Page 62 of Honeysuckle
“So you and Cael Cody are on good terms?” He asked.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
I could feel the panic building, I could see the path he wanted to take with his story, and it all ended with public humiliation and my name at the forefront of it.
“We’re fine.”
“Did the fight have anything to do with your romantic relationship with Cael Cody?” He asked, and my throat tightened. My muscles seized as my heart started to race.
“I—” I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out as more reporters stood, and the room erupted into more questions I didn’t know how to answer.
“Mr. Tucker.” He stared at me like I was enemy number one; his impatience was clear. “It was rumored that last season, the reason Cael broke down was because of you. Because of your complicated history with one another. Is that true?”
My throat felt tight, and I shook my head.
“It’s not true?” He probed.
“The reason behind the accident—”
“Isn’t true, or…” He continued to cut me off, and the more he did it, the more frustrated I became. It was sitting on my chest like a thousand pounds, and there was nothing I could do to control the narrative unfolding in front of me, short of flipping out on the entire room of reporters. “Mr. Tucker, are you capable of answering a single question?” His tone was harsh.
“The accident had nothing to do with Cael and me,” I said, and it ripped from me in a clumsy bark that made Silas flinch in the corner of my eye.
“So the rumors are true, you were in a relationship with Mr. Cody, youarehomosexual.”
Bile rose, and my hands flexed on the tabletop, just needed something to grasp onto before I completely lost control of myself. Head was spinning violently from the accusation… but it wasn’t one, itwasthe truth. I was gay. But…
“What—” I meant to say yes, to say no. To give them anything that might just get them to leave me alone long enough for my heart to stop thudding painfully in my chest. “I—”
“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Tucker?” the reporter smiled. That broke down whatever confidence I had left.
I opened my mouth to talk again, unsure what would come out, but it wasn’t going to be good. “Fuc—” My breath was stolen from my lungs, the anxiety stealing everything I had and making me numb.
Coach was at my side and pushed me from my chair.
“Go,” he whispered and I didn’t hesitate to listen. "Interviews over gentleman," he snapped. The echoes from the press boomed down the hallway as I jogged down toward the locker room. But the noise from inside was just as loud and it made me freeze.
I couldn’t breathe.
They’d all see that news.
My reaction would be posted everywhere come morning.
Fuck.
I pressed my hand to the door, I knew that behind it they’d all be waiting for updates and that they’d have my back no matter what happens but it was…overwhelming and suffocating. I veered left toward the visitors' locker room—empty, dirty from Philly’s quick departure. The silence hit me like a warm blanket.
Tears were streaming from my face but I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them.
I stripped my jersey off, barely bothering with the buttons and threw it away. I just needed to be free from the restricting, itchy fabric. I walked toward the showers, just needing to shock my system with the frigid, harsh water pressure.
“Shit,” I stopped, my whole body coming to a halt seeing him there. He was drenched, still wearing his ball pants, but they were soaked through as he ran a sponge over his torso. He didn’t notice me in the doorway, too busy scrubbing his skin raw under the scalding water.
Every other problem in my life was muted by the sound of his sobs.
I stepped forward slowly, watching the water pour from his dark curls against his chest, dripping down and diluting the stream of blood from his nose.
“Josh,” I said. He didn’t hear me over the water, so I moved closer. My fingers brushed over the sponge, ghosting his skin, and his head snapped up as he pressed himself against the cold shower wall.
