Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“It’s not pity. It’s…disgust and outrage and—how dare they? It is not right,” I railed angrily.
Noah tilted his chin proudly. “Maybe not, but you can’t make anyone love you or accept you. You can’t demand they stick to the script when you reveal something they never suspected.”
“Yes, you fucking can!”
Noah widened his eyes as he stood and perched on the corner of my desk. “You just said the F-word, Professor.”
“Pardon me.” I jumped to my feet and paced from the door to the desks again. “It’s just…wrong.”
“They’re religious,” he said as if that were an excuse. “Gay isn’t in their vocabulary, only soccer. Which is ironic since neither of them would have a clue about the sport if it wasn’t for me. They liked football and baseball, but they were willing to learn soccer—donate their time and resources for me and the community. They just had a hard limit. They couldn’t accept that there was more to me. I was a really good actor, though. I mean…if I’d had a chance to be the real me, I would have worn a tutu while kicking the hell out of a soccer ball.”
“That would have been cool.”
“I know, right? Look, I knew they’d never accept that part of me. My dad especially. He had an idea about who I was supposed to be, and I wanted to please him. He was into sports and he encouraged me to play hard and I quote, ‘not be a homo.’ ”
I frowned. “That’s terrible.”
“Yeah, maybe so. But he was a good dad in every other way. He was always there for me. Always had my back. I didn’t think anything of his casual homophobic comments until I was twelve and realized boys did it for me. That’s when I really concentrated on my game. I ran faster, harder, did everything in my power to be the best. I hid the gay and focused on one dream, one goal. But you know how it goes…I got cocky. I was so good at faking straight and I thought I had everyone fooled. I found ways to sneak off to clubs in cities where no one knew me. I wasn’t famous, but I was careful to disguise myself anyway. I looked something like this in my everyday life.” Noah plucked at his sweater with a wry grin.
“But when I went out, I’d fix my hair, wear tight jeans, see-through tops, and glitter. I lived alone, so I could get away with it. I usually shed the club clothes and scraped off a layer of paint before I went home…just in case. I got careless, though. And one night, I went to a gay bar too close to the hotel, let my guard down, and—I never saw them coming.”
“It was a hate crime,” I snapped.
“Hate. Yes. So much hate. It surprised me.” He stared at the mini fridge for a long moment. “You talk about perspective, Professor. Hate has no perspective, does it? It doesn’t see two sides or in shades of gray. It’s all or nothing. And so consuming that it feeds off itself. The ironic part is that in the days after…I hated myself more than they ever could.”
“Noah.”
“It’s true. When my parents told me I’d shamed the family and secured my spot in hell, I agreed with them. When the general manager’s assistant’s assistant informed me that my injuries would keep me off the field too long for me to be an asset and that they’d opted to buy out the remaining two years of my contract, I thought that was fair. When my friends stopped calling, I understood why they’d want to distance themselves from my drama.” His tone was matter-of-fact and oddly calm. “I thought I deserved every blow. And you know, I’d wished those fuckers had finished the job. I wished I was dead.”
“Don’t say that.” I moved in front of him and caressed his cheek.
He shrugged. “It’s true. I hit rock bottom and thought my life was over at twenty-three. It was a long, slow crawl out of a dark tunnel. I won’t lie…I’ll probably always carry it around. It comes out in weird ways. Sometimes I get nervous in big groups and wear sunglasses everywhere. I have a black belt in karate, I work out daily, and let everyone think I’m still dedicated to being a fit athlete. But the truth is…I’m always ready for a fight. On some level, I’m scared all the fucking time.”
I glanced over at the complicated equation on the board and bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. My heart ached for him, but I knew that was the last thing he wanted to hear.
So of course, I repeated myself like an idiot. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Professor…please. I admit I’m a little bummed I wasn’t able to hold on to my allure as a modern-day swashbuckling Zorro, wielding shears in handmade bedazzled tees, but c’est la vie. The mystique only lasts so long.” Noah patted my cheek and smiled. “Now you know why I’m not suitable. We’ll find you someone appropr—”