Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

HANSLEY

I stand back to look around the room. We’re in the biggest of the gymnasiums. The perimeter is lined with folding tables covered in food. While our initial plans were to make the potluck open to the community as another means for raising funds, I had a different idea and the department agreed.

Most of the department. There’s one entity that isn’t aware of what’s going on. Not yet anyway.

Alka stands next to me, slightly shaking his head. “He’s going to beat you in front of everyone.”

I snort. “He won’t.”

“I know you think so, but we have cameras waiting. Just in case.”

Grinning, I slap his shoulder. “I’m impressed that nearly everyone brought a dish.”

Between the seven teams, the coaching staff, the trainers—everyone—that’s over 150 dishes. Everyone except football. But there’s a reason for that.

I glance up at the banners spread all around the room. Once we got our teams involved, they went all out. There were 112 balloons on the ceiling, one for each player with their name and number, and a bigger one for Coach Lemon.

There are two enormous banners on either end of the room. One reads ‘Congrats on an amazing season!’ and the second reads ‘Good luck at division playoffs.’ There are more banners all around the room, one from each team, with their well wishes for the next game.

“He’s going to kick your ass for interrupting his practice,” Declan adds. “I’m pretty sure they’re sacred.”

I grin. Both of them know that Lemon and I are in an unofficial relationship. I’ve talked to Alka about it several times in the evenings when I’ve come home to his spare room. I have a few offers out on houses, so just waiting to see who gives me the best deal. For now, I’m enjoying the company of Alka and his men.

“Coach!”

Nearly everyone in the room turns to see one of the field hockey players standing in the door. “Football team is heading to the field.”

“Thank you, Darlene,” I call back as I move to go. “Make sure we’re ready. Just as planned.”

“Of course,” Alka says. “Good luck.”

I jog the short distance between the student center and the football field. To make sure practice doesn’t begin yet, I walk right down the 50-yard line. We discussed waiting until after practice, but then we’d either have to deal with sweaty football players or take a chance that we’d miss wrangling everyone up after and someone doesn’t make it.

So yes, I’m definitely taking my chances here. Hoping that Lemon isn’t too upset with me.

I can hear him talking. His voice is loud, firm, but not unkind. I’m not sure what tips them off, but suddenly, everyone is turning to watch me approach. From here, I can see Lemon’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Be right back,” he tells the team and walks through them to meet me a few yards away. “What’s wrong?”

The fact that his first thought is that something’s wrong makes my chest warm. “I need you to not be mad that I’m about to interrupt your practice and come with me.” His expression becomes even more confused. “I need all of you to come with me.”

He frowns. “Why?”

Bringing my hand up, I brush a thumb along his jaw and then cup the side of his neck. “Please, trust me. No questions. Can you do that?”

Lemon chews his lip as he studies my face. Sighing, he says, “Fine. You’re going to have a hundred angry football players for making them stay late tonight.”

“I think you’ll change your mind.”

With a huff, he turns and hollers, “Orderly fashion, we’re following Coach Hansley.”

“All your coaches too.”

“Everyone. Norman, all coaches. Let’s go.”

I receive a lot of mixed expressions as the team gets to their feet and turns. Irritation is definitely one of them. Hopefully, they forgive me.

Lemon looks at me expectantly and I offer my hand. I barely hear his subtle intake of breath, but his eyes meet mine again and he takes my hand with a shy smile. “This is a good thing,” I promise.

He nods and I lead him back the way I came. We walk through campus, me and Lemon holding hands with the 112 players behind us in full gear, and the eleven coaches and whoever else is part of this massive crew.

I expect questions. I expect, at the very least, mumbling. But no one says anything as we progress on our field trip. Not until we get to the student building where every other team is waiting outside.

Lemon looks at me nervously. As soon as his team is gathered in close, I produce a blindfold. “We have a surprise for you,” I tell Lemon. “But I want you all to see it at the same time. So everyone is going to buddy with another athlete, you’re going to be blindfolded, and we’re going to bring you inside before we let you see.”

“This isn’t some hazing ritual, is it?” one of Lemon’s players asks.

“Peyton,” Lemon warns, without turning to look who talked.

The man named Peyton shrugs. “It seems fair right now when we’re surrounded.”

“Trust me?” I whisper.

