Page 81 of Provoking the Punter

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

Garrett wiped his hands on his jeans, checked his hair in the rearview mirror, then wiped his hands again before getting out of the car. Chester’s car was already there.

What was he supposed to say after being told not to talk to him?

The tight heat churned in his gut, and he thought he might be sick. He’d much rather walkout in front of a hundred thousand booing spectators. And he might get that wish on Sunday because it was an away game. If it was a home game, it wouldn’t be as brutal. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

He drew in a breath and pushed open the door to Bathtubs and Blossoms.

Chester chatted to the photographer like they were old friends. Maybe they were. Maybe he’d dealt with him before.

“Here he is.” Chester smiled as if everything were fine and walked toward him.

For a couple of heartbeats, Garrett was frozen. Was everything fine because Chester had finished figuring out his shit?

What if he wasn’t done dealing with Chester’s brush off?

The photographer was watching, the camera in his hand was held ready to be used. Shit. He needed to look happy to see his boyfriend, not as though they were mid-fight and being forced to do this.

“Hey.” He forced the word out.

Chester leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You went for the stubble look. I like.”

Did Chester mean that, or was he making a jibe about how he should have made more of an effort?

He hadn’t bothered shaving after barely sleeping. He’d rather be training than smiling for some stranger so Caitlin could release tidbits of information. Either way, with the photographer watching and listening and taking pictures, there was only one thing to say.

He put his arm around Chester. “Thank you.”

Chester didn’t pull away, and he kept his voice low. “You’re giving your fake media smile. You need to make it real.”

Garrett closed his eyes. No one else was going to know it was his official “I’m forced to be here” smile. “I’m not feeling it. I can’t just make it happen.”

But he liked that Chester was holding him close and looking at him with concern, not hate.

Chester put his hand on Garrett’s jaw and kept his voice soft. “I hate this attention on me, not my work. And I am reconciling this with my love for you. I am doing this for you. For us.”

Garrett was tempted to tell him to fuck off if it was that much of an effort, but he bit his tongue. His gaze flicked to the photographer, who was keeping his distance. “Can’t you just yell at me and get it done?”

“Yelling doesn’t solve anything. It makes you feel like shit, and then I’ll be the asshole who made you feel like shit. I would much rather come to terms with how I’m feeling, instead of taking it out on you. I’ll try to communicate that better.”

“I know what you’re saying is the smart thing, but I’m walking on eggshells, waiting for you to snap.”

“I don’t snap. I withdraw. I’m guessing you snap?”

Garrett shook his head. “In private, but not to other people. Not unless I wanted my father to?—”

“He could have the outburst, but you couldn’t?”

He lowered his gaze. “Yeah.”

He’d spent so much of his childhood learning how not to set his father off. Playing football had always been a great excuse to be out of the house. It was only as he’d gotten older, he’d understood that he couldn’t let his guard down there either.

“Did you miss the part where I said I loved you?” Chester whispered as his arms slid around him and held him close.

Garrett leaned against him. All the support and love and reassurance that he had been looking for were there. “I was thinking about the yelling. How can you love me and hate this?”

---