Chapter 18
18
GERARD
L earning that Elliot doesn’t have a place to call home has left a sour taste in my mouth. Not because it changes how I see him—he’s still the same grumpy, sarcastic guy who somehow bookwormed his way into my life—but because the seriousness of the situation scares me.And since I can’t skate away from the problem, I’ve hatched a three-step plan.
First, go to The Brew. Oliver’s working this morning, and he’s my go-to guy whenever I’m overwhelmed. And right now, I’m over -overwhelmed.
Then I’ll order myself a comforting cup of tea and…well, spill it.
Last, with Oliver’s help, I’ll brainstorm a solution that doesn’t involve Elliot curling up between the bookshelves for another night. Take it from me: the library is the worst place to get some shut-eye.
I don’t know how he does it. My neck feels like it went ten rounds with a three-hundred-pound enforcer.
The warm morning air whips my face as I race to The Brew. I’m in such a hurry that I don’t bother to check the time. I also don’t bother to wait for the glass doors to slide fully open as I approach them. Time is of the essence, and I—BAM !
I slam into the glass door and the world goes dark as my eyes cross and my brain rattles around in my skull like a loose puck. Pain explodes through my nose, and I’m pretty sure I heard a crunch.
As I stumble backward, my center of gravity shifts, and suddenly, I’m falling. Time slows down as my life flashes before my eyes—well, mostly just the embarrassing parts, like that one game where I accidentally put my jockstrap on the wrong way. Don’t ask how. Don’t. Ask. How.
My butt hits the concrete with a thunderous thud, and shockwaves ripple through me from head to toe. I sit there, momentarily stunned and disoriented, while Tweety Birds chirp over my head. My face throbs, my tailbone hurts, and my pride has shattered into a million tiny pieces.
I gingerly touch my nose, wincing at the pain, and realize that I’ve given myself another concussion. Thankfully, even though my vision is blurry and my eyes have yet to uncross, I register the closed sign hanging on the door. I scowl at it as it mocks me with its cruel indifference.
This is not how I imagined my morning going. All I wanted was to find Oliver and get his help with the Elliot situation. Instead, I’ve ended up flat on my butt, my nose probably broken, and my ego bruised worse than a peach.
With a grunt, I heave myself off the ground and sit on the wooden bench beneath the overhang. My butt protests the less-than-cushiony furniture, but there’s nothing better as far as the eye can see.
While I wait for Oliver to arrive and unlock the doors, my mind drifts back to Elliot. The image of him curled up on the library floor with a book for a pillow makes my heart ache in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with.
I can’t sit back and let him continue squatting in the library. He deserves a proper bed. And if I have anything to say about it, he’ll get just that.
Surprise flashes across Oliver’s face when he spots me on the bench, scrolling through social media. He’s dressed in a forest-green polo shirt with The Brew’s logo—a steaming cup of coffee—embroidered above his left nipple, tan khaki pants that hug his thighs, and shiny tan loafers.
“G? What are you doing here this early, man?” I hear the concern in his voice as he pulls out a set of keys and unlocks the door.
“I’ll tell you when we’re inside. Never know who’s listening.”
Oliver’s eyes dart around the empty landscape, but he’s known me long enough to go with it. He holds the door open for me, and I walk past him into the darkened interior of The Brew. The first thing I notice is the security camera, and I think, God, I hope that thing is off.
Oliver turns on all the lights and walks over to the counter. I follow, hot on his heels, and sit on the bar stool off to the side. While Oliver goes to clock in, I spin around on my stool. What can I say? I’m a kid at heart.
It’s eerie being in here with nobody else. I’m used to the place being all hustle and bustle, a line snaking out the door, every table full of students hard at work or meeting up with friends. But now, it’s dead silent except for the gentle hum of the refrigerators and the distant clanking of Oliver moving around in the back room.
Oliver emerges from the back room with a black apron tied around his waist. “I take it you didn’t get here super early for my badass mocha cappuccino?”
I shake my head. I’m still struggling with how exactly to tell Oliver about Elliot sleeping in the library. It’s not exactly something I can easily slip into conversation.
“Is this about what the Ice Queen posted last night?”
I blink. “Wait, the Ice Queen? What did she post? ”
Oliver pulls his phone from his back pocket and slides it across the counter to me. I pick it up, unlock it— yes, he trusts me with his passcode —and read the Ice Queen’s newest post.
