“It’s okay, Finn.” Cameron squeezed my fingers.
“It should feel better than this,” I murmured. “It’s what I want, so why am I so nervous.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked, and I wished I didn’t have a huge list of worries. “Your family loves you; I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I was going to wait until after The Cup was released,” I said once more, just to hear the words.
“You can still pull the statement,” Cam said, and leaned his head on my shoulder. “Doesn’t change a thing between us, or with whatever understanding you have with River Grierson and his new movie.”
“But it could change things for kids, ones like Manuel.”
“Yeah.”
I nodded at Atlas. “Do it.”
He pressed a button to begin the process, and that was it.
I was out in Hollywood.
And I had a hockey player for a boyfriend.
Coming out was a mass of public statements, private messages, family support, expressions of support and love, but along with it came the hate. A lot of hate.
Some of the worst was online, and I chose not to look at it after the first twenty or so comments, which were irrational and cruel. Other vitriol came by letter to the makers of the Rapid franchise—accusing the studio of leading people astray thinking that I could even play a hero when I was queer.
Like a gay man couldn’t be a swashbuckling archaeologist with a psychic sidekick.
Whatever.
The news was met with overwhelming support from many, but the hate was enough that it burrowed into my thoughts, one conflicting nest of yuck. The sense of relief and freedom after sharing my statement was filled with the hope that coming out could inspire and empower others who may be going through similar experiences. However, it wasn’t more than ten minutes after the statement went live that the magnitude of the attention and expectations would be big. It was as if the entire world had something to say about who I was and scrutinized every step I’d ever taken. The heaviness of responsibility as a potential role model fell like one of those ACME ten-ton weights on my shoulders, and I went from hope to concern in the first day, and straight on through to fear.
The threats were real.
Jed and Todd were now a permanent addition to my life, and whereas before I could get around with a car, now I was facing paparazzi at my gate, and worse, they were messing with Cam’s life as well.
There were mixed reactions from the public, despite the majority being supportive. Many were cool with what I’d done, some even saying I was brave, and it was wrong to be labeled as brave just for wanting to be myself. Then, there were those who criticized me. I even drew the attention of a couple of church groups who had an awful lot of hate-filled rhetoric to throw at me and threatened to hold demonstrations at all my movies. I could handle criticism, after all I was a himbo in three made-to-sell movies, so I’d had my fair share of shit thrown at me, but when they’d started in on Cam, that was wrong. The negative comments and judgment I’d encountered moved on to judging Cam with LA Storm hockey forums pushing the blame on me being with him as the reason they lost the Stanley Cup.
Never mind we weren’t even together then.
Fuckers.
In less than forty-eight hours, I went from thinking I was doing the right thing to questioning my decision to come out publicly at all.
It all started when, the morning after the news broke, a man with a camera climbed my gate. He jumped my fucking wall and sauntered up my driveway.
He didn’t get far, Jed dealt with him, but at the same time, he and Todd declared my house unprotectable, unsafe, and probably open to snipers and camera operators alike.
Snipers? For fuck’s sake, I’m gay, not a terrorist.
I might not have liked the place I lived in much, but it was the first thing I’d bought with my Rapid money, and it meant something. It freaking hurt to give in to the fear and pack my bags to leave, but that was what I had to do, according to Atlas, who’d booked me a suite in a hotel. He said it was fancy and big and luxurious, and all the other buzz words he thought might help the transition.
None of them did.
I didn’t want fancy, big, and luxurious. I wanted safe and happy.
“What about my fish?” I asked Jed, and he exchanged glances with Todd, who shrugged. “I’m not leaving my fish to die! I won’t let you leave them!” I shouted in Jed’s face, and while he didn’t react to indicate the level of rude I’d descended to, I was immediately sorry, and I apologized so much that Jed had to ask me to stop.
I couldn’t believe I lost my shit like that with the poor guy.
“Atlas said about having them moved to his office,” Jed explained after I’d stopped apologizing. “He suggested we should get a bucket and—”
“You’re not moving Fred and Wilma in a fucking bucket!” I yelled again.
What am I doing?
“Hey.” Someone pulled me into a hug—Cam was here, and he was holding me as if I was made of glass, as if I could be broken.
“My fish,” I blurted, and then buried my face in Cam’s neck. “I don’t want them to go with Atlas—he can’t even look after plastic plants!”
“Okay, it’s okay,” Cam soothed.
I heard him and Jed chatting over my head, something about finding a fish expert with the aim of moving them to his place.
“You’re taking my fish?” I sounded watery, and my chest was tight. “Will you remember to feed them, but not too much, and the oxygen levels need to be right. Will you—”
“Not just your fish.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I’m taking you home as well.”
I stumbled back. “No.”
He frowned. “No?”
“I can’t ask you to do that. The paps will stand outside and make you miserable, people will fly drones over your house—and none of this is your fault.” I scrubbed at my eyes, and then left my hands there, feeling way out of control.
“Can we have a moment, guys?” Footsteps on the marble floor indicated Jed and Todd had left us alone. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he asked, and after a sniff I did. His eyes were dark with emotion, and bright, as if he was close to tears, or injustice was making him angry. I couldn’t tell. All I know was that he was there by my side, and he was my everything. “Come home with me.”
“I thought about going home to my parents, but it’s not fair on them—”
“Move in with me.”
“And my sister has the kids, and she’s pregnant—”
“Move in with me,” he repeated, insistent and so damn caring.
“I can’t. It’s better if I give you space. Atlas has a suite for me at the—”
“Let me rephrase this. Please come home with me. I love you. I’ll look after you.”
Nerves coiled inside me on top of anxiety, and it was all too much. “What if we can’t separate our personal and professional lives? What if we have no privacy, what if coming out is more newsworthy than my acting or your hockey career? Jesus, Cam, they’re saying dreadful things about you. Like it’s your fault you lost because you were too busy fucking the Ken-Doll who pretends to be an actor. I don’t even look like Ken! Not to mention the things that they’re saying about the rest of the team. Shit. I’m so sorry. Are they angry with me? Do they hate me?” Pain knifed into me at the thought of all those people at the party having targets on their back because of me.