Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) (52 page)

“
Yeah, well, you almost got me dumped over this. You owe me one.”

“
I
owe
you
one? Hold on a minute. Who’s keeping whose secret,
ma’am?
”

“
You almost ruined your own secret. Call People next time. Or Stars.” I remember vaguely the titles from Dev’s time with Caroll, whom, it occurs to me, might not be a bad resource.

“
I don’t know anyone there. The News, they got an office in Crystal City. One of the old Herald guys ended up there.”

“
You’ve got to have other friends.”

“
Not as many as you’d think. And I ain’t countin’ Corky, case you were wonderin’.”

I shift the phone. “Thought you guys were tight. All that stuff you wrote about his front office.”

“
I’m proud of those pieces.”

“
They were pretty good.” I relax into my chair. Just having yelled at him feels good. “Even if the subject matter was all kind of bland. Efficient front office, family business, good-hearted owner.”

“
I write what I see.”

“
It was interesting that you didn’t write about why the owner’s son-in-law was fired, I thought.”

He pauses. “Found your name in a front office too. Up in Hilltown. That why you don’t want to be out?”

I let him change the subject. If he didn’t write about it in the article, why would he tell me about it? “Pretty big conflict of interest. But I did come out at work.”

I can hear his ears perk up. “That mean I can write the story about ya?”

“
Not yet. I didn’t tell them who I’m dating. How’s the rent?”

He grumbles. “Paid. F’now. Next month I need to turn the heat on.”

“
I got an inch of snow on the windowsill. You’re breakin’ my heart.”

“
You grew up there, though. I’m a desert cub. Hits fifty and I’m throwin’ on the blankets.”

I laugh. “Hey. Did I make a good vixen?”

When he finally responds, it’s cautious. “I ain’t sure how to answer that. You mean, didja fool me? Yeah, at first.”

“
You were hitting on me pretty hard.”

“
You think that was hard?”

I stare up at the ceiling, tail swishing lazily over the bed. “Not really. Did you guess before doing your research?”

“
What is this? You lookin’ for tips to improve your costume?”

“
No. Just...just wondering.” I bend one knee, cross the other leg over it.

“
Yeah, sure, you had me fooled.” He growls it. “About bein’ dumped, too.”

“
Sorry about that,” I say. “I am.”

“
But after I knew, when I saw ya at that lunch place, I could see it. You know what I mean?” He doesn’t wait when I stay silent. “Anyway, I like ya better as a guy.”

“
Heh. Why?”

“
I dunno. Don’t have to worry if you’re thinkin’ I’m hittin’ on ya all the time. Don’t have to waste time thinkin’ about if you might let me take ya home. We can just talk.”

“
Even though I didn’t get dumped.”

“
You said you almost did. Maybe that’s good enough.”

I shift the phone and flick the ear it’s hooked into. “You still miss her?”

“
Kinda. I miss what she used ta be. I miss what we had back when we started. It ain’t so much that I want her back now.”

“
She’s moved on.”

“
She don’t see me the same. Y’know, you get to know someone and some things turn out more important than you mighta thought.”

I think about Mikhail, and his snap judgment of me. “Sometimes when you get to know someone, your opinion of them improves.”

He chuckles. “Someone make a bad first impression on ya?”

“
That too.”

“
Who was it, you don’t mind me asking?”

I guess there’s no reason not to tell him. “Dev’s parents.”

“
Ah. So that part wasn’t a lie.”

“
I didn’t lie about everything.”

He chuckles. “We all lie about something. I expect it.”

“
So what did you lie about?”

“
Oh, there’s all kinds of lies,” he drawls.

“
Evasion.”

“
Omission.”

“
Statistics.”

He laughs. “Little front office humor?”

“
We take it where we can get it, these days.”

“
The Dragons aren’t a total loss.”

“
We’ll get a good draft pick.”

We talk football for a little. It helps. “Hey,” he says as I’m saying good-bye, “don’t let the parents get in the way of you two.”

“
Bit late for that.” I try not to let my good mood dissipate. “That what happened with you and Cimarine?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Partly. But her mom couldn’t make her do anything she hadn’t already decided to do.”

I sigh. “I guess that’s good. Talk to you later...” I pause. “Hal.”

“
Goodnight, Mister Farrel.”

“
Oh, for God’s sake, call me Lee.”

He’s still laughing when he hangs up.

?

Wednesday night, when I talk to Dev, he says he’s going to call his mother and then call me back. He’s a lot more relaxed about the whole tabloid thing now that it has—fingers crossed—sunk without a trace. I think he won’t completely relax until next Sunday, when the new issue knocks the old one off the shelves. I know I won’t.

I wait for him to call back, but he never does. Let him be, I decide.

He doesn’t call all the next day. That night, I’m just turning in when my phone rings. Prepared for Dev, I glance at it and freeze. The number is unfamiliar for a split-second, and then I recognize his parents’ home number.

Shit, really? Why are his parents calling me instead of him?

Maybe it’s his mom. That makes the most sense, that she wants to try to reconcile us somehow. My intuition tells me otherwise. I take a breath and prepare the things I have to say, then get ready to sound surprised.

“
Hello?”

“
This is Mikhail Miski.” There’s no mistaking the gruff voice with the Siberian accent.

“
Hi, Mr. Miski. What can I do for you tonight?”

“
You can leave my son alone.”

I keep my sigh as inaudible as I can. “I really don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“
I am telling you that you need to make it happen.”

My prepared words scrabble around, bereft of context. I keep them on hold. “Or what? Or you’ll kick him out of your family again?”

“
Yes, I saw that you felt it appropriate to tell the world about our private business.”

