CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Beau
Ash needed to fight for Beau, but Beau needs to fight for Ash, too. ~ Love, Kenny
My hand ached when on reflex I used it to push open the door of Campbell’s Confections. It was closing time, so I turned the sign over behind me as Mom looked up at me from one of the glass cases she was arranging.
“How’d it go?” she asked, and I shrugged, plopping down in one of the pale-pink chairs.
“Fine. Chief just said that once the doc clears me for my hand, I need to get my ass back to work.” Because of course I had to fuck up my hand punching an asshole reporter in the face. At least he wasn’t pressing charges. That would have been… I didn’t want to think about what could have happened.
Mom sighed, walked over, and cupped my cheek. “I hate seeing this face so sad. I hate it when the best man I’ve ever known is hurting.”
Shaking my head, I leaned back so her hand fell away. “I’m not the best man you’ve ever known, Ma.”
“So, what? You’re in my head now? Don’t tell me how I feel. That’s not you.”
I shrugged, crossing my arms and pouting because my boyfriend ran away from me, I’d damn near broken my hand, and I deserved to pout, damn it.
Mom sat on the opposite side of the small, round table, both of us leaning against the wall. “When your father left…I was ready. It was okay, ya know? We were fighting a lot. I knew he couldn’t be what we needed him to be. I knew we would be better off without him. I didn’t worry about me at all. I didn’t worry about Kenny either, but you? You I worried about.”
“Gee, thanks. This isn’t helping me feel better. Did you really think I couldn’t handle it?”
“What? No, that’s not what I meant. I just… You have such a strong sense of loyalty, Beau, that I knew it would be harder for you to deal with, because leaving wasn’t something you’d ever do. You could have gone off to college, you could have played college football, but you didn’t. It’s my biggest regret, if I’m being honest—not pushing you to go. I was selfish, and I’m sorry about that—”
“What? No, you have no reason to feel bad. I made my decision, and nothing you could have said would have changed my mind. I like my life. I’m happy.” Kind of. I did like my life, but I hadn’t realized what it was like to truly be happy until I had Ash. Ugh, and of course everything had to go back to Ash again.
“No, I get it, and that’s where I’m going next. You’ve never made waves, Beau. You were always a good boy who did what was expected of you. You never got in trouble, you made sacrifices for other people. You never fought for something you truly wanted. You just…accept whatever comes your way. Don’t you think it’s time to fight for your happiness?”
A warm spark flared to life in my chest, but I quickly tried to stamp it down. “He’s the one who ran away. I’ve called and texted him. What else am I supposed to do? And should I really fight for someone who isn’t willing to fight for me?”
“Nope,” she replied. “You should never accept less than what you deserve. Never. And if Ashton can’t give you that, then you walk away. But I know you. Even if this hadn’t happened, you would have let him go. If he went to Texas and asked you to go with him, no matter how much you might have wanted to, you wouldn’t have gone. I’m not saying that Ash deserves you. I don’t know if he does, but it’s time you made some waves. Fight for what you want, say how you feel. Don’t write off your happiness because you think it’s easier for Ash, or me, or Kenny. It’s not your job to carry everyone you love on your shoulders.”
My eyes darted toward the ground. She was right. I knew she was. No matter what happened with Ash, I knew I would regret not saying my piece. “Even if I wanted to talk to him, I couldn’t. I don’t know where he is.”
“I have a feeling you could figure it out if you wanted to.” She stood up, walked over, and kissed my forehead. “I love you, and I’m proud of you. Don’t let that fire burn out of your eyes.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, the door swung open. Kenny stumbled inside, babbling and breathing heavily. Fear cascaded down my spine as I pushed to my feet and went to him.
“Hey, what is it? What happened?” I rubbed his back, tried to get him to settle down as Mom brushed the hair off his forehead. If someone had cornered him again…said something to him… He was supposed to be with Lori and her family. Mom had asked them not to leave him alone.
He kept rambling, his words mangled and coming out too quickly to understand. My heart was in my throat, my pulse pounding until Kenny shoved his phone at me. “Look, look, look,” he said over and over again.
I brushed my finger over the screen to open his phone, and when I did, an Instagram post popped up. Ashton Carmichael’s Instagram post. When I saw the photo attached, my knees went weak. They nearly collapsed beneath me as I made my way back to the chair and fell into it.
