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Standing in the luxury box watching the Portland Pirates play in the Super Bowl, all I could think about was how Patrick and I had gotten here. Number fifty-eight had always been a larger-than-life part of it. He was one of my best friends from childhood, my college roommate, and the love of my life. He’d been right beside me for twenty-five of our thirty-two years, and I couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him.
When Adam Spencer, my other best friend and bandmate, came to live with me and my parents when we were in third grade, Patrick accepted him as another best friend; like he’d always been there. The three of us were thick as thieves and became our own version of the Three Musketeers, or the Three Stooges, as my father liked to tease.
Unfortunately, one of those three stooges was standing next to me, hollering and screaming for the Pirates like a nut job. And when I didn’t join in on his euphoric celebration, Adam stepped behind me and grabbed my wrists with his long monkey arms, then proceeded to move them like I was a marionette on a string.
“Stop, you idiot!” I laughed as I pulled out of his hold. “You know the TV coverage will capture every little thing we do and blow it up out of proportion.”
Adam grinned at me. “Then I better kiss He-Man.”
He turned and grabbed his boyfriend by the face and planted one on him.
Michael Coleman, or He-Man, as Adam referred to him, was our tour security director. He was also a former Navy SEAL that went by the callsign Phantom. And, for some reason, he was head over heels in love with my weirdo best friend. I couldn’t imagine two more opposite people than them.
They’re gross, really.
But also perfect for each other.
Watching their blissful display of happiness plummeted my mood. That’s what I’d always wanted to have with Patrick. The right to love him publicly and not have to think about every word or worry about whether or not I should touch him. The more famous we became after our song hit number one, the more eyes that were on us, making it very unlikely we’d get to do that anytime soon.
Living in the closet was the price for our fame, and right now, it didn’t feel like the sacrifice had been worth it. Our situation was gut-wrenching, and I knew how my choice to go on tour without him was going to be difficult for him.
“Come on, Cole. How many times can you say you went to the Super Bowl and watched P-def play?”
My face twisted as if I smelled something bad. “What the fuck kind of nickname is that?”
Adam grinned like a loon. “You know, P for Patrick, and def for defense. We could call him P-cap, but that sounds weird.”
I raised one eyebrow at him. “What gives you that idea?” It didn’t take much for Adam to make me laugh, and I had a feeling I was going to need a lot of that.
When the clock reached the two-minute warning, I looked down at the field to find my number fifty-eight. He was on the sideline, with his helmet off and in his hand. His light brown hair was dripping with sweat, but his unshaven jaw and big smile did it for me. Just the sight of his handsome face made my heart start a new tattoo.
As if he knew I was watching him, Patrick turned to find me in the stands. We locked eyes, and he lifted his arm to send me the hand signal for love. I knew it was for me, because he’d been giving me that signal, win or lose, for the last fifteen years. So I patted my chest over my heart to let him know I saw it. And to let him know I loved him.
Patrick had stolen my heart before either of us knew what romantic love was. His kind heart and sweetness were saved for people he cared about. Most of the time, the media knew him as the camera-shy linebacker who preferred to be interviewed as little as possible.
When we were kids, he was the boy who constantly wore a smile, even when he didn’t always have a reason to.
He’d also turned down a full ride to a big SEC school to play football because he didn’t want to be so far away. Later, I found out it was because he didn’t want to be so far away from me. And even though it might be selfish, I was so fucking happy he didn’t go.
I prayed that I’d made the right decision to leave, since things had been very strained between us. He promised me two years ago that coming to Portland would mean we could come out of the closet. And here we are, two years later, tucked away in the back with all the things he wanted to hide. The sad thing was, he still couldn’t tell me why.
But for now, the deafening roar of the crowd temporarily gave me something else to think about as I waited for the game to end. The Pirates were winning, 35 to 24, with less than a minute to go in the fourth quarter.
This season was rumored to be Alex Hayes’ last as the Pirates quarterback, but he’d never come right out and said it to the media. When we were all in Key West last March for Cooper and Greg Foster’s vow renewal, he admitted he’d thought about it. Either way, this game was still important. That’s why I had chosen to wait until tonight to tell Patrick I’d moved out. And I dreaded it.
Adam elbowed me, pushing me out of my melancholy. “Hey, let’s go down to the field. Michael said we need to go before the game ends.”
For the first time in my life, I dreaded going down to see him. Adam put his hand on my shoulder, and I looked into my best friend’s eyes. I knew he understood. He leaned in and spoke quietly.
“You’ve got to get out of your head. This isn’t about the two of you. It’s about winning the fucking Super Bowl. And you know if you don’t go down there, it’s going to upset him. So we gotta go.”
I released a weighted breath and dutifully followed along as we made our way out of the suite and down to the elevators. We opted for the stairs since they were quicker and headed toward the signs that read ‘Field Access.’
As time expired, purple, gold, and black confetti rained down as Chicago exited the field. The players had all gone to midfield to shake hands, and that had to suck for the losers.
The elevated stage was wheeled out for the trophy presentation, as more purple jerseys than orange remained. When it was in place, we were allowed onto the field. I lagged a bit to let the partners and their kids go find their men.
I stood back and watched my friends find their husbands, before the warm brown eyes that I’d loved since I was a teenager found mine. Patrick wore a big, beautiful smile on his face as he accepted accolades for a job well done. Like a man on a mission, he finally reached me.
