My brain buzzed all night with Olympic-caliber inspirational ideas to win my man back. I was Rocky Balboa training on the stairs in Philadelphia, Babe Ruth hitting his longest home run, and the whole USA hockey team winning a miracle on ice. Blood pulsed through my veins to an internal soundtrack encouraging me to give everything I had to come up with the ultimate win. But nothing was going to happen if I didn’t make a few key moves first.

First, I sent a text to Mitch asking him to come to my game. He wasn’t responding to my messages so I sent a backup one to Chelsea asking for help. Of course she didn’t just say yes.

Why? What if he says no? she asked.

Tell him it’s important.

And if he still says no?

Please, Chelsea. I’ll owe you for life. I stared at the message helplessly and added one more pathetic Please.

Next, I texted Nicole.

Thanks for the invite to the fund raiser, but I won’t be able to make it.

It was short and direct, and given the circumstances, it was all I needed to say. I barely knew the girl, and I had no interest in playing cyber games with selfies and misleading messages. I sucked at mind games and innuendo anyway. If it wasn’t real, I wasn’t interested.

And then, I called home.

I didn’t think this part would be too hard. My parents didn’t care if I wasn’t the smartest, strongest, or bravest. They accepted me as I was, and they’d always made an effort to be there for my brother and me. When my life had literally been in the balance, they’d made sure I knew I had their love and support. No matter what.

Unfortunately, that didn’t make me less anxious. I swiped my damp palms on my jeans and ran through the speech I’d prepared in my head one last time before pushing Send.

Mom picked up on the first ring. “Oh! Look at you! Are we really FaceTiming? This is fun!”

I let out a half laugh and leaned against my headboard. “Yeah. Real fun. Um…is Dad home too?”

“He’s right here.” She swiveled her phone and instructed my father to say hello.

He pulled his reading glasses off and set his iPad aside before greeting me. “You’re still in bed?” he teased. “Must be nice.”

“No. I’ve been up for hours,” I assured him with a wan smile. It felt like days.

“Oh. Did you have practice?”

“Not yet. Um…you’re coming tonight, right?”

“Of course! It’s a big game. We wouldn’t miss it,” Dad said enthusiastically.

Mom nudged his shoulder and adjusted the screen so she was mostly in the frame. Then she narrowed her eyes and gave me one of her patented no-nonsense looks. The one she used to remind me she was an expert at sniffing out trouble.

“What’s wrong, Evan?” Mom asked.

“Nothing,” I lied. “But I have to tell you something and…”

“What is it?” she prodded when I stalled. “Are you okay? You look fine. Are you sick? Did you get hurt? Is it your knee?”

“Mom, I’m okay. Really. I’m healthy. That’s not it.”

I pushed my free hand through my hair and fixated on the football on my desk before refocusing on my parents’ worried expressions. Fuck, I shouldn’t have FaceTimed. But I couldn’t wait till later and risk them hearing my news from someone else. And there wasn’t enough time to drive to Pasadena and back before I had to be at the field. This was it.

“Don’t make me guess, Evan. I can feel my hair turning gray. Could you please just—”

“I’m gay,” I blurted. I shook my head and released a rush of air before continuing in a fast clip, as though I had seconds to get the words out and make them count. “Actually, I’m bi. And I think you already know and I don’t think you care but if you do…well, I can’t change it. I can’t deny it anymore either.”

“O…kay,” Mom replied cautiously.

She didn’t seem less worried, so I kept talking, turning my gaze back to the football, like a focal point in a spinning room. “I figured I should tell you myself, so you know it’s real and not some internet rumor. I should have said it a long time ago, but…I didn’t want to be this way.”

“Oh Evan,” she said in a pained tone.

“It’s true. I swore after Graham…after everything that happened…I wasn’t gonna talk about it. It’s really hard to say out loud and it’s hard to explain why I feel the way I do. I’m not ashamed. I’m cool with who I am as a person, but for the first time I feel like I’m on the outside. It’s different. But I’m not different. I’m still me. And I…I didn’t want you to think I’ve changed, you know? ’Cause I haven’t.” I swallowed hard and repeated. “I’m just…me.”

