Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) (29 page)

Nobody here is impressed by a young scout from a pro team; there are five others here that I see. For the three hours of the game, my mind is on automatic, making notes about the four players on my list and capturing significant plays. We’ll have the film at our facility by Monday, but recording on my own allows me to watch my players even when they’re not the focus of the play. I keep them in my viewfinder, as discreetly as possible so the other scouts won’t see who we’re interested in. I wonder if any of those four are gay. Or any of the other hundred kids on the sidelines, the young pronghorn or the leopard cheerleader he’s hitting on; the pair of rabbits talking and practicing kicking motions; the big wolf sitting alone on the end of the bench in a posture remarkably similar to Vince King’s.

Only the beer vendor and the chicken sandwich lady talk to me, and then only at halftime, so I have a lot of time to think about things like that. When the game’s over, I find a local coffee shop and sit there to review some of the footage while it’s fresh in my mind. It’s good to do that right away, and also it lets the traffic die down. Today, it also helps me rest my paw from about five hours of filming. The warmth of the vanilla latte helps my fingers relax and feel better, even through the cast.

When I’m done, after forty-five minutes of fast-forwarding, I take another five to look out at the fall landscape, the thicker-furred students walking around in their winter molt, the others walking around in coats. Most of the leaves here have dropped, and the ones that haven’t have turned brown, though there are some yellow and red ones scattered through the foliage. Around me, kids are working on laptops, poring over textbooks, talking about classes. A brown rat talks excitedly to her boyfriend about going home for Thanksgiving.

I didn’t go home last year, pleading work—and it is a busy time of year—but really I was still mad about the shit my parents pulled in the spring. Dev paid my college bills, and I’m over that, more or less—after all, I conclusively proved them wrong by being a success with the Dragons. Still, I hadn’t planned on going home this year either. Not like they’ve tried to talk me into it, not very hard. It feels like neither of us sees the point.

I wonder what Aunt Carolyn’s doing for Thanksgiving, while I shut down the computer and stow the video camera. Once I’m outside, I take out my phone.

“
Hi, Father,” I say when he answers.

We go through a bit of small talk before he says, “I recognized your football player the other day, on TV.”

“
Right.” The memory of a voicemail message flits across my mind. I wonder whether he means the press conference or the Today Show. Doesn’t matter, really. “Sorry I never called back. It’s been a little crazy.”

“
I’ve been following some of it. Doesn’t look like they’ve lynched him yet.”

Good old Father. “No, he seems to be doing okay with the team. They’re mostly concerned about how he plays football.”

“
That’s good. He’s been doing pretty well. Might even keep the starting job once Mitchell comes back.”

“
We’re hoping.”

“
Must be a relief for you.”

I think about that for a moment before answering. “It is. I mean, it was so stressful for him, and now that the world didn’t end, he realizes he’ll survive.”

“
When you think about it,” he says, “it’s not really worse than Hinkel, last year.”

“
That’s the one who was cheating on his mistress?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Thanks for not bringing up Yates.” That’s the stag from the Boxers who paid someone to kill his girlfriend.

He snorts. “He hasn’t mentioned you in any of the articles yet.”

“
No.” A breeze ruffles through my fur with a little chill. “We decided it’d be better for me to keep a low profile.”

“
So I can’t tell the guys at the office that my son is the one dating this famous football player?”

“
Would you?”

“
Maybe Dice. He’s gay.”

“
Oh, good, so you do have gay friends.”

“
Well, I wouldn’t call him a friend, exactly. We work together.”

I roll my eyes. “But you wouldn’t tell any of your friends.”

“
Can I?”

“
No.”

He sounds amused. “Okay, then, I won’t.”

I sigh, trying to come up with a way to ask what I want to ask. The silence stretches on, and he lets it, waiting for me to continue. Finally, I say, “How’s Mother?”

“
She’s fine.” The answer comes so quickly I know it’s automatic. He pauses. “She and Janice Carter won second place at the bridge tournament last month.”

Around the stadium, the mass of headlights is thinning out. I’ll be able to go soon. “Don’t you usually play with her?”

“
Janice has been playing more. Carolyn called. She said she saw you?”

For a moment, I wish I’d been able to listen in on that conversation. I try to imagine Carolyn talking to my father about me and Dev. “We had a nice dinner.”

“
She told me you’re having some trouble with your boyfriend’s family.”

“
Kind of like your sister did.”

He barks a short laugh. I feel a quick flutter of triumph at having surprised him. “I hardly think Marina’s situation is comparable. She ran off with a fennec who claimed to be a carpet merchant but who never actually produced any carpets. We think he was an arms dealer.”

“
Seriously?”

There’s a pouring sound, and then he drinks. “No. So I gather they objected to their son dating a fox?”

“
It’s the big ears,” I say, and despite myself, I smile. “Yeah, his father wasn’t too thrilled about me.” I turn my left paw around, looking at the cast.

“
So why does that bother you?”

It takes me a second to sift through all the layers of that question. I come up with four or five answers, finally settling on the simplest and truest one. “It bothers him.”

He doesn’t answer right away, taking a drink first. “That’s unfortunate.”

“
I was wondering...” My left paw suffers a small twinge. I shake it. “What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?”

“
The usual. Dinner. Maybe some family.”

He leaves it there, letting me give the explanation in my own time. “I was thinking...maybe Dev and I could come by.”

As soon as I say it, I wish I could take back the question, because I already have a feeling about what his response is going to be. As the silence grows, I second-guess my feeling. He might be thinking of whether to agree, not how to phrase a rejection. He might surprise me.

But he doesn’t. “I don’t really think that’s a good idea.”

“
Yeah, I didn’t think so.” The disappointment is colder than the breeze. “Well, thanks.”

