Page 111 of Puck the Coach's Son
Phoenix lowers his hands. His jaw is going again. “Okay. You're not walking away. Fine. Then what's the plan?”
I drag the glass another quarter-turn.
“There isn't one.”
“Make one.”
I shake my head once.
“Phoenix.”
“Make one, Creed.” He leans forward again. His voice drops. The two old guys at the bar can't hear us. I still lean in because the habit of a decade says you don't say this shit loud. “Paul is going to find out. Not a question. Awhen.And when he does, it's not going to be a meeting in his office. It's going to be him kicking your door in. Or worse: him at the owner's office with a story. You know who wins that story. Not you.”
I know. I've known. And I also know that Paul knows. But I don’t think Phoenix can handle hearing that right now.
“What does Theo want?”
I look at him.
“You heard me,” Phoenix says. “What does the kid want? Does he want you to be his little secret until his dad dies of a heart attack? Does he want to go public? Does he want to run? What has he asked for?”
I haven't asked him. I realize it as Phoenix says it. I have been running this whole thing on my clock. On my want. Theo shows up, Theo stays, Theo leaves in my clothes. I tell him what he is. I tell him what he's doing. I have not once sat down with him and saidwhat do you want this to be.
Because I'm a coward. That's the honest answer. Because if I ask him what he wants and he saysa full life with you and a dog and my name on a lease,I have to figure out how to be a person who can give him that. And if he saysjust this, just fucking, and I'll marry a nice boy later,I have to figure out how to survive that.
So I haven't asked.
“I don't know,” I say.
Phoenix nods, slow.
“Yeah. Figured.”
I roll the glass between my palms.
“Don't.”
“I'm not doing anything.” He drinks finally. Sets the glass down gentle. “Creed. You gotta ask him. You gotta talk to him. Notfuckhim until he's too tired to think.Talkto him. About Paul. About what happens next. Because the thing that's going to burn you is you two not being on the same page when Paul swings.”
My throat does something. I clear it.
“Okay.”
He tips his head, studying me.
“Okay okay, or okay shut up Phoenix?”
I almost smile. The almost is as much as my mouth can manage.
“Okay okay.”
He exhales. Leans back. The muscle under his ear stops.
“Fine. Good. I'm not going to keep hassling you. I'm not your mom.”
“Thanks, Reyes.”
“I'm saying this because I like you and I like my career and I'd like to play on a team that isn't combusting.” He waves at my beer. “Drink that. I'm getting another. You want one?”
