Out in Time

  OUT

  in

  TIME

  an M/M novella

  Grey Cole

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trade- mark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trade- marks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Copyright ©2015 by Grey Cole

  Cover design by © Cover Art by Najla Qamber Designs

  All rights reserved. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book.

  Chapter 1

  This interview was the score of the century for one Mr. Wade Truman. Even though Wade was a measly staff writer for a small college newspaper, he recognized this for the huge coup that it was, not only professionally but also personally. Boyd Savage—his own personal hero. Professionally, the man was a beast. He’d set records on top of his records in the NFL, played for one of the most revered franchises in history—the Denver Broncos, and he’d been born and raised in Wade’s neck of the woods—a podunk town ironically named Success, Alabama. Most importantly, Savage had just published his very telling and jaw-dropping memoirs of a closeted life in one of the most testosterone-driven sports in existence.

  The stars had certainly lined up for Wade. He was able use his “connection” with Mr. Savage in order to gain the interview for Savage’s alma mater, Penn State, where Wade was slated to graduate in just a few short weeks, and at the top of his class no less. Wade’s pulse raced and his hand tightened on the steering wheel of his pride and joy—his shiny, black Dodge Charger. Only, the excitement galloping through his bones wasn’t just about the interview. No, he was even more thrilled over the man who sat next to him—Heath Taylor. Photographer, future humanitarian, and love of Wade’s life. Okay … that last part may be a tad bit of an exaggeration. But, God, did Wade want it to be true. And, yes, he’d prayed for it.

  He knew enough about Heath to feel the first whispers of love. His adoration of the guy was in full bloom though. Heath—of the designer duds and coifed-to-perfection hair—was one of the strongest, bravest, and funniest men he’d ever known. Heath grew up privileged, accepted, and out. Two of those things, Wade didn’t have a clue about. Acceptance Wade had, but only in pretense—how could you ever be truly accepted if you weren’t truly honest about who you were? How could you ever be honest if you knew your truth would keep you from following your dreams?

  Wade didn’t know the answers to those questions. He knew a couple of things though. For one, he’d made it through high school and college unscathed by scandal so that he could do the thing that had gotten him out of Success and kept him driven for all these years—quarterback for the pros. The other he knew for certain, there’s no way he would, or could, live his entire life in the closet.

  Two dismal options presented themselves in that scenario—neither one of them acceptable.

  One: go through his career, which could be anywhere from one season to twenty, untouched and unloved.

  Lonely.

  Two: engage in seedy hook-ups or make someone his dirty, little secret.

  Dishonest.

  The ramifications of continuing to live that kind of life, as his beloved granny would say, scared the ever-living tar out of him. Wade ached when thinking of the former, since that’s how he’d spent the last six years of his datable age—alone, hiding, and in truth, cowering. The latter Wade could never do—he could no more whore himself out than make someone feel like one. So, where did that leave him? Wade figured he would hit the NFL, win the hearts of his coaches, his teammates, and his fans, then, nonchalantly, as if it were perfectly normal—’cause let’s face it, it should be—do his own little interview where he would casually mention his boyfriend, and he definitely planned on having a boyfriend at the point. And not just any boy—Heath.

  He knew that no matter how he came out it would be sensationalized, talked to death, and could potentially destroy his career. But, if football wouldn’t love him, accept him—as is—then as much as it would hurt, football could go to the devil. Wade figured that hurt would be temporary, not lifelong like those other kind of hurts, those kind of hurts he’d already had a taste of.

  No, sir. Pretty soon, no more closet for Wade Truman, no matter how many trophies, rings, or thousand dollar suits surrounded him. Those were things, not people. Not warmth. Not light. Not friendship. Not love.

  Next to him, Heath draped his photography magazine on his thigh and shifted in his seat, sitting up to peer at the GPS. “Looks like we’re just about there.”

  “Yeah. Looks like,” Wade agreed, coming to a stop at a traffic light. They’d had to leave campus before daybreak, so the conversation had been light and sporadic. Wade thought it was good progress though, as Heath seemed comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to show him some of the images from his magazine. Wade asked lots of questions to keep him talking. He only hoped he didn’t sound like an idiot.

  “You excited?”

  Wade rubbed suddenly clammy hands on his khaki-covered thighs. “You kidding me? I’m about to jump outta my skin over here. Boyd Savage,” he crooned with wonder, “can you believe it?”

  Heath laughed, flipped the passenger mirror down, and tousled his straight, fine sandy-brown locks and then smoothed the wayward pieces to lie neatly on his head. Wade got lost for a minute, checking out the scattered, sun-lightened blonde streaks. He liked the contrast they presented unlike his own all blonde mane. It was if the sun itself had wanted a permanent piece of Heath, just like Wade did.

  Heath’s dark green eyes met Wade’s bright blue gaze in the mirror, causing Wade to smile, friendly-like, before looking away. He did it slowly though. He knew better than to look like he had something to hide. That’s when they got you.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty stoked too,” Heath finally said. “I’m not much into football, but you’d have to be an idiot not to know how important Savage is to the game, how good he is to the community. And now, he’s doing this.” Heath paused and patted the skin under his eyes for a moment. “I mean, this is huge for gay awareness and advocacy.”