I glanced at my screen when my mom’s breath hitched audibly. She dabbed at the corner of her eyes and leaned against Dad’s shoulder.

“Oh, Evan, we know,” she said. “We love you exactly the way you are.”

I gulped around the grapefruit lodged in my throat and nodded. “I love you too.”

“You must have met someone. Is it the young man from the videos? When can we meet him?” she asked softly.

I wiped a tear off my cheek and barked a quick laugh that had more to do with a sense of relief than humor. “Soon. I hope. I—thank you.”

“Don’t thank us,” Dad interjected in a heavier than usual accent. “Noi ti amiamo figlio. We know who you are and we know how strong you are…in your spirit. That is where strength counts.”

I nodded, too choked up to reply. Mom touched her screen and flashed a teary smile. “We’ve seen you suffer, Ev. We’ve seen you fall down and pick yourself up and start over again. We’ve seen you conquer your fears like a true champion. We are in awe of you, baby. We stand by you. We respect you and we are honored to be your parents. We love you. To the next galaxy and back.”

I sniffed loudly and rubbed my nose in a valiant attempt to get my emotions under control.

“So…tell us about him. What’s he like?” Dad asked.

“He’s awesome. His name is Mitch. You’re gonna like him. Of course, I gotta make him like me again, but—”

“You will,” Mom assured me.

“Yeah. I will.”

A few hours later, I wasn’t sure how anything was going to play out. From the moment I’d stepped into the locker room, I’d felt like I was moving in slow motion. My concentration was shot and my nerves were on edge. I adjusted my shoulder pads and leaned in to check for any incoming messages. I hadn’t heard back from Chelsea since noon when she promised to try. Try. Ugh. That word frustrated me. I was hoping for a “Don’t worry, Ev. You’ve got this.” Or better yet, a “Mitch still loves you. Stop freaking out.”

Did I love him? Yeah, I did. The feeling wasn’t what I’d expected, though. I thought love would be sweet and dreamy, like the world’s best and longest-lasting orgasm. In reality, it was more like a heart-thumping roller coaster ride with hair-raising twists that turned you inside out. But it was more life-affirming than anything I’d ever experienced. I had to win him back. I took a deep breath and let the noise filtering through the open locker room door take over.

The stadium seemed louder than ever. I supposed it made sense. This was an important playoff game. Whoever won would head on to the championship. Nerves were high, and adrenaline levels were through the roof. Division Three teams might not garner the notoriety some of the more elite programs did, but we had an impressive base of supporters who’d turned up in throngs tonight to cheer us on. The lights, noise, and feverish quality in the mid-November air were reminiscent of a rock concert. Our fans came to see us kick ass, and we were going to do our best to deliver.

Christian called us into a huddle for one of his usual pregame speeches. I grabbed my helmet and was about to close my locker when my cell vibrated. My heart slammed against my chest when I picked it up…and then took a nosedive. It wasn’t Chelsea. It was Nicole.

Please come, Evan. It’s an important event for the school. Just a quick date.

Thank you, but I can’t. I swallowed hard and glanced around the bustling locker room at the fierce-looking jocks head-butting, pushing, shoving, and riling each other up to kick some ass out on the field. Then I glanced at my screen and added, My boyfriend wouldn’t approve.

My finger hovered over the button for half a second, and then I pressed Send. My heart raced like I’d run a marathon but fuck, it felt good too. It would feel better when I knew I actually had a boyfriend, but I’d fix that part later. I tossed my phone inside my bag, closed my locker, and hurried to join my teammates.

“…we got this,” Christian was saying. “We’re better, we’re faster, we’re stronger, and this is our house. No one is gonna beat us here. Am I right?” He waited for our explosive whoops to die down before continuing. “Those are our people. Our fans.”

“Mostly Evan’s though,” Jonesie piped in.

“Shut up, Jones,” Christian snapped. “Now let’s do this. One, two, three…”

I cheered along with the rest of the guys, then stepped back to adjust the strap on my helmet. I waited for Jonesie to do the same before I popped him upside the head. “What was that crack for?”

