Chapter Thirty-Three

And then everything was perfect and we lived happily ever after in a mountain cabin with our dog.

Record scratch.

Nope, that's not how it went. Not exactly.

I couldn't actually stay with Orion because I had work in the morning (and it was game day). And he couldn't come with me because Mr. Bisset had a little dog that Gizmo might eat (Orion didn't think she'd eat a dog, but she was apparently even more unpredictable around dogs than strangers).

So we had this whole moment , with the kissing, and the declarations of being hung up on each other, and a super-mild, no-pressure contemplation about spending time in the future together, and then I basically had to be like, PEACE OUT, I HAVE WORK. And drive all the way home by myself.

Or not completely by myself, because we did finally manage to exchange phone numbers, so I put in one earbud and talked to Orion the entire way home, except for when my phone died and I had to pull over so I could find the charging cable and the thing that hooks into the cigarette lighter, because that's the generation of car I own, the kind that doesn't have integrated USB but does have a lighter with enough space for one of those bulky plug-in things.

And that's more or less how things continued for a while.

In some ways, it was a bit like a relationship in reverse. We'd done some pretty heavy, intimate talking. We'd already had a couple of decent fights and figured out how to recover from them. But we'd skipped much of the relationship checklist that people usually do before those things. I had no idea what his parents' names were. He'd mentioned an older brother—the one who was freaked out about Gremlins —who it turned out was a nurse in Amsterdam.

"I've meant to visit, but I just haven't really committed to it," he explained in my ear on one of our nightly calls as I lay in bed and Orion waited to board a plane to, of all places, Wisconsin. He was off to do another low-level event with free merch and a big push for social media posts (to encourage people to look up the website, buy more merch, and support the campaign).

"I've always wanted to go to Amsterdam," I said. "Maybe we should do that when you have a break and the FC's season is over." Then, realizing what I'd just said, I rushed on: "I mean, we don't have to, we probably shouldn't, traveling together is supposed to be super stressful, and we've hardly seen each other and it's a lot of pressure and—"

His laughter stopped me. "You think being on a plane together for eleven hours will be harder than being snowed in together for a week?"

Did he just say "will," as in, This is a thing that will happen ? "I mean, that's a fair reframe."

"I think we could handle it. Not right now, because we're both busy, but let's put a pin in that."

We were putting a lot of pins in things lately. And I wasn't mad about it.

There was some commotion on his side, and I could hear Vix saying, "If that's Des, tell him to go to bed, it's one in the morning! We'll see him when we get back!"

"Mother Hen wants you to go to bed," Orion duly reported, then laughed and said, this time to Vix, "You're gonna have to be faster than that to catch me, ma'am—ow!"

"Don't call her ‘ma'am'!" I shouted into the phone, just as she was saying, "Don't you ever call me ‘ma'am,' kiddo."

He laughed again. "Okay, okay, I get it. Talk to you tomorrow, Des."

"You too."

We hung up. And I lay there, smiling like a lovestruck fool.

Our cover story came out in October, with timing that was almost certainly intentional, just before Orion was set to close out the season at the Conquistos FC stadium. I didn't know who had pulled strings, but between Vix and Marlo, I didn't think there were many strings in the world of pro soccer publicity that could not be pulled.

"Maximum impact" was what Marlo was calling it. "This story will have a maximum impact effect on both the FC and Vix's campaign, just watch. I've got a gay cheer squad coming in for the after-party, we're giving away those newfangled Pride flags because you young people can't leave well enough alone, and I've called in every favor I'm owed from other clubs to get as many players and coaches here as I can."

"So we're having, like, a gay football party?"

She beamed. "We sure are. And I made my close personal friends over at Sports Now promise to send me extras of the issue, so I can give away those as well."

I cringed. "How about we not do that? I mean, Orion looks great on the cover, but also maybe we don't hand out a thing where I talk for five thousand words about a boy I like?"

There was no dissuading her. "Sweet child, I've been dreaming of making certain assholes in this league eat shit for decades . I can't wait ."