It was a photo of us…back in high school. It was taken from behind, at a distance. I doubted anyone would know it was me. The sun was setting, and we were on the football field, walking toward the end zone. We were silhouettes, shadows against the sunset, Ash with his arm around my shoulders and me with a football in my hand.
I didn’t remember the day, or knew the photo existed, much less who took it. But Ash had it…he’d had it all these years. You could see the corners were bent, the paper faded, aged as though it had been held a lot, not as though it had been in an album and never looked at again. It was as if this photo had lived, if that made sense.
Finally, when I could tear my eyes away from us, from Ash and me, I began to read his post.
Hold tight, folks, because you’re about to see a side of me you’ve never witnessed. I mean, it’s still a pretty amazing side because it’s me. ;)
I’ve been lucky in my life. I’d be foolish not to see that. I might have been born to a mother who didn’t want me, but she gave me to people who did. They chose me, cherished me, loved me. I had a comfortable upbringing, with a father who liked nothing more than to throw a football with me in the front yard. And from the start, I was good. Later, he would tell me I was born to play football, and I believed him. I took that message with me my whole life. We practiced daily. I was always on a team, and they went to every one of my games.
It was in high school that things began to change for me. Not football, of course. It was my heart, my soul, what I was born to do, but that’s when I began to realize I was different than my friends.
The last thing in the world I wanted was to be different. I didn’t have the confidence to stand out. I was real good at playing the part, feigning strength I’m not sure I’ve ever had. I made it my goal in life not to be different, to pretend those feelings didn’t exist. I saw my worth in football and what people thought about me. I spent my life trying to live up to that image, and being different…being gay threatened that. I couldn’t be gay if I was born to play football.
So I spent my life telling myself I wasn’t. Doing any and everything I could to deny who I was.
Except with him. It was so damn hard to lie to myself when it came to him.
Even when he didn’t know it, he did something to me. Made me feel like I was more than football, made me want things I didn’t think I could ever want. I drove him fucking crazy, and I loved that, because he didn’t take my shit. He saw through the facade, those walls I built up around myself, and I don’t think he realized he did it.
He made me want to tear them down, but I couldn’t, so I ran.
I’ve spent the last ten years running, lying, telling myself football was the most important thing because I was born for it. Because I shared it with my father.
What would I be if I lost that? Who was I without football?
Those ten years ate away at me, eroded my soul. I was drowning and didn’t know it, dying a slow, painful death while pretending I was on top of the world.
Everything I did was my choice. I made a lot of mistakes. I’m not a victim, not really. I don’t want pity or for excuses to be made about me for things I’ve done, but the lies were getting harder to keep. I was sinking deeper and deeper…to the point that I lost what I thought defined me. I lost football.
And then he came back into my life. He fired up my soul, my world, in ways I didn’t believe possible. He still didn’t let me get away with shit, he called me out, challenged me, enabled me to challenge myself. He made me want to be different if different meant I had him.
I thought I could skate the line, have him and keep lying to the world. There was a part of me that still craved acceptance, that needed to be liked, to prove myself.
That needed football.
So I ran away again. I not only ran from him, I ran from myself, and I can’t do that anymore.
I’m a gay man. I’ve always been a gay man.
A gay man who lives and breathes football.
A gay man who needs more than just football.
I didn’t know how to have both, or if I wanted both. But I know what I want now. I want my truth. I want to be different. I want to be happy. I want to be free.
And yeah, I want him too, and damn it, Cranky, you better still want me too (I mean, really, duh. It’s me, remember?).
When I had him, I still had football. No one can take that away from me, even if I’m not playing professionally. Football is still mine, it’s ours, and there’s nothing in the world like sharing it with him.
This is my story, and I wanted to be the one to tell it, so that’s what I’m doing.
I’m Ashton Carmichael, ex-football-player for the Avalanche, and I’m in love with a man. From that one moment we shared ten years ago, maybe even before then, I was in love with him. ABC is what K-man called us, and he was right. If that’s not destiny, I don’t know what is.
I like who I am. I’m proud of it, and really, what matters besides that?
My hands were shaking. Kenny’s cell fell from them.
Ash…fucking Ash. I was right all along. He was going to wreck me, and I wanted it. Wanted him.
“I gotta go.” I picked up Kenny’s phone and gave it back to him. “I…”
“Go get him, Beau!” Kenny said.
Mom smiled. “Make waves.”
I planned on it.