Page 24

He loved his fans. He volunteered for charity visits and school talks. He knew how much sports and fame meant to kids struggling in a small town. He’d been one not so long ago. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stand all the technical TV flimflam that was supposed to bring him closer to people trapped on their couches.

Josh was two feet away and might as well have been on the other side of the moon. Jogging in tense silence next to a man he genuinely liked—more than liked, even—and not addressing the big gay elephant in the room felt the same.

Without warning, Josh stopped running, walking to a halt. Tyler went back to him, still confused but trying to give him whatever space he needed. In the parking lot, the students had begun to show up in earnest. Tyler just waited, watching Josh’s handsome, worried face.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Josh broke the silence. His voice wavered with the vulnerability he’d been trying so hard to hide. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask… but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. But you did. Well, not exactly, but I think you’ll get it.”

“Hey,” Tyler whispered and bobbed his head as if giving permission for anything, everything Josh wanted. “You can tell me anything, okay? I’m here for you too.”

Josh swallowed hard and wiped his flushed face. “It’s about Hamilton. Not just me, even. The library.”

“Nadia told me a little bit.”

“Banning books. Like, diverse books. Black, Brown, LGBT, Jewish, you name it. All the stuff you’d expect. Pretty gross. Local jerks.”

“Oh. Oh jeez.” Tyler nodded. He knew all about small minds in small towns. Assholes sprang up like weeds anywhere you let them. “Whatever you need. Count me in.”

“We’ve been under a lot of pressure from the kind of people who have strong opinions and lots of time to meddle, and Principal Carver thought that if you—maybe if you could say something or do something supportive, it might help. It’s just….” He trailed off, seemingly unsure of how to continue.

“Something?” Tyler’s heart pounded. Protective anger washed through him, churning in his belly. “You just have to ask. Josh, I’d say anything you want. I mean it. I got a publicist who hasn’t done jack in three months. Team publicist too. What kind of thing? Name it, buddy.”

Josh looked up at him. “Well, something positive about books. Or tolerance. Even diversity at the school. Inclusion and not being stupid bigots.” He shrugged, his eyes hollow and haunted. “I’m sorry. It’s just so gross. I feel gross even asking, but someone is going to get hurt.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tyler urged. “Swear to God, that’s an easy one. That’s personal for me anyways. I can’t stand bullies.”

Josh’s mouth and brow tightened. “It’s just I know you’ve been staying out of sight. Since the accident, I mean. Recuperating. I didn’t want to mess with any of that. Put you in the line of fire. But it’s getting ugly.” He looked across the field at the school and the town beyond.

“Oh. Got it.” He did. Now he understood. Josh had been protecting him, not dodging him. “Are they only after the Hamilton library?”

“Mmh. Yeah. Well, so far.” Josh wiped his forehead. “Look, last thing you need is more drama. And I didn’t want to impose or make you feel obligated.” His eyes seemed to search Tyler’s for understanding.

“Hey. Joshua. Hey. I am your friend.” Tyler squeezed his shoulder. His mind raced as he flicked through favors he could use and calls he could make. “Seriously. I’m glad you told me. Are you kidding? Believe me, I’ve had people ask me for way, way, way worse. Like illegal and immoral worse. You’re not imposing, and I’d be honored to help you, the library, and the school. I’d do anything for you.”

Josh looked startled. “Thanks.”

“Frankly, it’s the least I can do, and the Swells will be ecstatic. Football grunt standing up for literacy? This is a win-win from where they’re sitting. We’ll nuke them. Watch. You’re not alone, Josh. You say the word, I’m here for you, remember?”

“Thank you,” Josh whispered, a grateful smile breaking through his anxiety. “Your support means… a lot, Tyler.” His searing blue eyes were teary and unguarded.

Tyler almost kissed him then, or something just as scary or foolish. He almost gathered Josh into his arms and held him the way he wanted. Surely Josh felt this too. Instead, he smiled back at Josh, hoping this moment of vulnerability had taught him that Tyler could be trusted.

Just as Tyler was about to suggest they finish the last couple of laps, his phone buzzed in the pocket of his shorts. He fumbled for it and saw Boris Jarlson’s name flash on the screen. With an apologetic glance at Josh, he reluctantly answered.

“Mr. Jarlson. I was just talking about you.” He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He hated being pulled away from Josh right now, but Boris wrote the checks.

“Fantana! How’s our MVP’s recovery coming along?” Boris boomed, not even bothering with a proper greeting.

“Recuperation is going well, thanks. I found this sports medicine genius who’s been kicking my ass every morning before sunrise.” He pointed at Josh, who rolled his eyes but grinned at the compliment, with the dimple no less. “Back in the gym, even.”

“Good, good. Only the best. Whatever you need, kid. I’m just calling to bust your balls.” Boris sounded distracted. Then again, he might be calling from the golf course or one of his ex-wives’ condos. He was always somewhat distracted.

Tyler held up a finger at Josh to let him know it would take a minute. “Funny enough, I was just singing your praises. Well, the Swells’, but by extension, yours too. I’ve got a lead on some good local PR for the team.” He winked at Josh.

A yelp and a stumble from the other end of the call. “Stupid thing.” Boris wheezed at whatever it was as he moved around. “Here’s the deal. The coaches and I were talking over you too. I’m just sharing the love. Nobody is you, huh. Tightest End in the NFL, right?”

“Right.” Tyler nodded. He knew his rep as a player in the league. He wasn’t as great as Gronk or Travis Kelce, but he was getting closer all the time. What Jarlson missed most was the merchandising and licensing. They’d even tried to trademark that sleazy “Tightest End” slogan until Tyler’s agent threatened them. The Swells used Tyler as a beefcake poster boy every chance they got. With Tyler in his thirties now, winning games was gravy.

Boris chuckled and sighed. “All sort of plans, we got, but nobody wants to bug you. What I’m saying is, Miratto is doing fine, but he ain’t you, huh? Crossed eyes and a flat ass.”