I could wait. Forever, if possible. Now that Orion and I were ... together, in a not-actually-in-one-place kind of fashion, I found I no longer needed the cover story. And I for sure didn't need everyone to know my business.

But this was happening. And he did look really good on the cover.

I'd wanted the title to be "A Brief Account of Being Snowed In with a Soccer Star during an Unseasonable Storm in April of the Year 2025" in the manner of those old adventurer books from the 1800s, but I was vetoed by literally everyone. Sammy actually wrinkled her nose and said, "No one's gonna want to read that, though?"

Which hadn't been the point, though now that she mentioned it, it certainly seemed like a perk.

But I was totally overruled, so it ended up being called "Orbiting Orion: Snowed In with Soccer's Most Controversial Star," and I tried to fight the "controversial" tag, but Orion told me more readers would be better for the campaign. Which was true. And as a title it did technically have better SEO, even if it didn't double as an inside joke between me and the dudebros exploring the untamed wilderness two hundred years ago.

And then all the decisions were made, the kerning set, the photos captioned, and Orion and I were, in different ways, on the cover of Sports Now .

We were also, in different ways, closing out the soccer season at the Cutting Edge Pharmaceuticals Stadium in Conquistos, California, home of the Conquistos FC. But Orion's schedule leading up to Marlo's big gay soccer party was low-key batshit. Or maybe high-key batshit. Can something be high key? Actually, I've never been that sure what "low key" was in relation to as a phrase. Music? Metaphor?

Whatever, I didn't have time to google it, because I was driving toward Orion. Again.

He'd done a whole West Coast tour, beginning in San Diego, hitting LA, flying to Seattle, then Portland, then San Francisco, and finally Conquistos. And he was doing all this in five days. Literally. Like. How? I technically knew the details. (Somehow they'd crammed Seattle and Portland into the same day, even though there was a flight in between them, and yeah, it'd be short, but there was still security and waiting at the gate and everything?) By the time he landed in San Francisco the morning before the big gay soccer party, he sounded like a zombie.

"I'll just be happy to have a few days off after this," he'd said in my ear, his voice this low monotone I hadn't heard before. "And glad to see you, obviously." I thought I could hear a slight smile in his voice at that.

"Tomorrow," I said wistfully as I donned my overalls for work. "Though I can't believe I have to share you with literally the whole world until late at night. That's hardly fair."

"Haven't you been sharing me with the world for weeks?" he teased.

"Not in person. I think Vix would say she's been sort of allowing me to have brief moments of access with her soccer star."

He laughed. "I'll have to remember to tell her that. If my brain still works by the time I get there. I'm so tired, and I thought I knew what tired felt like, but this is way beyond driving myself physically until I drop. I had no idea how many levels of exhaustion were possible without even getting in a good workout."

Not that I was worried about him in a weird way, but also, it was odd to hear Orion sound so low energy. "Come on now, I know you've been working out in those posh hotels," I said experimentally.

"A few of them, yeah." He yawned in my ear. "Sorry."

"So what's with tonight?" I asked, popping open my computer and hitting Google Maps.

He told me about the two schools he was visiting for assemblies, and how they'd end the day with a community soccer pitch in a town I'd only heard of to drive through called Los Something-or-Other. Which, Google informed me, was just shy of three hours north of Conquistos.

"What time is that?" I asked, innocently, or actually not that innocently, but he was too tired to work out that I was up to something.

He yawned again. "Seven? Seven thirty, I think. We have to be there at seven, but it doesn't start until seven thirty. Hey, I should go. I want to make sure I know where we are and some stats about this high school before we get there."

"Totally makes sense. Have fun today, yeah? Enjoy the kids."

This time he was definitely smiling. "It's so weird, because I'll feel half-dead, but then we roll up and start talking to these excited ten-year-olds, or the slightly older tween crowd who you have to win over a little, or the high schoolers who really desperately want to get excited about things, and I don't know, suddenly I forget how tired I am completely. Like, Des, I really will enjoy talking to all of them today. Feels so weird to say that. It's more fun than some games I played when I was taking it way too seriously."