  “Yep, sure is,” Wade agreed, even though he reigned in his excitement over that fact, lest he gave himself away. Wade couldn’t be more thrilled that his own personal hero was actually a stand-up guy. Usually these larger-than-life public figures turned out to be all smoke and mirrors. But, it seemed Savage was the real deal. It made Wade proud that he’d looked up to him and tried to emulate his finer points.

  “I guess that last bit is not that big of a deal to you.” Heath didn’t sound angry with Wade, just resigned. Wade tried not to take it personally. “But for someone on the fringe, like me, knowing a successful, decent man is willing to speak up and let others see there’s nothing wrong with being different—it’s huge. Life-affirming, even,” Heath finished quietly.

  Wade pressed on the accelerator as they made their way through the small, picturesque New York suburb that Savage had recently decided to call home. “No, you’d be wrong. It’s a big deal to me too,” Wade stated. He didn’t have the courage yet to confess his truth, but it was no secret that Wade was an ally. “Did you forget where we met?”

  Heath laughed again and blew out a breath. “No, I didn’t. You’re right. This does mean something to you.” More than you know. “Alt
hough, you never said who it was that you were close to who’s gay—or lesbian—or bi even.” He laughed again, strangled this time. “Man, there are so many ways to be. Anyway, whatever, or whoever, it is that prompted you to attend meetings, even though I don’t know who they are, I’m glad for it.”

  “No, I never did say.” And, he wouldn’t just yet. Now was not the time to get into it. But, he hoped, soon. Very soon. When asked in the past, Wade thought about inventing a better story, but uttering “someone close” was as much of a lie as Wade could tell.

  Wade licked his lips as they curled into a small smile as he recalled the fortuitous night he met Heath. It was the beginning of his junior year, and Wade was desperate for some kind of interaction with like-minded folks. When he’d left one particularly brutal practice where their head coach, in an effort to get more out of his boys, had screamed the words faggot and pussy-boy so many times that Wade’s ears were still ringing with it, he nearly cried with relief when he saw light spilling like hope from the LGBTA building. Somehow, he managed not to race into their space, demanding someone to see him for who he was. That would be dangerous. Instead, he propped himself up on the building across the street, focused on his breathing and came up with an excuse to wander into the meeting.

  Instinctively, he knew one meeting with the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Ally group on campus would bandage long-festering wounds and put a salve on his loneliness, even if only temporarily. And, it had. He’d used the excuse that someone close to him was struggling with their sexual identity and he hoped by attending he could show support and learn how to help his “someone close.”

  One of the first people he’d seen was Heath Taylor, even though they didn’t actually converse until the end of the night. Wade almost laughed aloud as he recalled the suspicious glare Heath kept casting at him from across the room as they moved around, chatting with sponsors and other students. Wade had never felt more preyed upon in his life, as if Heath were a lion stalking him. And how in the world did Wade become the gazelle? On the football field, he had more men out for his blood than you could shake a stick at, but he’d never felt that way off the field. It was a small group that night, so Heath could only avoid him for so long before it became obvious that he was doing just that.

  Finally, about ten minutes before the meet and greet ended, Wade found himself standing alone for the first time when Heath suddenly sidled up next to him.

  “Not the most inconspicuous of places to find your next hookup, closet boy,” Heath snapped.

  “Uh …” Wade floundered. He had it half right.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said cooly this time.

  Before Wade could utter a response, Heath calmly demanded, “What kind of game is our beloved”—the word dripped with disdain—“quarterback playing at?”

  Wade puzzled over how Heath could appear so stern, yet so relaxed, at the same time. Before he could muster a comeback, Heath came to his own conclusion. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he admonished, “If you think you can come here and make anyone feel bad about being themselves or get off on how much mightier you are than us, you’ve got another thing coming. This is a safe place, and I won’t have you contaminating it. Got it?”

  Wade drew himself up taller. Heath was probably around five eleven or so, nothing to sneeze at height-wise, but compared to Wade’s own six feet five inches and incredible width, Wade dwarfed him.

  “Making yourself seem bigger won’t faze me,” he laughed sharply. “I’m used to putting bullies in their place when the need arises.”

  Wade felt his eyes widen, and then he wanted to laugh at that the thought of himself being accused of as a bully. He knew better than to poke a lion with a stick though. So, he tried a diversionary tactic. “Where I come from, we say hello and maybe shake hands before we start calling names,” Wade finally drawled.

  “Where I come from, that small town act and Southern accent only gets you so far,” Heath retorted.

  Wade finally did let loose a hearty laugh at that. Unbeknownst to Heath, his snarky attitude was having the exact opposite of its intended result. “It’s not an act. I really am from a small, Southern town. And, I’m here to figure out how I can be more supportive of a close friend of mine.”

