By the end of the week, I’m standing in a hotel in Sarasota, trying to fix my tie in the mirror as Russ sits behind me on the bed, sifting through some papers I just signed.

“If anybody asks about the tape, play it down as much as you can. Do that ‘aw shucks’ thing you like to do, if you can.”

I snort, turning to look over my shoulder at him. “My what?”

Russ waves his hand dismissively. “That thing you do where you grin a little and look down. The ‘aw shucks’ look. It’s patented Travis Morrison.”

A small smile tugs at my lips as I go back to adjusting my tie. Russ has been one of the only things keeping me together, and I’m glad he’s not acting any different than he normally would.

“You should’ve told me about that years ago. I could’ve actually had it patented.”

“Too much paperwork,” he mutters, obviously not just talking about the process of somehow patenting a facial expression.

The signing’s tomorrow. After I left Glen Springs, I met up with Russ in Florida and he scheduled a meeting with the Armada’s owner. They seemed to calm down after a face-to-face talk about what I wanted out of my career with the IFL, and drafted up an offer on the spot. It’s a huge pay cut from what the NFL was offering, but the restrictions are fewer and at this point, I’m just happy to playing football somewhere.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

“Thanks for this, by the way,” I tell him again. “I know your anniversary’s coming up.”

I can see Russ wave this off in the mirror. “Donna thinks of you like one of our boys. She was happy to push the trip back.”

I still feel guilty, but that’s par for the course lately. I have a lot to feel guilty about. Shane is the obvious one, but Jake, too. He was crushed when I told him I was leaving earlier than I'd planned. We’d just started to spend time together as actual brothers, and now we’re going to see each other maybe once a month.

I’m so afraid things are going to go back to the way they were, but I know this is my only shot.

“You ready?” Russ asks, coming up to clap me on the shoulder before he adjusts the knot in my tie.

I let out a breath and feel a genuine smile settle into my features. Today I’m seeing my Florida fans, some of them who’ve been following mean since I was a Tiger. They’ve driven all the way down here just to see me, and it makes me feel like maybe I can reclaim some of what I’ve lost. Maybe people will love me again.

“Yeah,” I say, a confidence in my voice I haven’t really felt since getting here.

We walk out to the lobby of the hotel and hang a left down a long hall that’s filled with people. The hotel staff are trying to form them into one line, but when they see me, they go nuts.

Warmth fills me and I laugh, overcome with the emotion I can feel around me. I greet some people, accepting hugs and handshakes and high fives before Russ moves me along, using one of the back doors into the huge conference room.

I get set up with all of the stuff I’m supposed to sign—8x10 photos, posters, custom trading cards, and more—and they start letting people in. One by one they come up to me, talking excitedly as I sign what they’ve picked out. It always amazes me how personal the stories get, and I listen to every one of them with rapt attention. Sons tell me about the last time they watched a game with their father, women talk about being bigger football fanatics than any of the men in their family, kids give me play-by-play accounts of their latest peewee game, and more people than I can count tell me how much it means to them that I haven’t ever tried to hide my sexuality.

It fills my empty heart to bursting, but there’s this voice in the back of my head telling me it’s all temporary. As soon as I leave this room, it’s going to be gone, and I’ll feel that ache even worse than before.

Hours pass, we’re getting toward the end of the line, and I look up to find a man who seems close to my age. He’s smiling a bit shyly when he finally makes it to the table.

“What can I sign for you?” I ask, holding the Sharpie poised.

“A poster would be great,” he says. “Best way to annoy the guys at my dorm.”

I laugh at that. Younger than me, then, though not by a whole lot. “What school do you go to?”

“Eastshore,” he says with a grin, that shyness seeming to fade.

“Nice, man.” I lift my hand to bump fists with him, then get to signing his poster. “Should I make it out to you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. My name’s Ryan.”

I sign it, putting part of the Tigers alma mater in there. For a second, Ryan just waits silently, but then he finally speaks again.

“Hey, I know this is really personal, but none of the sites are giving good answers. Are you and the horse guy… dating?”

I look up in surprise and suppress my initial urge to laugh at Shane being called "the horse guy." Then it hits me like a vice to my heart as I remember the pain and turmoil in his eyes.

“Not anymore,” I say, forcing a reassuring smile that doesn’t do much to reassure me or Ryan.

Those two words set me down a path that feels like it’s crumbling beneath my feet. I make it through the line, but only because there aren’t many people left. As soon as I can get the hell out of there, I flee to my hotel room and pull the latch on the door.

I’ve tried so hard not to think about Shane. Not to wonder how he’s doing, if he misses me. I knew it was going to be hard to leave him. In just a little over a month, I let myself fall so hard for him.

You never even told him, a bitter voice says. Maybe if you had…

I shake away that thought, my hand clenching into a fist. I was bad for him. Even Jake knew that. He warned me from the start to be extra careful with Shane. I wasn’t, and we’ve both suffered for it.

I know I did the right thing, I just didn’t expect it would hurt this much to do it.

For a good half hour, I stare at my phone, willing myself not to pick it up. Not to call him. Not to call Jake and ask him how Shane’s doing. Not to book the first flight back to Glen Springs.

It takes all my willpower to leave my phone where it is and instead just let myself fall into a fitful sleep, imagining Shane in my arms instead of this cold, lifeless hotel pillow.