"That is fantastic," I said with feeling. "It's wonderful. Have fun, and I can't wait to see you."

"Same to you."

We hung up without any lovey-dovey stuff, and that felt right, but I also sensed that in the near-ish future it might be possible to say the l-word casually to him, and that was a little bit scary and a lot exhilarating.

Then I went to work and asked Guy if I could leave a little early because I was driving to this Los-Wherever place I'd programmed into my phone map. I was technically off at five, but if I left at four thirty for a three-hour drive, I'd get there right on time.

Yeah, shout if you see my mistake. History repeats, right?

Traffic was a nightmare. It took me an hour to make the twenty-minutes-according-to-Google-Maps drive from the stadium to the Starbucks on the highway. Awesome. I almost turned around, because while I did want to see Orion, and I did kind of want to surprise him, I also didn't want to be a creeper showing up at midnight at his hotel room because I still hadn't learned how traffic worked.

But. I persevered. That's me: king perseverer of dire drive-time odds. Give me Google Maps, an appropriate number of Starbucks stops, and the promise of seeing my hottie BF at the end of it, and I will persevere like whoa.

After I hit 101 North, things went more smoothly. Sure, I was late, and yes, I still stopped for Starbucks (which was not factored into my original ETA), but ... it's the thought that counts? Maybe?

I finally rolled into the dusty parking lot (which was clearly just a field in disguise) an hour after the event had started. Judging by all the cars, at least it hadn't ended yet. I'd already decided that if I got there and the place was empty, I'd turn around and go home instead of being a weirdo showing up at my super-exhausted boyfriend's hotel room. But if he was still here, fair game.

He was still here. Evidently.

It wasn't the same as trying to find the cabin back in April and fearing that he'd hate me, but my heart was still pounding as I navigated the folks at the gate ("Donations welcome!") and okay, it was a beautiful small-town soccer field, no doubt made possible by some volunteer grant writer—probably a parent who'd watched too many Saturday-morning games in the mud—who'd nailed down money for a recent revamp: massive floodlights, brand-new bleachers, and a decent-quality fake-grass situation that I suspected would pay for itself after a year of not having to water it.

And Orion, out on the field, dribbling among a bunch of kids in street clothes, half of whom had yellow mesh tops over their shirts, the other half of whom were in blue. And he was grinning, oh god, he looked so happy , so extraordinary out there in sneakers, passing a ball to a kid who couldn't have been older than thirteen.

I realized I was standing in the way of people trying to get down from their seats in the upper section, apologized, blushed, and started picking my way to a clear spot on the benches. But I was having trouble concentrating because my brain only wanted to look at Orion, I kept saying Sorry, sorry , and then looking over, then saying sorry again as I trampled someone else's purse or coat or whatever.

Then—then—Orion looked up. And I wanted to shrink, because I hadn't told him I was coming ( Why did I do that ) and I was making a mess of the very simple act of finding a seat ( Why was I like this ), except his eyes landed on mine and I froze, smiling, no, beaming down at him, because I couldn't make myself stop, and Orion's entire face lit like a firecracker and glowed at me.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. He grinned, then covered his mouth with his hand as if muzzling himself, and converted it into a kiss he blew ... right at me.

That thing the German team did to protest being unable to even wear a wristband to support equality, that mimed gag, which became in this moment a kiss. Because Orion did not have to muzzle himself anymore, not now, not here, not ever again.

I blew a kiss back to him, and the kids on the field hooted and whistled, not like we were yucky gays who should be mocked, but like we were grown-ups doing something that should have embarrassed us, but didn't.

And then a kid passed him the ball, he missed it because he was being a moony adult, and the game started again. I did at long last sink onto a bench, feeling like everyone there was staring at me, and actually, some of them were.

"Are you the boyfriend?" a soccer-mom-type white lady asked me.

Was I supposed to pretend I wasn't? "Um."

"Obviously he's the boyfriend, Mom, ohmygod," the teenage boy beside her said.

"Well, I didn't want to assume ," the mom told him.

