you here."
"Thank you," I rasp. I press my cheek against his warm chest. "I just broke up with my mom. Over text."
"Oh, shit. What happened?"
"I sent her a picture of us. Told her I'm happy. And she said she’ll never approve. So I said...I don't want to talk to you. And I signed it your forever gay son, who loves Josh.”
I look at him, and my eyes are leaking just a little. He wipes my tears with his sleeve.
"That's gotta feel like shit."
I nod, looking down at our feet. "Not as much shit as what she did last year, though. Anyway, I did what Greeley said. What felt right to me. I don't want her in my inbox anymore."
"You gonna block her?"
I nod. I show him the message first.
"I love this picture," he says. I hug him tighter. He looks and feels so good in his gray fleece jacket.
"Me too,” I murmur. “And you know what? I don't care. I gave her a chance I didn't have to give her, and she didn't take it. And I knew she wouldn't. She's...a fucking zealot, I guess. Also, I didn’t tell you this, but I found romantic letters in a drawer of hers—ones from another woman—last time I was at her house. So part of what she did to me, was…about her."
Miller hugs me. "Fuck, that’s intense. We’ll have to talk about it later, when you’ve got more time.”
“No we don’t. I’m over it with her. Let’s talk about the two of us.”
Mills kisses my cheek, and then I have to get back to the team. We're staying at a Hampton Inn for the next two nights—got the whole place rented just for the team. We've got practice tomorrow, a dinner tomorrow night, and the next morning off, and then a rest night at the hotel, followed by game day.
Maybe I'm a simp, but I think that schedule and the isolated hotel mandate fucking sucks.
It takes that whole night and most of the next day for me to get my head in the game, as they say. But then I'm focused, and I feel more peaceful. I feel fucking lucky that I get to do this. Get to play in Pasadena. Playing in the Rose Bowl is a dream come true.
The morning we have some free time, Josh and I go to the beach and lie in the sand. I put my head in his lap, and he plays with my hair.
"How are you feeling? About tomorrow?" he asks.
"Really good. I'm gonna play like it's the last time I play football ever."
"But it won't be. Next year, I'm gonna be in the band section for every game. I looked at my tickets for this game here and I'm pretty close this time, too. Row eighteen."
It makes me feel good, knowing he’ll be so close. “I’ll look for you. Blow you a kiss.”
"Maybe just map out my spot in advance, then you won't have to look to know where I am. Only if you want, though."
"Of course I want." I sit behind Miller, spooning him while we're sitting up, kissing his neck.
All too soon, our time in the sand is over. I have to be back at the hotel. He's staying at a little mom and pop place nearby. I give him Luke and Vance's number, just in case he needs something. Then I go back to the hotel, telling myself I'm going to win this game for Mills and our parents, who couldn’t find tickets in time to make it out here.
After the bowl game, I'm going to help Josh move into his new apartment. We're going to find a way for him to come out to his dad before ESPN reveals that I'm gay. And we're going to live happily ever after.
Five
Josh
"AND THE FLASH FROM ALABAMA GETS ANOTHER IN THE END ZONE…”
The echoing boom of the announcer’s voice sets off another round of jumping and screaming as Ezra runs the ball into Ohio’s endzone. He does a bouncy little trot as the crowd roars, and then he’s jogging toward the sideline.
“I think it’s safe to say we have a blowout, with the Crimson Tide moving toward what may well be a historic high score..."
Ezra sits on the bench, looking over his shoulder to blow a big, dramatic kiss—which, of course, the camera captures.
"Someone special in the stands." The jumbotron screen zooms in on Ezra, and my stomach does a quick flip. I can tell by his posture that he's happy—and exhausted. Two of the coaches gather around him, and the camera pans to Ohio’s offense, jogging onto the field.
I can’t see Ez that well from eighteen rows up, but I’m pretty sure he’s guzzling from a sports bottle. He said they usually drink Gatorade, so I guess it’s that. Using my phone to zoom, I watch him wipe his face and then get up and stretch his hamstrings. Holy shit, that’s my man! He’s about to win this fucking game, and then he’s mine till springtime.
Bama does a good job holding Ohio. Pretty soon, Ezra and the offense are on the field again, and I’m locking my eyes on Ez while I think about our post-game dinner. We're supposed to meet Luke and Vance and their baby at a French restaurant. Then Ezra and I are going to a bed and breakfast by the ocean. His idea. He said he wanted to take me somewhere memorable.
I remember the DLSR camera in my backpack as he throws for another twelve yards. Almost the whole game has passed, and I forgot it till these final moments. I zoom in on him with my fancy lens, hoping to make up for lost time, but I realize I could do a lot more if I walked down a few rows. I grab my backpack and hurry down the stairs as Ezra and his crew position at the line of scrimmage.
I’m still moving down the cement steps when the center hikes the ball to Ezra. I keep moving as the running backs and receivers—including Marcel—fan out around him. Ez drops back into the pocket, aiming it at Marcel even though I don’t think Marcel is ready.
There’s a breath of hesitation as he notes that—I can see it in his arm. Then I notice someone from Ohio coming at Ez like a bullet. I freeze on the stairs, begging him via ESP to fucking move, but he keeps his cool. Fucking Ezra; keeping cool is one thing that he’s known for. He feints right, toward Marcel, and then launches the ball hard and fast at Tommy Bowman, who catches it with ease.
At the moment Bowman darts down the field, Ezra gets sacked by the Ohio player. The guy slides in sideways, kicking Ezra’s feet out from under him. I feel relieved at first that it wasn't a torso hit.
