Page 4 of Single-Minded
I get up off the couch and start pacing the great room, desperate to relieve the shock of angry energy buzzing through my body, leaving me feeling like a live wire. I cannot sit back down—I have to keep moving or I’ll just fall apart.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask.
“I need you to fly to the ESPN campus in Bristol with me this morning. We’ll meet with the network people this afternoon.”
“Are you out of your mind? Why would I go?” I say. “Besides, Darcy told me to lay low.”
“I need you to tell them that you knew, and that we were separated when this happened last year.”
I sob in disbelief. My mind spins and pitches with the shock of it all, and I drop my head between my knees so I won’t hyperventilate, turn blue and die on my living room floor, all alone. I desperately need a paper bag or I’m going to pass out, and the only thing within reach is a decorative glass vase. Grabbing it, I blow in and out of it while keeping my head down, trying anxiously to calm myself. It makes a strange hum every time I exhale. Like the bell choir for the apocalypse.
“Are you saying you’re gay? Actually, no, you’re not saying it, so I will.Are. You. Gay?”
It takes forever for him to answer. “I think so.”
“You think so? What the hell are you talking about? How long, Michael? How long have you known you were gay?”
“A couple of months. Or maybe forever,” he says. “You’re my best friend and I love you. I’ll always love you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Forever? Did it ever occur to you that maybe getting married wasn’t such a hot idea? At least not to a woman?”
“I wanted to marry you. Did it ever occur toyouthat I’m not the first guy in the world to separate my emotions from my sex life? You are a psychologist.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m a psychologist for buildings, not closeted gay men.”
And now, I can’t think of anything except my husband having sex in the parking garage with Michigan hoops sensation Bobby Cavale.
“Why didn’t you tell me before now?” I ask, seething.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he says.
“So you just let FOX Sports do your dirty work.” I smirked. “Yes—it’s every girl’s dream on her wedding day, to find out from Don Bell at the update desk that her husband is screwing around.”
“I can’t believe you’re watching FOX Sports,” says Michael. As though I’m the big betrayer in the family for getting my sports-related scandals from Michael’s big competitor.
“Seriously?”
“I’m sorry, so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. But if you could just do this one thing for me…”
“But it’s a lie,” I say, outraged. He has some freaking nerve.
“I know,” he admits. “But if you don’t, they’ll fire me on an ethics violation. If you say we were separated at the time, they’ll give me a warning.”
“Youarean ethics violation,” I snark. “Are you in love with him?” It aches to say the words.
“No,” says Michael. “It was just sex. That’s all.”
“I’m not going to ESPN,” I say. “I’m not telling a lie to cover up all your lies.”
The line is quiet. “If you don’t, I’ll get fired. Is that what you really want?”
“Don’t put this on me,” I say. “This is all you.”
“I know it is, I’m sorry to even ask you. Alex, I’ll lose my job,” he pleads. Jesus, I’m so angry with him, but I don’t know if I can bring myself to help torpedo his whole life. Or stand by doing nothing while it happens. Standing by, doing nothing, isn’t exactly my forte.
“I’m not sure I want to inform your bosses at ESPN that we’re getting a divorce before I tell my family,” I snap.
“Divorce? Who said anything about a divorce?” he asks. He actually sounds surprised.
