Tyler’s first warning—his only warning—was the forwarded email that hit his inbox at six in the morning. The subject line read simply, CALL ME.

Tyler had woken up at four to take painkillers and dropped back to sleep, so everything was hazy as he struggled to see who the email was from.

Oh. Shit. It was Sarah, the PR person for his racing team.

He clicked the email and scrolled down, and everything felt unreal for a few long seconds. There was something to do with an alert for a match of a new search result online with his name and the word gay.

Tyler hated that his first reaction when he saw the word was a gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach. That had never been the case growing up, or even getting started racing. Not until his career took off.

And it wasn’t like it was a secret. An open secret, of sorts. Nobody had ever directly asked him who he dated. Everyone had just assumed, and he’d been fine to let them keep assuming, if they were too backward-thinking to ask.

The only people he proactively told were his teammates, the owner, and PR people. Not even to ask if it was okay, just in a hey, just so you know way. Still, it felt like the way someone would disclose something stupid—criminal charges, or getting drunk and starting a bar fight.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he clicked the link and a racing blog came up. Not a tiny, one-man operation, either. This was one of the bigger bloggers out there—a guy who had a team of four or five bloggers working for him.

Tyler instantly knew that this was who Bobby had been trying to warn him about. LeeN, as he was known online, had already earned himself a reputation. He’d slipped past security a few times at events just to get insider photos, and he often posted pieces about drivers’ relationships and life stories that were clearly clickbait to get attention.

TY-JO CRASH INVESTIGATORS: “TOO GAY TO DRIVE!”

Knowing LeeN, he’d change the headlines a few times to try to get the most attention. Frankly, the subheading—TYLER JOSEPH SUCKS AT MORE THAN DRIVING—would have made a better headline. Or the heading below that, which read, (MARCSON’S DICK?) Jesus, how many headings did this article need?

And like the team owner was remotely his type. Tyler rolled his eyes and carefully pushed himself to sit upright in the pile of pillows, his palms sweating as he dialed Sarah’s number.

“Hey, Ty. You’re up early.”

“Sarah. Yeah. My ribs. Ain’t getting much sleep,” Tyler managed, his sentences almost choked. Whoa. He was more anxious than he’d expected.

“Take it easy,” she said, sounding way too wide awake.

“Shit. Is it a… big thing?”

“Well, that’s the part that really gets me. Did you read it?”

“LeeN’s stuff?” Tyler snorted. “I don’t like fiction.”

She chuckled. “There’s just a bunch of vague stuff about you staying with a guy friend of yours, and being seen with guys all the time, and someone who came forward saying they hooked up with you at a party once. The usual speculation and gossip.”

“Oh, good—”

“But,” she continued firmly, making his heart sink before he even had a chance to feel relieved, “there’s more this time.”

“Shit. What is it?”

“It got posted to a fan forum. There’s a seven-page thread talking about it already.”

“That sounds like a lot. How big is a thread?” Tyler asked. “Is that a lot of people? Like a score?”

Sarah stifled a snort. “Ty, a thread is… never mind. It’s an internet thing. Yeah, lots of people. Several people confirming stories, including one from high school who says he knows for sure you’re gay. But a lot of the posters are women, your core demographic.”

More than anything else, that gave Tyler a moment’s pause. A driver wasn’t just hired because he was good in the car. Sure, he had to be able to drive, but these days he also had to be charismatic, or at least reasonably attractive, or have some kind of charm. Something that made people want to watch him.

If he lost that…

“Oh.”

“They like you more now. You’re extra-cool. They have something in common with you, you know?”

“I do?” Tyler’s mind spun. This was all a little too much, a little too fast.

“They like your dick, you like other guys’ dicks.” Sarah was as blunt as ever.

Tyler laughed sharply and gasped for breath, pressing his hand to his rib. Stupid thing. “Liking dick… means… they like me more?”

Sarah was clearly trying to decide how to explain this internet thread to him. “Yeah, sure. That’s the summary.”

“I thought… it would be a bigger deal than that,” Tyler mumbled. “I’m the first… I mean… you know!”

“I know,” Sarah agreed. “And we can’t rely on the mood staying this positive, but if you get ahead of the curve…”

“And out myself?” They’d had this conversation before. Tyler didn’t care who knew, but he wanted someone to fucking ask him. To act like it was an equally valid, normal possibility. Not just assume he was straight and clutch their pearls if he wasn’t. And definitely not to put the burden on him to admit it in public like a dirty secret.

Sarah didn’t see eye-to-eye with him, but she was also interested in avoiding having their team be the talk of the racing world for personal reasons, so they’d agreed. Until now, anyway.

“If you don’t want it to be a secret, you gotta talk about it, man. That’s how secrets work.”

“Fuck that bullshit.” Tyler was just as open with the women around him as he was with the guys, despite the gentlemanly reputation. They got each other. She didn’t spare his feelings, and he wasn’t going to treat her like a delicate flower, either.

“I know it sucks.” Sarah sighed. “But someone’s gonna ask for a comment. This thread isn’t just dying off like usual. It’s getting too big. All it takes is one ballsy blogger to ask and then that guy—even if it’s LeeN himself—gets the scoop.”