Lemon licks his lips and while he remains somewhat nervous, he nods. I bring up the blindfold and secure it around his eyes.

“I won’t ever let you fall,” I murmur in his ear. He shivers, his hands briefly gripping the front of my shirt tightly.

Once he’s blindfolded, the rest of the teams move forward and make their way through the football players, each taking a buddy and blindfolding them.

“You’re right, Peyton,” I say as they’re all standing there blind with another person holding their hand to guide them in. “This could totally be some kind of ritual.”

“See?” he says with a big grin.

“It’s going to be the good kind,” someone else promises. One of the other athletes.

I bring Coach inside, telling him when to step over the plate at the door and when we’re transitioning onto a rug. It’s completely silent except for the shuffling of feet and the quiet murmurs of instructions.

We herd everyone into the middle of the gymnasium. When one of our players deposits one of Lemon’s players in the middle, it’s with the instruction that they can’t take off the blindfold until I say. Then they move to the perimeter behind the tables to get ready.

The doors closing is my cue that everyone is in place.

“When I say ‘one,’ you can take off your blindfolds. Ready?” A nervous but excited chorus of yeses answers me. “Three. Two. One.”

Lemon doesn’t move to take his off, so I do it for him as the rest of the room yells their congratulations. I was expecting surprise and maybe a little annoyance (even if he’s pretending) but I’m not prepared for the tears making his eyes glassy.

He looks around the room—at the banners, the food, the other teams and coaches and members of the athletic department. His lips are pressed together when he faces me again. His team has already started moving away as the other teams come out from around the tables. But Lemon remains in front of me.

“You did this for us?” he asks.

“We’re really, really proud of our football team. I hear it’s been twelve years since you’ve made it to the division playoffs and we’re so damn excited for you, Lemon. We wanted to make sure you all know that we’re rooting for you.”

“But…” He glances around. “They helped you?”

I sigh. “Lemon, yes. The only reason they don’t hang around you is because you don’t want them to. But they were excited to help. Immediately ready to do this with me. There wasn’t a single one of them who needed convincing or time to think about it. We’re ready to celebrate you.”

I was going to add ‘and commiserate your losses’ but that feels like a huge jinx right before their game, so I decide not to and let it go unsaid instead.

“There’s a lot of food here, but this is a room with over 200 athletes, so you better get a plate while there’s still some left.”

Lemon doesn’t move away. He steps into me and wraps his arms around my middle, burying his face in my neck. “Thank you,” he whispers.

I hug him tightly and for a minute, it’s just the two of us in the middle of the gym. All the bodies; noise and voices and laughter fade away. The lights dim. It’s just me and Lemon.

Until someone comes over. “Made you a plate, Coach.”

Lemon steps back to accept the plate offered to him and gives Seth a smile. “Thank you.”

Seth beams at him before turning that smile on me. Then he’s skipping away. Lemon’s eyebrows meet as he watches.

“He’s a goalie,” I say in explanation.

“I see.”

“Goalies are all kinds of special. A very different breed of person.”

He smiles and looks at his plate.

We’re split up after that. I step back to watch as he’s approached. First by our players and then the coaches take their chances. Lemon’s gaze always seeks mine out, as if he’s making sure I haven’t left. So I make it a point to remain where he can always find me.

After an hour or so, I see him slip out the side door. I give him a minute and when he doesn’t come back in, I follow. He’s sitting on the steps, so I take a seat beside him.

“Everyone okay?”

Lemons nods.

“You angry that I messed up your practice?”

He grins and shakes his head.

Sighing, Lemon presses his arm under mine and lays his head against my shoulder. “I… I can’t believe they all did this for me.”

“They’ve never not wanted to be your friend, you know.”

He sighs again, but this time there’s sadness in it. “When I was eight, I had this friend. We did everything together. Played and ran and colored. We tried on my sister’s dresses and painted our nails, did each other’s hair. We played in the dirt and raced cars at school. All through the summer that we both turned nine, we were inseparable. The week before school started, he had to go on vacation with his family. I was bummed but so excited as each day passed because my friend was coming back. The first day of fourth grade, he looks at me with such an ugly face and says, ‘we’re not friends anymore, Lemon. It’s not cool to wear dresses and paint your nails if you’re not a girl.’ I went home sobbing, of course. One of the few times my father actually said anything worthwhile was that afternoon when he sat me down and said, ‘Lemon, you have a choice here. You can be like the other kids and do what they do and be their friend. Or you can be you. Whoever that is. And take the world as it comes at you.’”

