Page 40 of Breakout Year
“I loved playing in Cleveland,” he said. “Because I love the city. It’ll always be the place where I’m from, and if I gave people an impression otherwise, I apologize.” A line he’d spent the better part of the day running through. That rehearsal didn’t keep his throat from tightening, not because he was lying, but because he was telling the truth. He loved the city; it still didn’t love him back, if social media was to be believed.
Camilla shifted in her chair, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t said anything she found particularly surprising. Was he kind of acing this?
“Anything else you’ve enjoyed about your time in New York?” Camilla asked.
“Well, I’ve been fortunate enough to reconnect with some old friends.” The words slipped out before Eitan could stop them. But that should be sufficiently vague, right? Friends could mean anyone.
“Really? Any friend in particular?” Asked innocuously enough, except for a knowing glint in her eye. Was it possible she’d seen the pictures of Akiva and put two and two together and had come up with not just Eitan Rivkin’s possible boyfriend but Akiva Goldfarb, former prospect? It’d take someone who really knew ball to make that connection. Someone like Camilla.
And even if she hadn’t, the Internet was full of people who could track down things like that. Kiley had once mentioned that she could go from someone’s faceless TikTok account to finding out who they were in real life. A talent Eitan had found mildly disconcerting at the time. Now the idea of having that turned against him made his heart leap into his throat.
He twisted the ring on his forefinger. It was probably someone’s job to monitor the number of hours that he slept, his body temperature, his pulse rate—he wondered if they thought he was having a cardiac event.
He couldn’t call the interview off. So he sat, answered questions about how much he loved playing for the Cosmos and how welcoming he found the city. Until I strike out. It was funny how being called a bum was worse filtered through New York sports radio.
“Thank you so much for taking the time to talk with me,” he said later. His media safe word, as Isabel called it, to declare the interview over.
She intervened, thanking Camilla, and making distracting small talk that let Eitan ease himself from the room trailing appreciations and goodbyes. As soon as he did, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Did the quick math on how many hours Akiva had been with him, beginning with Eitan’s come out with us text and ending with Akiva texting that he was on the train home, then sent him a cash app payment for the total. At least if he decided not to speak to Eitan again—deservedly—he’d get what they’d agreed to.
Eitan should not sit in this hallway feeling sorry for himself, probably, so he leaned against the wall as he attempted to compose a coherent text.
Eitan: Sorry.
Eitan: I said something in an interview that could be traced back to you. Not you now. You as a ballplayer.
Eitan: If you want to stop this, I understand.
But it’s been really good seeing you.
Better than I expected.
Eitan: I guess I wasn’t sure
I wasn’t sure about a lot of stuff.
But I’m more sure now.
Just…thanks.
Eitan: Sorry.
He sent none of that. He should fix this. How? Telling Camilla to scrap his answer would be an admission that there was more to it than Eitan’s failed attempts at blandness. He should buy Akiva something. An apology present? A parting gift? He wasn’t sure. Finally, he typed:
I said something I shouldn’t have to a reporter that might end up being a problem for you. I don’t know if it’s gonna be a big deal. My instincts about this stuff aren’t great. If you want to stop this, I understand.
There, formal as an email. He even put a period at the end. He pressed send. Waited.
No answer came from Akiva, not even a read receipt. Wait, it was Friday after sunset. Shabbos. Fuck. Akiva wouldn’t know until the interview had already broadcast, when he turned his phone on again to potentially find a mess.
Eitan studied the message like that would make Akiva hear him. If you want to stop this…
What had Gabe called the inevitable end to their relationship—an amicable parting of ways? That was all this should be. Slowly, Eitan sank to the hallway floor.
14
Eitan
@shootthemoon (7:13PM): Rivkin seem jumpy to anyone else?
