Page 86 of Loving the Legend
“The next few weeks were a nightmare. I watched old girlfriends who meant nothing to him cry around the school, feigning heartbreak—meanwhile, I was eviscerated. I woke up upset every night. I thought I’d be swallowed by the black hole of his absence. A few months later, Kieran came to live with us. He was in bad shape too, having been thrown out for being gay. Feeling broken together helped us feel less broken somehow. Then the bullies came for him. Protecting him gave me purpose. Having someone else I could share my memories of Paul with, not just as a friend but as my boyfriend, helped.”
I shake my head. Life makes no sense. It brings people in need together while taking those we need from us.
“I can tell it’s hard on you to go back there. Thank you for telling me.”
“Not as deep, but it still cuts,” he says. He nestles me deeper into his arms. “I could see him in the NFL one day. I still can sometimes when I watch a game."
“The world is a joyless, purposeless, and dark place when you’re depressed. You couldn’t have saved him.”
“I know. I eventually realized that I couldn’t, but it still gutted me.”
I nod. “It would have gutted me too.”
“I know that there are other Pauls out there. It’s why I support LGBTQIA suicide prevention organizations.”
“Yeah?” In everything I’ve read about him over the years, it never came up.
He nods. “It isn’t as public as my criminal justice reform work. Hey, look at me.” His voice sounds raw.
I tilt my gaze up.
“Promise me that you will seriously consider seeing a therapist.”
I stiffen from being caught off guard. How did this suddenly become about me?
“I’m not Paul."
“I know you aren’t, but I can tell you’re struggling.”
I move to sit up. “Everyone struggles. I’m good.”
He stares at me like I’m splintered, and I hate it. “Let’s get you help for the anxiety attacks and nightmares.”
I don’t need help. Why doesn’t anyone think that I’m capable of handling my shit?I shake my head and shift my gaze to the floor.
“Hey…look at me.”
“Let’s just drop it,” I say, crossing my arms across my chest.
“Hey…look at me,” he pleads. The deep but gentle pitch of his voice softens my resolve. I drag my head up to meet his gaze.
“You’re not alone anymore. I know you can take care of yourself. That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it? I already feel corny for having an attack in front of you.”
“Corny…” He shakes his head and shifts to sit upright. “Ty, you’re one of the smartest, most capable, not to mention sexiest people I know. And I know some sexy mofos,” he jokes.
I bite down on the inside of my lip to hold back a grin. I sense a “but” coming.
“You’re dope without even trying to be. I’d never think to use the word 'corny' in the same sentence with you.” He scoots closer to me. My shoulders drop, inhaling his addictive scent and melting from the warmth of his mouth on my neck. My body is so greedy for him. I’m never more aware of my skin than when his lips brush against it.
“But you’ve also been through a lot, and that takes its toll, and it’s not always easy to make sense of it by yourself. I think talking to someone trained to help would be good for you. I’ll drop it for now, but think about it.”
I know there’s some truth to what he’s saying, but I’m not ready. I just want to focus on my game this season. If it wereany other topic, I’d be touched that he cares so much, but this one irks me for some reason. I’ve been taking care of myself for a while now.
“Okay,” I grunt.
“You’re so sexy when you’re angry.”