  The skeptical look eased up a bit, the crease between Heath’s eyes smoothed out. “This isn’t a scouting mission to have more ammo against the gays for your fellow Neanderthals?” Heath asked.

  “No. Definitely not.” He grinned a wide grin and prodded, “And how exactly have you come to the conclusion that I’m a Neanderthal? That would be like me looking at you and deciding that you’re an empty-headed twink based solely on appearance while knowing nothing about you, wouldn’t it?”

  Heath’s pale cheeks pinked at that analogy, apparently Heath wasn’t used to being challenged for the wind to get knocked out of his sails so quickly. He slipped his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and shrugged his shoulders. “God, you’re right. I’m being an ass just because you like to toss a football around.” A small, bashful smile appeared, making his features appear almost angelic.

  “Football player … writer … Momma’s boy … I even collect baseball cards. See, I’m multi-faceted,” Wade joked, trying to make the guy smile a little bigger. Wade stuck out his hand, “Wade Truman.”

  He shook his hand all too briefly for Wade’s liking. “Heath Taylor. Writer?”

  “Yeah, I’m on staff with the college newspaper, even if it is just the sports section.”

  “I’m sorry?” Heath offered.

  “Is that a fact or a question?”

  “Fact.” Heath half-grinned. “Another fact—you seemed to have charmed the pants off everyone in the room.”

  Wade glanced around the room that contained out of shape faculty members, transexuals, lesbians, and more before turning back to get lost in the deep, green eyes that gazed up at him. “Let’s hope not everyone,” he quipped, waggling his brows.

  They laughed over that for a moment before chatting about safer topics. Wade learned that Heath was a photography major from Pittsburgh, and even though he really wanted to attend the art institute back home, he’d come to Penn State at the urging of his father. That aside, he was happy here and excelling in his sophomoric studies. Since Wade had an additional year of eligibility, they also determined they were of the same graduating class. Wade mentioned that he would like to see Heath’s work, so Heath invited him to a student art show at the end of the month.

  He’d attended and was impressed, not that he knew a ton about what was supposed to be good or not. He knew what he liked, though. Then, Heath had introduced him to his boyfriend. Wade died a little bit inside but knew what he longed for was a pipe dream anyway. So, he packaged all that up in a neat, little box labeled Do Not Open Until Ever and told Heath that he needed to chat with the newspaper’s editor-in-chief about submitting his photographs. Andrea was so impressed that the next thing Wade knew, Heath was assigned to all the games, capturing action shots from the sidelines of his team to accompany the articles by Wade himself, and other writers, of course.

  Even though they spent time together over the last couple of years working for the paper and the occasional LGBTA meetings that Wade could make, he and Heath never hung out socially, which is why he was so darned excited about the chance to be close to him for these couple of days.

  When Wade pulled into Savage’s gated neighborhood, he focused on the now as he presented his and Heath’s credentials and was waved through the gate. He took the winding, clean streets at a slow speed as he geared up to meet his hero.

  “You nervous?” Heath laughed, glancing at the speedometer.

  “A little, but I’m pretty good at covering that up, you know?”

  “You’d have to be, doing what you do every day.”

  Wade winced at the unintended double meaning of that statement. Yes, it was a struggle. Every. Single. Day. Twelve months, he chanted. Then, you can finally be all you. />
  Following the directions, they found themselves pulling into a circular driveway in front of the largest house, or well, mansion Wade guessed it was called, he had ever seen. “Holy crap,” Wade muttered.

  “It’s pretty impressive,” Heath agreed.

  “Yeah, we don’t have anything like this back home. That’s for sure. I can’t imagine Savage building a place like this in Success.”

  “I can’t imagine Savage living in a place like Success after that book he wrote. You’re pretty damn open-minded, Wade, but I doubt many people would welcome him back home now.”

  Wade just nodded his head in agreement. He understood more than Heath knew.

  Wade popped the trunk for Heath so that he could get his camera equipment while he retrieved his own messenger bag from the backseat. He double checked that he had everything he needed before he turned to offer Heath his help. He nearly growled at the site of that high, round, tight butt bending over the back of his car. Wade savored the vision outlined in snug black jeans that tapered off at the ankles. He loved how delicate Heath appeared next to him. Wade had had to special order his sized fourteen shoes since he was in tenth grade while Heath’s own feet looked so adorable in the small pair of black and grey checkerboard Vans he’d slid on. Wade swallowed hard and returned his gaze to a safe place—Heath’s shoulders. Only, it was not-so safe when his once-again roving eyes fell upon the compact muscles contracting under the charcoal gray cardigan.

  Finally, Wade tossed his head back and considered the bright, blue sky instead of how hot Heath was. He took stock of the fluffy, white clouds and the birds flying overhead before he was able to take a deep, cleansing breath and ask Heath if he needed any help.

  Wade heard the trunk slam before Heath told him he was good.

  He glanced back down to take in Heath’s inquiring gaze. Heath gave him a puzzled look, shook his head, and asked, “You ready to do this?”