Fiddlesticks . People did see me following Elliot across campus last night. Apparently, subtlety isn’t my strong suit on or off the ice.
Panic rises in my chest as the reality of the situation hits me in the gut. If the Ice Queen discovers Elliot’s identity, he’ll be thrust into the spotlight, and it’ll be entirely my fault.
I can’t even imagine how he’d react. Would he be angry? Hurt? Annoyed that I’ve accidentally made him a featured guest in my life story?
I run my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. This is such a mess, and I have no idea how to fix it. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from agreeing to let the Ice Queen write about me. But I can’t. All I can do now is manage the fallout the best I can.
“G. You look like you’re about to pass out. Breathe and tell me what’s going on.”
I inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth, and then spill like a full cup of coffee with a loose lid.
“Damn,” Oliver murmurs once I’m done. “That’s heavy, G. I can’t imagine not having a proper place to call home.”
“I know, right? And the worst part is he’s acting incredibly nonchalant about it.”
“Elliot’s a tough cookie, that’s for sure. But even the toughest cookies can crumble under too much pressure.”
I snort. “Did you just compare Elliot to a cookie?”
Oliver grins. “Hey, if the chocolate chip fits…”
My eyes roll so hard that they nearly fall out of my head. Leave it to Oliver to find humor in even the most serious of situations.
“Speaking of cookies…” Oliver gestures toward the glass display case filled with tempting treats. “Why don’t you pick out something to eat before the morning rush hits.”
I peer into the case like a kid with their nose pressed against the window of a candy store and stare at the assortment of muffins, scones, and pastries. “I’ll take…a blueberry muffin.”
Oliver slips on a pair of latex gloves and opens the display case. He reaches in and takes his sweet time finding the muffin I selected. I’m practically vibrating in my seat in anticipation and have to bite my tongue to keep from yelling at him to speed it up.
The instant his meaty hand wraps around the top of my muffin, my mouth waters. I swallow loudly, and Oliver snickers.
“Do you want it to go?” he asks, holding it out to me like it’s an apple and he’s the Evil Queen from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
And like Snow White, I snatch it out of his hand and take a gigantic bite. The burst of warm blueberries and sugary crust that coats my tongue makes me moan in ecstasy. Holy snickers, it’s even better than I imagined.
“You’re an animal!” Oliver laughs.
I shrug, not caring one bit how I look. Crumbs fly everywhere, and my fingers become sticky from the blueberries. Each bite is a piece of heaven, and for a moment, all my worries about Elliot and the Ice Queen melt away.
“Did you bake these yourself?” I ask around a mouthful of blueberry goodness. A few crumbs tumble from my lips onto the counter. Oops.
A faint blush creeps up Oliver’s neck, staining his cheeks a delicate shade of pink. He ducks his head, suddenly fascinated by the gloves on his hands.
“Uh, yeah,” he mumbles. “I’ve been experimenting with some new recipes lately. Trying to keep things fresh, you know?”
“Well, consider this experiment a resounding success. This muffin is incredible, dude. You’ve got a real talent.” I lick my fingers clean and let out a satisfied sigh.
Oliver shakes his head, blushing. “Thanks, G. Glad you enjoyed it. Now, about Elliot…”
My stomach tightens again, but at least it’s full now. “Yeah? ”
“You know he can’t stay in the library forever. You’re going to have to find a real solution for him.”
“I know.” My voice sounds smaller than I want it to. “That’s why I’m here. To see if you have any ideas.”
The bell above the door jingles, and I peer over my shoulder to see a group of frat guys walk in. Oliver straightens up and gives me a final, lingering stare.
“Ideas? Talk to Jackson. See what he thinks. I’m sure Elliot kept this a secret from him, too.”
He’s right. Jackson is the perfect person to go to. He knows Elliot best.
I slide off my stool. “Thanks, man.”
He waves me off, already focused on his first customers of the day.
As I step outside, my mind races with everything I need to do. Talk to Jackson. Message the Ice Queen. Figure out how to tell Elliot that he can’t live in the library anymore.
Yeesh. No one ever told me helping people would be this much work.
Until today, I’d never stepped foot inside a dorm building. Shocking, right? Every party I’ve been to has been at the Hockey House. But as the saying goes, there’s a first time for everything.
The football team’s dorm building is located on the northeast end of campus, perched on a slight hill that overlooks Barracuda Lake. I’ve always thought it was a prime spot, with its panoramic views of the water and easy access to the running trails that circle the lake.