“
You know, maybe if you’d come to Thanksgiving last year—”

“
Oh, Christ.”

He gets sharper. “Your mother was hurt.”

“
She didn’t sound like it.”

“
Did you want her to burst into tears on the phone? Would that have made you feel better?”

There’s always a point in conversations with my father where I start planning my escape route. “Is that what you think?”

“
I don’t know, Wiley. I’m not sure what you’re thinking these days.”

It’s so hard to read his tone. It’s frustrating. “What I’m thinking right now is that I wish Dev and I could scrape together more than one supportive parent between the two of us.”

There’s a short silence. “Maybe if you tried scraping a little harder, you’d find more,” he says.

“
Maybe if...” Maybe if Mom hadn’t run away the first time she met Dev. Maybe if they asked me about him, or gave any sign they cared. “Forget it.”

“
So I should tell your mother not to expect you for Thanksgiving?”

I fold my ears down against the wind, over the earpiece of the phone. “I think she already knows.”

We leave it pretty much there. I got what I wanted to know: I can’t offer my home to Dev as an alternate family, even just for Thanksgiving. I’d thought I could put up with my parents for a holiday, but fifteen minutes on the phone with my father brought home again how foolish that was. I can’t feel comfortable with them; how is Dev supposed to?

It’s dark, and the roads are clear. It takes me only half an hour to get to my hotel room, where I hook up the phone to the charger and start to call Dev, and then I remember that I’d told him I’d call Gena. I’d tried yesterday and got no answer, so I dial again. It’s possible she’s ignoring my number, or forgot to put my name beside it. But I need to try one more time, for the sake of having at least one friend Dev and I can see together. She didn’t hide her discomfort, but she didn’t let it bother her, either. If she’s okay with me being in drag, she should be fine with me just being me.

We did talk the evening Fisher was injured, but it was a harried conversation, me just asking if she was okay and her replying with a tense, “yes, thanks.” I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t answer again, on a Saturday night, but she picks up with a tired, “Hello.”

“
It’s Lee,” I say, and start to say, “Dev’s Lee,” but she cuts me off.

“
I know. Sorry, just put the kids to bed. How are you doing?”

“
Oh, I’m fine. I just wanted to ask about Fisher. How’s the leg healing?”

She laughs. “He’s getting annoying, so I think it’s healing fine. The cast is itchy.”

“
I know how that is,” I say, and just that little reminder makes my thumb itch inside its own cast. Dammit. “Well, good. Glad you guys are okay.”

“
We’re fine. Looking forward to meeting you in regular clothes.”

My ears perk. “Sunday? You and Fisher are going to be there?”

“
Of course. Didn’t Devlin tell you? Fisher told Gerrard to make sure he invited you because he wanted to see you again.”

“
Ah. No, he didn’t tell me that.” I suspect that it wasn’t so much that Fisher wanted to see me as that he wanted the rest of the team to see me.

“
I’m glad you’ll be there,” Gena said. “It sounds like it’s been rough for Devlin. The Today Show and all.”

“
His parents aren’t exactly being helpful.” I leave it at that, and she doesn’t ask further.

The early flight I booked leaves me about six hours to sleep. I set the alarm and lie down, but I have trouble getting to sleep, though. I’m kind of excited, and not just because of the chance to get Gerrard Marvell’s autograph. This is a chance for me to make things right, at least a little bit. I screwed up with his family, but I won’t screw up with the team. I’ll make him proud.

Gerrard lives in a nice little six-bedroom ranch-style house in a gated subdivision about a half hour outside of downtown Chevali. His wife, a shorter, energetic coyote, greets me at the door with a wide smile. “You’re Devlin, right? I’m Angela. Go on in. They’re all in the TV room...” Her ears go up as she glances behind me. “Oh. You must be...”

“
Lee.” He steps forward and offers his paw. “Don’t worry. I’m used to not being noticed when Dev’s around.”

She takes his paw, still smiling. He’s probably the only guy here she can look down at. “I’m so glad you came,” she says. “Go on in. Or...if you don’t like football, the rest of us are out in the sun room.”

“
I like football,” Lee says, his ears up, returning her smile. “But I definitely want a tour of this house. It looks gorgeous.”

“
Thank you!” She beams, ushering us inside. I hand her the bottle of wine Lee made me bring, which she holds awkwardly as though not sure what it is.

“
It’s wine,” I say.

Lee leans over. “I thought that perhaps some of you might not like beer.” He touches the label. “It’s a good chardonnay. Very light.”

She changes her grip, handling it more confidently. “Isn’t that lovely!”

Lee’s tail brushes against my leg, wagging as he walks with me into the house. We both pause, looking around as Angela closes the door behind us. The place is huge. I think you could drop my parents’ house into their living room without knocking down any of the walls. The art on the walls is all landscapes and abstracts, but the dirty pawmarks on the white walls and the scuffed floors make it feel like a home.

“
You have cubs?” Lee asks Angela. “How old?”

“
Two boys, eleven and eight.” Her tail wags as she looks fondly toward the carpeted stairs. “Jaren and Mike. I’m sure you’ll see them. They’re running around in the yard now.”

“
Not captivated by the pre-game shows?” Lee murmurs. Angela’s already on her way to the kitchen, pointing us across the vast living room to an open doorway. I can see Carson leaning on the back of a sofa, and hear Charm’s booming voice. As we walk towards the room, Lee slows his steps to hang back behind me. I turn to him.

“
You okay, doc?”

He straightens, takes a breath, and exhales. “Hell, yes. I’ll make you proud.”

I hide a smile, wondering how I’m going to balance being Dev the boyfriend with Dev the football player. But if I haven’t reached a conclusion about that on the way over here, I’m certainly not going to in the next five seconds, so I just head on in, with Lee following me.