“That’s good advice,” I say.

He nods absently. “I chose to be their friend. We played tag and wrestled and joined football and other stupid shit. I hated all of it except football. And finally, I decided one day that I just… didn’t want to play what they’re playing. I didn’t like to get muddy. I didn’t want to wrestle. But I did love football, so I continued to play football. I had a harder time as a younger kid than I did as a teenager. By that point, I was good. However, I was small, so it kind of limited my position on the field, which was fine. Small meant fast, so I was a running back. I came out when I was sixteen and the world got a little lonelier. My team was good to me, but we weren’t friends. They didn’t let anyone bully me or hurt me, but we weren’t friends.”

I wrap my arm around his shoulders and kiss the top of his head.

“While I thought college would be different, it was a lot of the same. I have a loud personality. I like what I like and I won’t tone it down for any reason. It became apparent by the time I was twenty that I was just a lot for everyone. For the guys I wanted to date. For the people I wanted to be friends with. College was worse than high school in that respect because I had these expectations that things would be better. We were adults now. We were allowed to be ourselves and wouldn’t have to live through our immature peers bullying.”

Lemon shifts so he can press his face into my chest. While I know he hates it when I mess up his hair, I gently brush my fingers through his curls.

“I decided that I just wouldn’t let anyone get close. If they couldn’t get close, I couldn’t be hurt. Rejection by someone you’re attracted to sucks. It’s a blow to your self-esteem and always kind of leaves you wondering why they’re not interested. But rejection from someone who you want to be friends with, or someone you thought was your friend, is much worse. The first isn’t romantically or physically into you. That’s cool. We all have preferences and shit. But the latter doesn’t like you as a person. After a while, it’s just been less painful not to allow anyone to get close enough to hurt me.”

Lemon had given me a glimpse behind his massive walls in the hotel room that one night, but it feels like he’s let them fall with me. He’s completely open and vulnerable, letting me see all the bruises that shitty people have left on him over the years.

I’d like to tell him that the world is different now, but I know it’s not. People are shitty everywhere.

“The kids are different. I already know that they’re here for a set number of years before they leave. It’s not a choice for them. This is a single stop on their life’s journey. I don’t need to be quite so… distant from them. Besides, I’m in a unique position where I get to help shape them, so I want them to know that I, as a coach, am always on their side. But this is a planned temporary. They leave because they’re only here for a set number of years. Friends leave because they don’t like you. Or you’re too much for them.”

“How long have you known these coaches?” I ask.

He glances at me and shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re the newest. Before you… I guess Coach Michael with field hockey. You know him?”

Smirking, I nod. “I do.”

“He’s been here a couple years.”

“I will wager a bet with you that if you walked up to any of these coaches and asked them to eat lunch with you or just told them you needed to talk to someone, they’d invite you in.”

Lemon gives me a skeptical look.

“They know you as a person as much as you let the outside world, Lemon. And every one of them was happy to help me surprise you tonight. RDU is a very different world. Outside of here, it’s ugly and filled with shit storms. But we’re in a very special bubble here. The kinds of people who work here are different in such a good way.”

“Part of the LGBTQIA+ community?” he suggests.

I chuckle. “I guess. Maybe that’s what makes them different. What made you different and loud out there isn’t viewed the same way here, Lemon. Look around you, I bet we can find more than a dozen guys in that room with their nails polished. I bet more than one of them has skirts in their wardrobes. I bet more than half have makeup. And you know what you being you does for them?”

Lemon shakes his head.

“Gives them the confidence to be themselves. You’re a kick-ass football coach. There’s no arguing that. You’re doing what you love and being you. You’re a positive force in their life for so many more reasons than just football.”

The way his expression softens and his eyes look glassy again makes me think that perhaps I might have helped him to understand. I’m glad he trusted me with the reason his walls are so high. But hopefully I helped him see that maybe he doesn’t have to keep them up all the time.

I kiss his forehead and we lean into each other, watching the dark sky with the glittering stars overhead.