"How could you not-know? Did you see that? It was so Taylor-and-Travis."

"Are Taylor and Travis friends of yours?" she asked.

The boy shot me the most incredible Can you believe I have to put up with this level of cultural ignorance on a daily basis? look. "Uh, no? Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce? They're like famous."

She shook her head. "I think I've heard of Taylor Swift. She's some kind of singer, right?"

He crumpled forward with his head in his hands and moaned.

The mom grinned at me, and I realized she knew exactly who Taylor and Travis were; she was just messing with her kid. I grinned back. "Some kind of singer, yeah," I agreed in my most boring-adult voice.

The boy whimpered into his hands like it was physically painful to sit next to such dunderheads.

We chatted a bit, and the mom confided that she thought her son, whose name was Patton, secretly wanted to be out on the field, but he was too anxious. Patton, for his part, rolled his eyes a lot, but when he wasn't performing sullen teenagerhood with dedication, he was watching the game in progress.

Orion only looked up a couple of times, but each time he did, he searched the bleachers until he found me. And I may have waved like a lovestruck jackass. Or something. Whatever.

It was kind of nice to be in a regular space, where donations were welcome, and little kids who couldn't sit still in the bleachers were off to the side playing with soccer balls that were way too big for them. People were chatting about normal everyday things, catching up, not super in awe of Orion, just pleased their kids were having a good time. The event ended right around nine, and I dragged young Patton over to where Orion was chatting with people. (He didn't resist that much. And his mom, to my surprise, waited back over by the gates instead of following.)

"Hey, Des," Orion said, when we finally got into conversational-speaking distance.

"Hey. This is my new pal Patton. Patton, this is Orion Broderick." And ha, he wasn't the eye-rolling teen anymore.

"Ihaveaposterofyouonmywall," the kid said so quickly that my brain had to pause in order to understand it.

Orion smiled. "That's so cool, thank you. Want me to send you a signed one from the tour?"

Wee precocious Patton's eyes about bulged out of his head. "A signed poster? Like signed by you ? Ohmygod."

"Yeah, signed by me. Unless there was someone else you wanted to sign it?"

Patton glanced in my direction, then away. "That would be amazing. I mean. Like." He gulped. "Just, I'm really glad you're out and stuff. I didn't care when I was a little kid, I didn't really understand any of it, but now? Now it matters, you know?"

"I know." Orion tilted his head forward. "Do you want a copy of Sports Now too? I bet I can get Des to sign it for you. Did you read the article?"

"Seriously? I'd love that! It was so good!"

"Right?" Orion gestured to someone, presumably a minion, and had them take down Patton's name and address. "I need to keep talking to folks, but thanks for coming tonight. Des, will you get a picture?"

So I took a picture of Orion with his arm around this lanky, awkward teenager, who no longer looked like a kid who'd ever made fun of his mom for not knowing who Taylor Swift was. Now he looked like a little boy who'd just met his hero.

Orion pulled me in for a hug and whispered, "Just need to talk to a few more people."

"Take your time," I whispered back, and I walked Patton over to his mom, whose eyes were watery.

"Mom, I met Orion Broderick! He said he'd send me a signed poster for my wall! And a copy of the magazine, can you believe it?" He swung back to me. "Will you send me that picture? Mom, he took a picture with me! Orion did!"

"I saw, honey," she said, blinking rapidly. She grabbed my hand, shaking it, then holding it. "Thank you so much."

"Of course, sure, yeah, of course." Now I was the awkward one, but it felt like a good kind of awkward. I'd just wanted to jolt Patton out of his teenage angst for a second, but it had been more than that.

I sent them both the picture, which was adorable and I was pretty sure would end up framed beside the poster on Patton's wall, and said goodbye as the kid led his mom toward the parking lot, reiterating every single second that had passed between him and Orion.

God, you couldn't pay me to go back to that age, at the mercy of all those desires and fears and the world at large. But at least this particular kid had a mom who clearly cared massively for him, and he'd gotten to meet a hero who didn't let him down. That was huge.

And weirdly, I'd somehow been a part of it.