“Your YouTube fans are out there with rainbow flags and posters that say, ‘Evan and Mitch Forever.’ You better make us look good out there, or everyone is gonna think you’re a fag, dude,” he huffed.

“Ignore him. Let’s go.” Christian smacked my ass on his way out the door.

“No. Stop!”

I waited for Christian to turn around. The rest of the guys grumbled like bulls at the starting gate, but I knew they’d take Christian’s lead. He had a commanding presence that resonated on our team. They liked my good-natured bluster. I could incite a riot with a goofy chant and get the troops revved up for battle, but when Christian spoke, they stopped to listen.

“What is it?”

“My timing is weird but…if there really are signs out there—”

“We’ll ignore them. Don’t worry about it,” Christian assured me.

“You don’t have to ignore them. It’s true. I’m bi.” I pulled my helmet off and kept my eyes on the exit sign above the door.

I was the antithesis of cool. My timing wasn’t just weird. It was fucked up. I’d made an already intense pregame situation fifty shades of awkward by making it about me. Everyone who’d ever played a sport knew there was no “I” in “team.” But I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. This had been bottled tight for five years. It had been seeping out of me in fits and starts since Chelsea’s party months ago and now…I was out.

“Okay. All right. That’s cool,” Christian said. He held my gaze for a long moment and then turned to look around at the flurry of confused faces partially hidden in black helmets. “Anybody got anything to say, or are we ready to go?”

No one moved or spoke for what felt like ten minutes. Finally Jonesie took his helmet off and squinted so hard the veins in his forehead stood out. “You’re gay?”

“Bi.”

“And that’s like mostly straight but kind of gay, right?”

“No. It’s just bi,” I replied, scanning the confused faces before refocusing on him. “It means I’m attracted to girls…and guys. But don’t worry…not you. Any other questions?”

A tentative chuckle broke the strained vibe in the room. Then Jonesie shoved my chest when I raised my helmet over my head, immediately killing a return to normal. Blood rushed to my ears and through my limbs. I curled my fists and prepared to fight and maybe have the shit kicked out of me in the process. But I wasn’t throwing the first punch.

“Have you always been bi? Like in every workout and every game? Or is it recent?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’ve always been bi. You can’t catch it, dummy. Don’t worry. My cooties aren’t gonna rub off on you. And believe it or not, I don’t wanna rub off on you either. You’re cute, but you’re not my type.”

Someone hooted with laughter and a few others joined in, but Jonesie didn’t crack a smile. He looked confused as hell but not necessarily upset or disgusted.

“But the blond kid is your type. Is he your boyfriend?”

“He’s the guy I’m crazy about. Leave him out of this,” I hissed menacingly. “I’m still me. And I can still kick your fucking ass.”

“Back off, di Angelo. I know who you are.”

“You don’t know me at all.”

“Not true. I know you’re one of us. That’s all that counts.” Jonesie smiled and held up his hand for a high five. “Score a few TDs for us tonight and I might just beg you to be my boyfriend too.”

The room exploded in raucous cheer followed by a showtime rally cry. Christian grinned and inclined his head in what seemed like a nod of respect and acceptance before gesturing for us to follow him.

I ran onto the field with my teammates, soaking in the frenzied atmosphere and the deafening roar of a sell-out crowd before taking my place behind Christian. The stadium was electric. Hypnotic even. It was only a glimmer of what I’d once dreamed of. But I didn’t care about the crowds or the accolades now. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to win tonight. But I wanted something else too. Redemption, renewal…a chance to reclaim myself and start over again.

When the whistle blew, Christian faked a throw and passed me the ball. I barreled through our opponent’s defensive line and ran forty yards. The ginormous guy who finally caught up with me bumped my shoulder hard when I stood and sneered. “Fuckin’ faggot.”

My initial reaction was to deck the motherfucker. I saw red…and then darker red. My nostrils flared as my adrenaline spiked. Some semblance of reason came over me before I did anything stupid. I pulled my mouth guard out and winked at him.