Tyler squirmed to get the pillow more comfortable behind his head. He hated that she was so right. He’d always planned to say it to the first person who asked like it wasn’t a big deal, but they might treat it otherwise.

“I hate people,” he muttered under his breath.

She chuckled shortly. “I know, hon. I woke up from a damn good dream for this.”

“Sorry,” Tyler winced.

He didn’t want to make it sound all about him when it did affect the rest of the team. The guys had all been great to him—respectful of his boundaries, way more so than the media. They never asked awkward questions about where he got to at afterparties, and they didn’t use him as their token gay friend.

If reporters couldn’t get through to him, they might start hounding the others, which would put them in an awkward position. No commenting the whole thing made it sound like there was something to hide. Lying made them look bad, even if it was to protect him. And telling the truth wasn’t theirs to do.

“So,” Sarah spoke up, and he cut her off.

“I’ll do it. Whatever. I’ll do it my style, though. No interview, no press conference, none of that bullshit.”

“What are you planning?” Sarah asked cautiously.

“I don’t know yet.” Tyler grinned, his heart suddenly light. “But I’ll think of something.”

“Oh, lord. This must be what your spotter feels like.”

Tyler laughed. “Probably. I’ll call you later.”

“No chance of a call before you do anything?”

“None. I’ll let you know afterward, though, so you aren’t on the edge of your seat and keeping a Big Brotherly eye on me.”

Sarah laughed. “That’s all I can ask for, I guess. Bye.”

Tyler tossed the phone on the bed and raised his hand to rub his face, then sighed deeply. That reminded him to take his deep breaths.

Whatever he was gonna do, it had to be at a gentle stroll.

It reminded him of something Alec had said: No running before you can walk, and no driving before you can sit up straight.

What would Alec do? For that matter, what about his brothers? If anyone had advice, it would be them. Yeah. That was a good starting point.

Tyler picked up his phone again, unlocked it, and opened their group chat. He had a hell of a message to write.

* * *

“Sorry, man. We’re the extent of the damage control squad until this evening.” Deen shrugged. Even the simplest motion, from him, was expressive. Maybe it was the studded leather jacket, the limp grip on his Coke glass, and the way he held himself—unapologetic and confident—that did the talking.

They were just around the corner from their usual bar. This diner was a good brunch spot when Tyler and his friends could make it out here.

Next to Deen, and across from Tyler in the booth, Oscar had his own Coke in a firm grip, his brows furrowed in a problem-solving expression. Without the other guys, there was way too much elbow room on his side of the table. It felt weird as hell.

Josh was busy leading a trail ride, since his right-hand man was on vacation. Falcon and Leo had gone to some kind of art event in Nashville and stayed there last night to network with artsy people; Tyler hadn’t really paid attention to the details. Most of the rest of them—Nico, Roman, Blane, Dustin—had day jobs.

“No, man. Having you guys to talk is…” Tyler trailed off. A lifesaver? Might sound overdramatic, even if these two spoke primarily in overstatements and gestures. “Great,” he settled on, even though the word fell flat.

“It’s good for me to get out of the house,” Oscar admitted. “No classes today—we’re between semesters. If if weren’t for this, I’d just lounge around in leggings all day until Roman came home.”

Deen laughed. “I know that feeling. Sometimes I feel bad about Nico going to work every day when I just sit around writing songs in my underwear and eating Cheerios.”

Tyler snorted with laughter. “Must be nice to hang out at home sometimes, though.” They’d both had careers that took them on the road too much when they’d started dating their significant others.

Deen still toured, but less frequently now, and he hadn’t committed to any world tours. Oscar, formerly a pro dancer, ran his own dance studio now, which kept him closer to home.

But that wasn’t an option for Tyler. Quitting his job sure as hell wasn’t happening, and there was no way to do what he did and stay closer to home. The biggest race tracks were dotted across the country, and the schedule was grueling—races every week, usually.

Racing season was ten months long, with only December and January off; otherwise, he had just a couple days off every month to come back home and relax. He’d more than once considered just giving up his apartment and crashing with different friends when he wasn’t racing, his time off was so scarce.

But that included afterparties and events that, strictly speaking, he didn’t have to do. He could scale it back a little. Of course, his visibility would suffer, which affected his sponsorships…

“Yo, man. Ty. You’re gone,” Deen laughed.

“Shit. Sorry,” Tyler laughed under his breath. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

Tyler really didn’t want to answer that honestly. “So I made friends with my physio. I was talking about my work situation with him. I might ask if he’s free.”

“If he knows more about the sport than us, that’d be great,” Oscar said and nodded. He pushed away the plate with a few last uneaten fries and gestured to the waitress for refills all around. “You’re always making new friends. Surely some of them will have your back, huh?”

Tyler didn’t take that to heart. He was always mentioning different guys, it was true, but most of them weren’t exactly friends. Acquaintances and rivals from the racing world, the whole team of engineers and mechanics and admin that surrounded him, partygoers… not friends.

