Page 123 of The Play

But it was still hard for Deacon to look Darcy in the eye—Grant’s employee and his closest friend—when all he’d been thinking about for the last hour was stripping Grant down, pressing him against the nearest vertical surface, and getting his mouth on him.

“I am,” Deacon said.

“Great.” Darcy’s expression was full of amused relief. “I was hoping so.”

He took the tablet from her hand. “This is all he needs?”

She grinned. “Not everything, apparently.”

“Ah, uh . . .” Deacon stammered.

“Don’t worry, I’m on your side, too,” Darcy said, patting him on the arm. “You’re good for him. Remember that. Even if he tries to deny it. And especially if he keeps pretending that there isn’t a solution to all these problems, sitting right there, waiting to be deployed.”

“A solution?” Deacon didn’t know what she was talking about, but it was pretty goddamn easy to focus on that word when all they’d been doing for weeks was trying to find a way for the whole world to stop giving a shit about their relationship.

“Don’t tell me he didn’t tell you,” Darcy said.

“Didn’t tell me what?”

Darcy sighed. “Nicole and I think if you two went more public, gave a short interview, confirmed some things, that the speculation might die down. The media might find something else to latch on to, then.”

“You really think that’s true?” Deacon couldn’t believe it. Less than a week ago, when Rex had started claiming Grant had made “advances” towards him, they’d had this very conversation. Deacon, hoping for a solution, and Grant claiming he wasn’t sure what the right way forward was.

Had there been an option this whole goddamn time and Grant hadn’t wanted to do it—hadn’t even wanted to tell Deacon it was a possibility?

Sure, maybe it wouldn’t fix everything, but they would be doing something, instead of just being sitting ducks.

Deacon didn’t get pissed very often—or very easily, but temper was flaring inside him now. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as Grant was, but he wasn’t stupid either, and if there was a way out of this mess, he’d at least deserved to hear about it.

“We both do,” Darcy said. “He didn’t tell you.”

“No,” Deacon said shortly.

“Well, it’s complicated,” Darcy hedged. “It wouldn’t fix everything, necessarily. And obviously, there’d be a lot more intense scrutiny at first. But the hope is, with confirmation, and less room for speculation, it would die down, eventually.”

Deacon didn’t care how complicated it was. Didn’t even care if it didn’t work right away. If all he had to do was stand in front of a few reporters, hold Grant’s hand, and say a few things about how he was his sun and his moon and his sky and had been for a hell of a long time? Not that hard. Deacon did harder things, every single goddamn day.

“I don’t know that it’s all that complicated,” Deacon said, frowning.

Maybe Grant thought because he was a football player and not that into talking about his feelings, that he wouldn’t do it. That he wouldn’t even consider it.

But that was crazy. Deacon had told Grant he loved him first. He’d been the one to speak up when they’d been mired in that horrible, painful should we or shouldn’t we mess.

He’d grabbed it by the throat and said what needed to be said.

Why the fuck wouldn’t Grant believe that he’d do it again?

“You’ll figure it out together.” Darcy patted him reassuringly. “You two have got this.”

But did they?

How could they have a hope in hell of navigating this situation if they weren’t honest with each other?

Deacon drove to Grant’s building, this time painfully aware of every flash that he saw. There were photographers camping out on the sidewalk, despite all the security Grant had hired, and he nearly considered flipping them off as he drove into the garage, but Grant already had enough headaches.

But not so many he couldn’t share Darcy’s idea with you.

“Mr. Harris,” the concierge greeted him as he walked in and headed towards Grant’s private elevator.

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