“This fuckin’ faggot is about to score on your ass, dipshit. See if you can keep up.” I blew him a kiss for good measure and jogged back to my team.

“What did you say to him?” Christian asked, furrowing his brow. “He’s fuming.”

“Good. It’ll hurt a little more when we win. Keep passing me the ball. I’ve got this. I know what I’m doing.”

And I did.

It was an epic game by anyone’s standards. I scored three of our five touchdowns. The last one was my personal favorite. I leaped over a crouching opponent and ran into the end zone with five giants in hot pursuit. My teammates charged toward me with congratulatory shoves and high fives. And when the final whistle blew, I was surrounded.

This wasn’t the LA Coliseum. We weren’t Division One. Scouts weren’t coming to see us play unless they had a kid on the field. When we graduated, we were going to get regular jobs like everyone else. But tonight, we were all-stars and we were heading for a championship. Students and friends and family members rushed the field as the local press pushed microphones in our faces. “We Are the Champions” blared in the background and lightbulbs flashed. It was surreal. Time stood still yet seemed to rush by at once.

I scanned the sea of humanity, frantically looking for Mitch. Chelsea said she’d bring him. No, she said she’d try. I didn’t know what I was thinking, though. I didn’t have a cell on me. There was no way to communicate—

I hurried over to our in-house announcer interviewing Christian and our coach. “Hey, can I use your microphone for a sec?”

The older gentleman who’d been calling local college games for the past twenty years flashed a grin at me. “You sure can! Congratulations on your amazing game, Evan!”

“Thank you, sir. Can everyone hear this?” I asked. A high-pitched buzz sounded when I tapped the mic. I swallowed hard and turned toward the stands. “Mitch, if you’re here, I’m on the field at the end zone and…I’m out. All the way out. And there’s a lot of people here so if you could just meet me at—”

“He’s over there,” Christian said, nudging my shoulder and gently taking the microphone back. “Go get him.”

My heart threatened to burst at the sight of him standing in a halo of light next to Chelsea. He stood out in a crowd with his tight jeans and a sparkly “Rainbow crusader” sweatshirt. Or maybe it was something else entirely. All I knew was, he looked like sunshine. A sparkly, incandescent beautiful man. And fuck, I loved him. No doubt. I was L-word, all caps, head over heels for him.

I sidled through a small opening and raced toward him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. “You’re here.”

“You said it was important,” he said against my chest.

“It is. I did it. I’m out.”

“I heard.” He stepped back and shot an indulgent smile my way and made a circular hand motion around the stadium. “Everyone heard.”

“Good. I want everyone to know. I didn’t mean to do it this way, but it feels…right.”

“I’m happy for you, Ev,” he said in a slightly distant tone. Then he bit his bottom lip and added, “If you ever need anything, you can call me or—”

“No. I don’t need advice. I need you.” I reached for his hand and pulled him close again.

“Evan, I think—”

“I love you. I’m done keeping it inside. I want everyone to know I’m crazy about you.” I turned around and cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled at the top of my lungs, “I love this guy.”

“What are you doing?” He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “People are looking at us.”

“Let ’em look. Let ’em take pictures and post them on social media. Let them tag the wrong person and make up their own stories.…None of that matters. We matter,” I said, gesturing wildly between us. “Me and you. And I can’t wait anymore. I can’t let another second go by without telling you I think you’re the best person on the planet. Let me be the one you lean on, baby. I’m not going anywhere. You’re it for me. I love you, Mitch. And I’m pretty sure this is where you’re supposed to tell me you love me too.”

Mitch’s openmouthed, shocked expression morphed into a wide, glorious grin. He nodded profusely and launched himself into my arms. He held on tightly before pulling back slightly to meet my gaze.

“I love you,” he whispered, caressing my cheek and then sealing his lips over mine.

We ignored the catcalls and cheers, the flashing lights and celebratory music around us. It was a good night for beginnings and a perfect occasion to let go of the past. Somehow I knew the rough road of incredible loss and near death led me here. I wasn’t sad about what was lost. I was grateful for what was found. Maybe I should have been scared as hell, but the sense of hope outweighed fear. The rest was up to us.