Football and Ballet - Jason Collins Page 0,17

the game and going home. If I talk too much, I’m just an asshole with a super-sized ego.”

Hunter came to a full stop, his hands resting on either side of his waist. “Fuck. I can never fucking win. And don’t even get me started on the sponsorships. Sure, they offer you a six-figure contract, but as soon as you say the wrong thing or laugh at the wrong thing, they’re threatening to throw everything into the fire.”

“Why do you care so much about sponsorships?” I pressed. “Aren’t you, like, the star player of your team? Don’t you get paid enough with your regular contract?”

“I’m not going to be the star player forever, Patrick,” he replied. “There’s already another kid on the team who’s chomping at the bit to be my replacement, and once he gets what he wants, they’ll throw me out like yesterday’s news. Which means I need to get as many endorsements and sponsorship contracts as I can right now, so even when I’m not in the spotlight anymore, I still have stuff coming in.” Hunter shot a curious look over at me before he spoke again. “Don’t you ever get worried about being replaced? At your dance company? You’re the lead dancer, right?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“And isn’t there someone just waiting in the shadows ready to put out a banana peel while you’re on stage or something?”

“There is,” I admitted with a long sigh. “His name is Keaton. He’s young, but he’s one of the best dancers I’ve ever seen, technically and in terms of personal style. Honestly, I think he’s even better than me when I was that age, which makes me wonder how long it’s going to be until they take my name off the marquee and put his name up in lights, instead.”

“So, you understand where I’m coming from, then,” Hunter lamented. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m trying to turn everything into a PR stunt, Patrick. I’m just trying to stay relevant enough to still be a household name in a few years.”

“No, I get it.” I nodded. “I think I just… I don’t know. I like to think that I do what I do for the love of it, just for the pure artistry of everything. And so, when I see someone like you, someone who’s covered in celebrity and attention, I think I…” I paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I think I just look down on it, because it makes me feel better about the fact that I chose to commit myself to a profession where I can be replaced in a day, and no one’s ever going to even remember who I was.”

As the realization sank into my bones, I turned away from Hunter, sudden tears springing to my eyes.

Shit.

I didn’t want to cry right now.

Because I didn’t want to cry in front of anybody, ever.

Especially not in front of him.

“Patrick, are you okay?” Hunter whispered, taking a few steps closer to me.

“I’m fine,” I lied, trying my best to save face.

But Hunter continued to move toward me, his voice coming out as a whisper again. “You’re not okay.”

“You can’t tell me how I’m feeling, Hunter.”

“Yeah, but I can see it,” Hunter spoke as he brought a hand up to my cheek. “It must be hard, carrying all that by yourself.”

“Who said I was carrying it by myself?”

“I know you are,” Hunter replied. “Because I’m carrying it all by myself, too. No one else really gets it, right? All the pressure we put on ourselves to be the best? How hard it is to go out there and have people expecting you to blow them away every time?”

“It’s not even about the pressure,” I admitted, through a fresh set of tears. “It’s just that… Hunter, if I’m not doing ballet, I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. I don’t know what… I don’t know where I’m supposed to go, who I’m supposed to—”

My words were interrupted by the feel of Hunter’s lips softly pressing against my own. His kiss was gentle, more like he was asking a question than saying anything definitive, seeking without assuming there was something on the other side.

What the hell?

Out of a source of instant confusion, I pushed Hunter away from my frame. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.” Hunter grimaced. “Fuck. I’m sorry if that was crossing a line. I just… I wanted you to know how I felt about you—”

“How you feel about me?” I