As I walk up the winding path, I imagine what it would be like to fall asleep every night with the moon shimmering over the lake. It’s probably the most peaceful, beautiful sight in the world. I’m kinda jealous.
The brick building has a sturdy, old-school feel that would be right at home on an Ivy League campus. Five floors of athlete-packed dorm rooms rise above a small courtyard in front, which is currently covered in a layer of dead leaves. A few picnic tables sit empty and abandoned.
I push open the heavy glass door and step into the lobby. One wall features a large mural of a charging Barracuda. The rest of the space is blue and white, with various trophies and plaques displayed in glass cases.
There’s a perk to being the It Boy on campus—Drew’s words, not mine. It allows me to be anywhere without question. Nobody bats an eye as I stroll down the hall as if I know exactly where I’m going. Fun fact: I do not.
I study a corkboard at the end of the hall that’s overflowing with handmade flyers. There’s one for an upcoming indie band performance at The Brew next weekend, a flyer for a Wii Sports tournament— can I get in on that one?— and even a “Have you seen this sock?” sign. As far as clues about Jackson’s whereabouts? Nothing but static.
I’m about to give up when a knight in— oh, my gosh, is he wearing a thong? —approaches. The guy’s eyes light up with recognition when he sees me. “Hey, aren’t you Gerard Gunnarson?”
“Last I checked.” I’m trying hard not to focus on the purple thong that is two sizes too small for him. “Always happy to meet a fan, even if they’re a bit…underdressed.”
He glances down at himself and laughs. “Sorry about that, man. I lost a dare last night. I have to wear this shit for the entire week. It’s my girlfriend’s. Neat, right?”
Neat is one word for it. Blush-worthy is another.
“Mind if we snap a quick selfie?” He pulls his phone out of only God knows where—and I’m too afraid to ask.
“Sure thing.” I sling an arm around his shoulders and flash my trademark smile.
It’s surreal, posing for a picture with a dude wearing a thong in the middle of a dorm lobby, but hey, it’s college. Weirder things have happened, such as Drew streaking across the quad wearing nothing but a strategically placed hockey puck over his gonads.
“Thanks, man. My dad is going to freak! ” He sings the last word high-pitched enough that only dogs can hear him. “So, what brings you way out over here? Isn’t the Hockey House on the other side of campus?”
“I’m trying to find a friend—Jackson Monroe. Do you know what room he’s in?”
“Oh, yeah. Third floor, room three-oh-one. You can’t miss it—it’s the one with the gigantic poster of you on the door. That guy’s a huge fan.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, dude. You’re a lifesaver.”
He waves off my gratitude with a grin. “No worries, man. Always happy to help out a fellow athlete.”
As I climb the stairs to the third floor, I think about how Jackson will react when I tell him about Elliot’s unconventional living situation. They’re best friends. He’ll probably be stunned, maybe even feel guilty for not noticing. But if Jackson is as incredible as I think he is, he’ll want to do whatever it takes to make things better for Elliot.
I approach Jackson’s dorm room, and…wow. Thong Boy wasn’t exaggerating about the gigantic poster of me. I’ve never seen my face blown up this big. It’s…unsettling.
I knock on my nose and wait for the door to open. When it does, I gasp.
Jackson’s not wearing any clothes—not even socks. The second he realizes it’s me, he shrieks and slams the door in my face with enough force to rattle the walls. I burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Hey, don’t sweat it, man! I sleep in the buff, too. Gotta let the boys breathe, am I right?”
A muffled groan comes from inside, followed by the sound of drawers opening and frantic rustling. Moments later, the door reopens. Jackson, now in navy-blue boxers and a black T-shirt, graciously steps aside to let me in. As I thank him, I snicker. His face is as red as a goal light, and he won’t look me in the eye.
Stepping inside, I take stock of his room. The right side is a whirlwind of football and hockey memorabilia. But it’s the shrine to me that stops me in my tracks. There are posters, newspaper clippings, and even a replica of the bobblehead Oliver once gifted me. “Gee, Jackson. Are you the president of my fan club, too?”
“No. Vice-President,” he mumbles.
I nearly choke on my tongue at his confession. I didn’t realize the guy had such a hard-on for me. “Does Elliot know?”
“Fuck no. He’d never let me live it down if he did. And you better not tell him!” He wags a finger in my face, and I step back, hands held high in a placating gesture.
“I won’t. I’ll take it to my grave.” Yeah, fat chance of that.