Guilt flushes my ears. “I...” He waits. I can hear the smugness in his breathing. I don’t want to admit it, but my resolution about being a better person, a stand-up fox, a
ma-e
, keeps me from lying outright. “The tabloids make up a lot of stuff. So do waiters in a restaurant when you make a scene in public.”

“
I did not make a scene.”

“
Funny. I think getting up and storming out just as your food is being served qualifies as a scene. Maybe you do that all the time at the auto shop.” Fuck. Keep yourself under control, fox.

“
You had best be careful what you talk about in public. There are parts of your life that you would not want made public.”

I stare at my cast. I bite back about five comments. “I’m certain that’s true.”

“
Then we understand each other.”

What? “I understand that you’re threatening me. I’m not sure with what. Or what I’m supposed to do.”

“
Let me be perfectly clear. I have seen that you do not want your association with my son to be made public.”

“
It’s nice to know you still think of him as your son.” I can’t help that one. This guy just rubs me the wrong way.

“
If you want that privacy to continue,” he says, “you will end that association.”

“
So if I don’t want you to tell the world that he’s my boyfriend, I should break up with him.”

He purrs. “I see you foxes do eventually catch on.”

“
To hell with that,” I say. “Dev wouldn’t agree to break up when you threatened
him
, and he actually loves you. What makes you think I’ll do it?”

“
I have already given him his choice,” he says. “Now I am giving you yours.”

“
At least I know you can’t dislocate my thumb over the phone.”

He’s quiet. “I did not intend to do that.”

It strikes me that this may be the closest thing I get to an apology. Do I say ‘thank you’? I settle for avoiding the rest of the subject altogether. “Listen, Mr. Miski, and I hope you can understand me. I love your son. He loves me. When the rest of the world turns its back on us,” oh, God, I’m reciting bad movie dialogue, “I mean, when we don’t have anyone else to count on, nobody to listen, we always have each other. I—we think that’s more important than who’s sticking what in whom. If you can’t appreciate or understand that, then...then I don’t think we have anything more to talk about.”

That wasn’t the speech I had prepared, but it went pretty well anyway. He stays quiet, building my hope that I reached him. But when he does speak, he just says, “Perhaps you do not understand, after all.”

“
Hey,” I say, “I understand that you’re ashamed of our relationship. But we’re not. Okay?”

“
Good night,” he says. The phone goes dead.

Damn, I’m glad I came out at work this week, otherwise I might be really scared. All the same, I can’t imagine he’ll go through with it. He isn’t exactly anxious for the world to know that his big, strong football player son is fucking a weak faggot fox. I think it was an empty threat. And even if he does break the story, who’ll care? I’ll start to get bugged by tabloids; I can deal with that. Might even be the best thing for us. Maybe after the season I’ll let Kinnel write up his story.

I call Dev. He doesn’t answer, so I leave him a terse message to call me, and a text as well. I curl up in bed, stare at the building across the way, and think of him.

Monday and Tuesday are killers. After a month of free Mondays, it’s hard to go back to day-after practices. It’s worse this far into the season: everybody’s sore, everybody’s nursing minor injuries. Gerrard twisted an ankle; Carson strained a hamstring; my ribs still ache and my foot is acting up again. But we push through it, keeping in mind the memory of the loss. By the end of the day, I actually feel better. Exhausted, but better.

The linebackers all go out for dinner after, including Corey. He praises the squad, talking about how impressive we looked—everyone but me. He doesn’t make any comments about me being gay, at least.

After dinner, I corner Gerrard. “Tomorrow night, extra practice?”

He flicks his ears. “You up for it?”

“
Hell, yes.”

He glances at Corey, who’s just chatting with Carson at the door. “Sure.”

“
You used me to motivate him, once,” I say. “I don’t mind if you use him to motivate me.”

He grins a long coyote grin. “Whatever it takes.” He clasps my shoulder. “Welcome back.”

Seems weird for him to say that, but I have to admit I was pretty damn focused in practice. I had to be. If I let my focus slip, I started thinking about Lee and my family. It’s not as bad as it was last week, when thinking about them twisted up my gut. In fact, I’ve started remembering things I did to Lee. Telling the team who’s on top—I know that pisses him off. Hiding the fake engagement from him. I never did anything like call the papers to tell them about his family blackmailing him—or extorting, whatever he calls it—to stay in school. But I ain’t pure as snow either.

I talk to him late that night, and again Tuesday. He keeps telling me to call Mom. I know I should, but I’m scared to. I can’t help it. When I think of Mom, I think of her arms around me when I broke my arm, when I was five. I think about her hug when I went off to college, telling me she believed in me. I think about her liking Lee, that nice talk the three of us had the first night home. I’m afraid if I call her, I won’t be able to remember that any more.

Tuesday and Wednesday night, Gerrard and Carson and I stay late and we grab a few guys off the practice squad again. They’re tired from the day’s practice just like we are, but they’re game. “Watch me,” Gerrard tells me and Carson. We don’t have any plays to run—we do enough of that during the day—so it’s a matter of anticipating what the practice squad guys are going to do on offense and knowing what Gerrard is going to do. I’ve already been on the field with him for a month, but without the plays it’s all about instinct.

I’ve had flashes of being able to anticipate what Gerrard is going to do, but tonight I feel a lot more confident about it. There are times when I think about it consciously, others when I just move and it turns out to be the right decision. “Good,” he yells at me after one of those times. The practice squad guys aren’t fast enough to keep up with us, but they show us a lot of different looks on offense and sometimes make bad decisions, which is great. It stops us trying to figure out what they’re going to do. We have to react to what they actually do.