13. Lucas

CHAPTER 13

LUCAS

My relationship with Cooper had been easy. Like, shockingly easy. So easy it made me wonder if I'd hit my head during tumbling practice, and this was all some sort of a dream.

On Sunday night, he'd come over and made dinner—some salad situation that ended up being way better than I thought. We had a beer each and disagreed about old movies. Monday, I went to his place, and it was my turn to cook. He'd been a bit surprised by my presentation of a Danish potato and chicken dish that Del had taught me when I first moved in with him and Renata. That night, we ended up too tired to watch a movie and too sore from our respective practices for sex but curled up together on my bed. Listening to him breathe, resting on his chest, was a better ending to the night than I imagined.

And by Wednesday, we were in a routine. One night at my place, one night at his. We'd make each other dinner, have long and often rambling talks about anything and everything. When we did have to work on social media stuff or fundraiser things, it was all business (except for the part where I sat on his lap, or we were naked. Or both).On Thursday, when the lowkey campaign for Queering Sports hit, we celebrated—Cooper's posts about working with the organization coupled with pictures of him sweaty on the field definitely opened at a tiny floodgate. In fact, on Friday morning when he posted about how the organization was always looking for new volunteers, the online application submissions and the calls Liesel had to field spiked.

Everything felt... good. Right. Nice .

Even when we had to keep our time together so secret—every morning spent waking up with one another meant a morning sneaking out, taking side exits, walking to a car parked around the block or calling a ride share from a café half a mile away.

It wasn't all bliss and roses. We still had practices to deal with. Training. I had my day job and the work with Queering Sports. Cooper had meetings with agents, coaches, trainers, podcasters, and god only knows who else. Those evenings together and those tiny slivers of mornings were little golden drops of happiness amidst wide swaths of stress and exhaustion.

"Nope, you're just really gooey and gross," Marisol said, shaking one of the ridiculous pompoms at me. We'd just been issued our new ones for the season—a metallic version of the team's colors with loopy handles that bit into our palms when we shook them for the fans. In addition to the standard-sized ones we used, a pile of other sizes stood beside the bench, like some sad sci fi monster's egg cache gone disco. "These things are awful. Why did they get the loops?" she complained, shaking one again. "I'm so glad we barely use them, but ugh!"

Liz and Tori bounded over, huge goofy grins firmly in place as they shook theirs at us. "Ready?" Liz sing-songed. "O-kay!"

"Oh my god," I muttered, shaking my head but unable to hide my smile. "Y'all are awful."

"We're cheerleaders!" Liz squeaked, mocking the stereotype. "We're always so happy! We're always so friendly!" She shook one pom in my face before stopping her bouncing and rolling her eyes. "Swear to god, if one more guy on the apps tells me how bummed out he is that I'm nothing like a 'real cheerleader' because I'm not a bubble-brained fuck doll, I may commit a felony."

Snorting softly, Tori elbowed her. "Bubble-Brained Fuck Doll is going to be the name of my garage band. Come see us at Cherry Bo Berry."

I grinned at all three of them, shaking my head. "Y'all are awful, and I love you for it." I stared out at the empty space we used for our tumbling practices, a former warehouse converted to purpose, floor a sea of worn blue pads and chalk dust. Like everything else related to the squad, we had to pay for the privilege of using it. "Do you ever think maybe we should unionize or something?" I asked, stopping their conversation cold.

"What?"

Marisol's amused but pointed tone dragged my gaze away from the waiting pads and back to my friends. "Just thinking about how, with only a very few exceptions, we're all expected—league-wide—to take the scraps and be grateful."

"I don't know. I think we're pretty lucky," Liz murmured. "I mean, you remember that scandal a few years ago. Those cheerleaders forced to do shit like a twerk contest on a sponsor's yacht?"

"Or the ones who were basically pimped out to sponsors?" Tori added, shaking her head. "The Troopers have kept us safe, but when it comes to everything else? It's right in line with the rest of the league."

Marisol's brows crept up. "There's some workshops at Third Coast about how to organize," she said carefully. "I mean, if someone was interested..."

Gesturing with one of my poms, I huffed softly. "Let me just add that to my schedule," I muttered. "Queering Sports, teaching, cheering, and now unionizing."

"Ortiz! Get over here!"

