Page 71 of Breakout Year
So Eitan did. On Goodwin’s account, a single post—a black-and-white photo of him kneeling on-field in prayer. Along with an accompanying bible verse. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Eitan said. “He ran me over. I’m the one who stood my ground. And what the hell does he mean—evil?” Except Eitan knew exactly what he meant, knew it as surely as he knew the bite of the guy’s plastic cleats into his leg. “What an asshole.”
Gabe’s crunch this time felt more pointed. “He is.”
“What should I do?” Other than punch Goodwin if given the opportunity.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Eitan knew he was shouting—knew this conversation would be audible to Akiva in the other room. He listened for the click of Akiva’s fingers on his keyboard and was greeted with silence. “I can’t just do nothing.”
“That is exactly what you’re going to do,” Gabe said. “Listen, Eitan, that guy is an asshole. The world is full of them. There’ll be more like him on whatever team you play for next. On opposing teams. In the stands. You can’t fight everybody.”
Watch me. Even if Eitan knew Gabe was right. His hand was curving into a fist. He was itching to say something—call a reporter, fire up his social media, do all the things he shouldn’t do—an impulse that burned under his skin. “So what should I do instead?”
“You’re going to get checked out by the team docs. If your ankle is good to go, you’ll ride out your ten days on the injured list then play the rest of the season. If it’s not, do not do whatever it is you want to do right now. You’ve got guts—no one would ever question that. But you need to show you have judgment too, especially right before we’re going into contract negotiations.”
“Why, do you think all the other front offices will suddenly forget about the whole gay thing?” Eitan spat.
“So that’s a hundred percent, then?” Gabe said it like he wasn’t expecting a real answer. Maybe the gay thing hadn’t been a surprise to anyone but Eitan. “I think they’ll see you can handle whatever bullshit that’s thrown your way. That you can play the game on the field in front of you without letting this be—” Gabe popped another Tums.
“A distraction?”
“A complication. You want something that they have. Sometimes that means playing by their rules. Speaking of, you might want to lay low for a bit.”
“What does that mean?”
“No more public dates until some of this blows over. Apologies to your fake boyfriend. Akiva probably understands. He seemed like he had sense.”
Gabe didn’t say unlike you, but Eitan heard it anyway. “He’s not my—” Eitan started then stopped. “We broke up. I mean, we weren’t really dating, but we are no longer not really dating. We’re just friends.” He gritted his teeth together. “Or can I not have those either?”
Another crunch. “When’d you split up?”
That’s none of your business. Except Eitan was Gabe’s business and had been since before Eitan first shook hands with the front office in Cleveland and vowed he was going to be a Crook for life. Look how that had turned out. “Thursday before last.”
“Before this thing with your ankle happened?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh.”
“What huh?”
“You know if you need anything, kid, you can always call me.”
“I’m fine.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Akiva’s here, helping with my ankle. He got me breakfast.”
“Sounds like a good friend.” Another pause, this one unladen by any distracting dental noises. “Eitan, I care about you. I want you to be successful, and I want you to be happy, and sometimes those aren’t both possible. This shit will blow over. Use this time to, I don’t know, relax. Just quietly. And at home.”
“Sure, of course,” Eitan said.
“I don’t like when you agree with me. Means you’re thinking about doing the exact opposite.”
“That doesn’t sound like me at all,” Eitan said, and he bid Gabe goodbye before he could point out that Eitan hadn’t technically denied that he was up to something.
