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“See, he likes it. Don’t be a party pooper, P Dawg.”
Intermission is about to start, so Brendon takes the puppy out again to run around.
“Grab me a Dr Pepper on your way back in.” I smack his butt as he leaves with the dog.
I watch the last few minutes, then flip through my phone while I wait. When I open Instagram, I have a hundred new tags that weren’t there before the game started.What the fuck?
All the blood drains from my face at the pictures of Brendon and me kissing being shared on social media. Who the hell takes pictures of random people in the stands and posts them? Goddamn it.
My heart starts pounding, and my body has so much anxious energy I want to get up and pace. Instead, my knee starts bouncing, and I scroll through the pictures. One looks like someone zoomed in from somewhere behind us. One is cropped from the selfie of the couple directly in front of us. I stare at the back of her head for a second. Seriously? Who does this?
The last one is from a strangle angle, which means the person who took it was looking directly for us, probably watching us, and when I flip through the pictures posted with it, I have no doubt it was Nikki. Us kissing in the hallway the day she saw us and images of the way we look at each other. It’s so clear we’re together. Fuck her.
Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. Part of me is grateful it’s out and I can just deal with it and be done with it, but I’m also mad that the opportunity was taken from me. Coming out is a big deal, and I wanted to do it my own fucking way. Now I’m going to be bombarded with questions, and people will want me to put a label on myself. I’ve seen how Jeremy and Preston get asked when they go to press conferences. Preston refuses to answer, just staring at the reporter until it’s awkward, but Jeremy gets flustered.
Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I stew in my irritation while I wait for Brendon to get back. Is he already being bombarded with questions? Does he already know about the pictures?
A few minutes later, Brendon and Seymour are back, both looking like they had a good run. Brendon drops into the seat and grabs the blanket before picking up the pup. Seymour sits on Brendon’s lap with his tongue hanging out, panting and gazing up at the man who saved him.
“The internet knows about us.”
That was not how I expected to tell him. Jesus.
“Huh?” Brendon looks at me with confusion creasing his face.
“A few people got pictures of us kissing and tagged us on social media. They’ve already got a few thousand views, and it’s been like half an hour.”
Brendon goes very still like he doesn’t know how to react.
“Are you okay?”
I sigh and scrub a hand over my face. “I think so. Irritated that people shared a picture they didn’t have a right to. Frustrated that we’re going to have to deal with the questions.”
Brendon reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“You’re not alone. I won’t let you face it alone. Okay?”
I nod and chew on my lip. “What if we make our own post?”
For a split second, Brendon is excited, but he shuts it down so fast I can almost convince myself it wasn’t there.
“Do you want to?”
I shrug. “Yeah, pull the Band-Aid off and get it over with. If you’re okay with it.”
A huge grin splits Brendon’s face, and I find myself smiling back.
“I’m done hiding us.”
We both pull our phones out to look for a picture to post. We decide to do our own and as much as I’m nervous for whatever Brendon’s is going to say, I’m excited too. I’ll probably laugh.
I find one that I look a while back of him asleep on my shoulder lying on my bed with his face in my neck. It’s perfect.
I load it up onto Instagram and think about what to say.
I don’t think people should have to “come out” but just be accepted for who they are. You love who you love, gender shouldn’t matter. So this isn’t me coming out, it’s me saying I married my best friend a few weeks ago, and I’m tired of feeling like I have to hide that fact. He’s an amazing man, and I am honored to call him mine.
I tag him and post it to my socials. It’s empowering and scary, but I’m glad it’s done.