Becca, Dani's assistant coach and a former Houston Oilers cheerleader who never learned to talk without cheer captain shouting, waved me over.

"Shit, it's like they're psychic," Tori whispered. "How'd she know we were organizing?"

"We're not organizing," Liz shot back. "Not yet anyway."

"Ortiz!"

"It's probably nothing," I protested, handing my poms off to Marisol. "Be back in a few."

I was not, in fact, back in a few. Not even close to a few. Becca sent me to the changing room, informing me Dani and Cass wanted a meeting now . I glanced back at my friends, staring after me with eyes so wide I could see the whites from yards away. "We're not done," I protested.

Becca shook her head, jabbing her finger towards the changing rooms. "Go. They're at Dani's office. You've got thirty minutes before this becomes a problem."

I hustled, barely bothering to clean up past a wet paper towel on my sweatiest areas and a dose of antiperspirant. The trip to Dani's office wasn't long, but it was hot and slow thanks to late afternoon traffic. I arrived with two minutes to spare and found Dani, Cass, and a frustrated Liesel waiting for me. "Er, if this is about the unionizing thing, I'd like to ask how the hell y'all move this fast but also point out that we're legally allowed to."

Dani's brows drew together, and her lip curled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Um. What's going on? I'm guessing I'm not suddenly being promoted to like president of the cheer squad or something?" I edged to sit in one of the chairs across from Dani's desk. I'm in pretty good shape, but can I have a heart attack from stress anyway? Under the regard of all three women, my pulse felt too fast and too hard at the same time.

Something bad was happening. I wanted to call Renata. No, I wanted to call Cooper. Wildly, I wondered if I could excuse myself for a minute and send him a text, beg him to come to Dani's office right the fuck now . Because whatever was happening, it was going to suck, and I was going to need someone.

No, just him .

"Your contract with the squad contains a morality clause," Dani said with a heavy tinge of tiredness in her voice. "That includes not dating players."

Shit . I had to make a split-second decision: come clean about Cooper or play dumb. Either way, I was fucked. But if I played dumb, maybe Cooper could have some wiggle room, a chance to deny things too. "Are you talking about that gossip bullshit? Me and Cooper Howard were just meeting to talk about the August fundraiser. He had some great ideas to loop in guys from special teams. The team itself can't sponsor anything at this point without a lot of paperwork and negotiations, but Coop wants to include access to the skybox for the kids who are interested, free of charge for the families. He'd arrange it and pay for amenities." He'd mentioned it the other night and had been very enthusiastically rewarded for being so good at ideas.

Twice.

Dani and Cass exchanged a bemused glance. "It's not Cooper," Cass said gently. "Here."

She grabbed the tablet from the corner of Dani's desk and handed it to me. On the screen was an article from Texas Sports News , an interview with Jameson Creel. I skimmed it, frowning when he boasted about throwing money at Queering Sports and spewed his usual nonsense about how queer athletes needed their own league. Something about it struck me the wrong way, not because we don't want safe spaces but because his big talking point was how straight players shouldn't have to put up with the bullshit that comes with having queer players on the team .

"So he's got a lot of internalized shit to work through," I said, glancing up at them.

"Keep reading," Liesel muttered. "It gets worse."

I read aloud, "Creel notes that he stayed closeted as long as he did due to pressure from his then-boyfriend. 'I dated a cheerleader for a rival team when he first went pro. Things were great till they weren't. He was very openly gay and would complain about how I hid him from everyone. Things came to a head when I was ready to finally come out to my team. I didn't need a stage-five clinger making me look bad, you know?'"

I set down the tablet and closed my eyes, taking a long, deep breath and letting it out slowly. "What does this have to do with me?" I asked, the words weak in my own ears.

Liesel grabbed the tablet from me. "He talks about how this cheerleader was a whiner, a," she paused, giving me an apologetic, frustrated glance, " too femme twink , and how this ex has become a crusader for queer rights, really politicizing things way too much ."

The hummingbird in my chest threatened to explode. "I... I'm not... How do you know..."

"He names you. Later," Cass said quietly. "He claims he had to take legal action to keep you from outing him."

"That's bullshit." I leaped to my feet. "He threatened to sue me when he ghosted me for that fucking model and I called him to ask what the hell was going on!" My eyes burned hot and wet. Unable to stay still, I paced the length of Dani's office, scrubbing my hands on my arms, chaffing them like I was cold. I was burning, though. Rage and embarrassment and fear swirled around hot enough to catch light if I gave it enough air. "I have proof. My lawyer can send it. I... I..."