“Oh, I think so. Some,” Tyler said, shrugging. “But nobody wants to stick their neck out at the wrong time. And you know the viewer demographics. I don’t know if the time is right for me to be… well, me.”

“If it’s not, do you really wanna stick around?” Deen was blunt and intent on Tyler’s reaction, barely glancing at the waitress as he thanked her for the refills. When they were alone again, he leaned forward. “Because then you’re gonna be that queer, you know? Or you’re gonna be less you to be more palatable. And people spot that easy. That’s one reason why I’ve been so vocal about being bi. I want my fans to see a bit of me, even if there’s a whole machine of advertising and branding at work around me. Selectively me.”

Tyler flinched and looked down at the table. It had been enough of an open secret that he already felt like it sometimes. “Yeah. Good point. I’ve been selectively me—but it’s starting to get noticeable, like a…” He gestured, pressing his thumbs and the tips of his other fingers together. “A hole in the middle of my life.”

“Conspicuous by its absence,” Oscar murmured.

It took Tyler a second to wrap his brain around the words, but then he nodded. “Exactly. I mean, not having anyone to date is fine. Besides, how would that even work for me?”

They exchanged looks. “Depends on you, babe,” Oscar hummed, stretching out and lacing his hands behind his head. “Roman and I talked about being open because he was on the road all the time.”

“You did?” Deen looked surprised as he glanced over.

“Yeah, sure. We decided not to, and then he ended up switching to short-haul flights so he isn’t away so much. But it’s an option.”

Tyler sighed. “It’s not even that.” He shook his head. “I mean, how the hell do I trust my own instincts about guys? All I do is fuck them and move on. And then how do I decide who’s worth… going through all this media circus for? And you guys have been on the road.”

Deen nodded, fingers laced as he tapped his folded hands on the table slowly.

“It’s not just wanting more sex. You know how goddamn… lonely it gets.” Tyler paused for a second, brows furrowing. He hadn’t expected these words to spill out—especially not before a few beers. He shut himself up before he could say more, swallowing a few mouthfuls of Coke.

Oscar straightened up. “Yeah. I know. But I’ll tell you something—the loneliness was always manageable. It sucked, and there were some long fucking nights—or fuck-less nights, if you prefer.” He smirked.

Deen snorted. “Not many of those for me!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler laughed at him. Most of them had had their fair share of no-strings-attached sex. Yet fewer of them were keeping it up. God, all of them had finally found someone they were staying with for more than a few weeks… and all of them seemed happy about it.

It seemed far less weird to wrap his head around now that he’d met Alec.

Oh, hell, no.

“But,” Oscar continued, talking over them. “It got a hundred times worse after I started to fall for Roman.”

“Gross. Most of us are happy to send his loud mouth to another continent for a while.” Tyler grinned cheerily as Oscar leaned over the table to shove him.

“You know what I mean,” Oscar scoffed.

“Yeah. I do.” I’ve been missing him even though we haven’t hung out much. Like when I was with him, it was… something different, yet familiar. Like home.

“Fuck,” Tyler muttered under his breath and stared down at his Coke, stirring the straw around and poking at the ice cubes in the glass with the end.

“What?” Deen prompted when he didn’t clarify.

Tyler tried to pull his thoughts together. He couldn’t out Alec when Alec wasn’t even out—especially with the job concerns. It felt strange keeping him a secret, but at the same time, they hadn’t even come to any agreement about what would happen after he was out of Alec’s care as a patient.

He wasn’t gonna spill his heart over a guy who might not even want something serious.

“Well,” he said slowly, trying to keep it to vague, general suggestions. “I mean, if I’m out now… anyone I meet is in the spotlight.”

“But then they won’t have to hide, which feels worse,” Oscar murmured.

Tyler paused and then nodded. He couldn’t argue that logic.

“And,” Deen picked up the thread, leaning forward. “Man, when you meet the one, you might resist it—with everything you’ve got. But don’t throw away a good thing ’cause it scares you. You would never get behind a wheel if you listened to that voice. Your relationship could be just as good as your job.”

Oscar murmured, “We have a saying in the dance world. I tell my students that if you put half your ass in, you’ll get your whole ass hurt. Trying to protect yourself means you’ll jump wrong—so you’ll land wrong.”

He should know. Oscar had been sidelined from a hell of a high-flying career by a stupid little accident, just stepping slightly wrong on a staircase. Tyler felt bad for the guy. At least in his sport, cars could be adapted to just about any injury.

Assuming you hadn’t collected a bunch at once in a spectacular high-speed crash, of course.

“So, you’re saying… put my whole ass into it,” Tyler said, smirking.

Deen laughed. “Yeah, man. Just the tip never satisfied anyone.”

“We’re gonna get kicked out if you keep talking that loud,” Oscar scolded, but he was grinning.

Tyler got what Oscar was trying to say, though. If he half-assed this, he was just gonna hurt them both. Same on the track, really. Every action had to be decisive. There was no room to wander between lines or understeer at the wrong moment.

The right move always felt a little like oversteer if you were listening to that voice of caution, but he hadn’t before.

Why start now?