"Needless to say, we're cutting ties with him," Liesel said quietly. "It's going to be a huge blow to the organization, but?—"

"Oh god," I groaned, stopping in my tracks. "No, no, no. It's okay. I'll make sure I'm not involved. I'll..." I swallowed hard. The words lodged in my throat like an ice cube, sharp and cold at the same time. "I'll step down."

Liesel pressed her lips into a tight, tired smile. "Even if I wanted you to, the fact remains—Jameson Creel is not someone Queering Sports wants to be associated with. Before, when he'd pop off about having a separate league, separate events, it was so easy to think it was a misquote. We did a deep dive on his media past, and he apologized, started actually doing better." She sniffed. I wanted to go to her and offer a hug, but I was still frozen in shock, unable to feel my fingers or toes. The whole room had that wavy, uneven quality of being on a boat. Things looked stable, but your body knew you were moving, that at any moment you could get knocked on your ass.

"You were named by him as his boyfriend," Dani said wearily. "I've already fielded calls from management about this. Given the nature of his statements, they feel it is best if you are on leave."

The numbness spread to my lips. "Fired. We don't get leave in cheer. I'm fired."

Dani's pained gaze met my own. "I'm fighting this. His statements are inflammatory. And you said you have the documentation?"

Cass piped up, "I know he does. I was aware of the goings on after the fact."

Annoyed at being out of the loop, Dani scowled, but sent Cass a sharp nod. "Help him get it together. You know what we'll need. I'll keep talking to management."

Liesel stood with Cass. "Lucas, I don't want you to leave the organization. You've been amazing, helping us with everything, organizing fundraisers and events for the kids. But I understand if you want to stop. We didn't do enough due diligence with Creel, and now..." She made a choked-off, helpless sound, throwing up her hands. "I'd hate it, but I'd get it."

I shook my head, finally, finding the will to move, to push through the frozen feeling creeping over me. "No, Liesel! If y'all will still have me, I want to help. Queering Sports is important to me, and so are all of y'all working there, and the kids and..." I sighed, closing my eyes. "Just give me a few days, okay? Everything for August is in motion. Cooper's pulling in some good numbers with his fan base, and it's spreading."

A little less glum, she nodded. "Half of the Copperheads have reached out, asking if we can host some events in Tulsa next year!"

My smile felt too small, too sad, but I pushed it. "That's amazing! See, it'll be awesome!"

Dani shifted uncomfortably, finally getting to her feet. "I'll talk with the rest of the squad about what's going on. It's best if you don't," she added apologetically. "Until things are set to rights, keeping the line clear between the squad and the individual is necessary."

"Of course," I muttered. "Sure."

Cass patted my arm. "Come on, hon. I'll walk you out."

I'd parked on the street, so it wasn't a long walk down from Dani's office. The stadium loomed not far away, and I felt a sharp pang, leaving me breathless. Cass followed my gaze and sighed, slipping her arm around my shoulders. "Hon..."

"This is it," I gasped, the urge to cry nearly overwhelming. It burned in my sinuses, behind my eyes. My throat ached. "I'm done. I'm done for good. No team will want me now. I'm... fuck!" Pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes, I jerked away from her. "I hate Jameson Creel! I hope he gets infected anal hairs!"

Cass's squawk of laughter was abrupt, cut off with a fake cough. "Just make sure you don't repeat that to any reporters. Especially Byrne."

"Fuck Byrne," I growled. "This is all him, isn't it? I didn't check the byline. He's the one..."

She nodded glumly. "Trying to make his name. I've seen it a dozen times in my career, and it's always a PR nightmare."

Another nod. "I need to go. I have to work this evening. I... I just need to go." The idea of going into the studio made me sick. I wanted to curl up in my bed and cry and then break something. A lot of somethings. Preferably with Jameson's picture on all of them.

"Maybe call in," she suggested as I got into the car. "Take a day or two for yourself. Because that's just about how long you have before you need to start making public statements, hon."

With a sharp, angry nod, I locked the car door and turned the key in the ignition. Cass watched me drive away, but I pointedly didn't look back. If I did, I'd start crying.