The left side of the room is regretfully not another shrine to me. In fact, it’s immaculate and void of any sports paraphernalia. The bed is made with military precision, and the comforter is stretched tight. A bookshelf against the wall holds books arranged alphabetically, and— holy snickers! Is that a telescope? Oh! And are those glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling?
“Sorry about being naked,” Jackson says, pulling my attention away from his roommate’s knickknacks. “I wasn’t expecting company. Thought you were my roommate.”
I sit down on Jackson’s unmade bed, my grin a mile wide. “I think you scarred me for life, dude. I’m never gonna be able to unsee that.”
He throws his roommate’s pillow at my head, which I catch effortlessly. “Shut up, Gerard. Pretty sure I’m not the first jock you’ve seen naked.”
“You’re not. But you are the first with such a tiny dick.” I chuck the pillow back at him.
It’s not tiny. But it’s also not as big as mine .
Jackson flips me off as he rests his butt against his desk. “Why are you here, Gerard?”
“Well…” Where do I even start?
I survey the room in search of a distraction. My eyes settle on a calendar pinned to the wall. “Halloween’s coming up soon. You got any plans?”
Jackson perks up. “Oh my God. Are you going to invite me to the Hockey House Halloween party? I’ve heard stories. They all sound epic!”
“Then consider this your official invitation, my dude. There’ll be booze, a costume contest, and more candy than a sugar factory.”
“Oh, man! I’m so there. I already have my costume picked out and everything. Get this: I’m going as…” He drums his hands on his thighs. “Julius Caesar. But the sexy kind.”
“How does one dress up as a sexy Julius Caesar?”
“You’ll have to wait till Halloween to find out—hey, wait. Is Elliot invited? I’ll only go if he can, too.”
The mention of Elliot causes my heart to jump up into my throat. Through a forced smile, I say, “Of course!”
“Sweet. He probably won’t dress up, though. Is that okay?”
I nod, still not ready to discuss Elliot yet. I need another distraction. I glance around the room again and spot a poster of the solar system above Jackson’s roommate’s bed. “Is your roommate majoring in astronomy or something?”
Jackson follows my gaze and smiles. “No, but he’s obsessed with astronomy. I think I’ve learned more about black holes and supernovas this year than I have in my entire life. It’s pretty cool stuff, even if I don’t understand three-quarters of it.”
“Where is he? It’s still pretty early.”
“He had to go home for a family thing. He’s supposed to be back sometime today.”
We settle into a comfortable silence, and I’m tempted to say, “Well, this was nice. Good catching up with you, Jackson. See you later!” but that would be unfair to Elliot. He needs help, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply. Jackson probably thinks I’m being weird, but now’s not the time to be self-conscious. Elliot is depending on me. Granted, he doesn’t know he is, but I figure it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission. “Last night, I discovered something about Elliot, and now I need your help.”
I study Jackson’s face as I recount what happened last night and this morning. At first, there’s a flicker of confusion—his brows knit together as he processes what I’m telling him. Then shock hits him as understanding dawns, and he gasps dramatically.
“Wait, what?!” He shoots to his feet. “Elliot’s been living in the library for two years? How is that even possible? Aren’t security supposed to patrol the campus twenty-four seven? What the hell are we paying them for? To play Go-fucking-Fish?”
I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine, dude.”
Jackson paces his room, hands on his hips and a mutinous expression on his face. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice. I knew he spent most of his time at the library, but I chalked it up to him being a workaholic. I never imagined?—”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Elliot’s clearly a master at keeping secrets. We still wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t followed him last night.”
Jackson gasps again as his hands fly to his hair. “Holy shit! Elliot is the mystery man!”
I blush. Why am I not surprised that Jackson follows the Ice Queen? She’s not a figment of my imagination or anything.
“Yes, he is.” I avoid Jackson’s scrutinizing gaze and stare down at his bare feet instead. They’re big, but mine are bigger. I don’t know why I fixate on that, but I do.
Jackson gasps again. “Oh my God! You like him! You like Elliot!”
My face turns redder than Mars. Revealing my affection for Elliot to his best friend wasn’t the plan. Considering Jackson is practically Elliot’s surrogate brother, I know the stakes. If someone were infatuated with my sister, I’d be freaking out too. “No comment.”
“Wow,” Jackson says after a long moment. “Just…wow. I did not see that coming. So, you’re bi?”
“I guess,” I reply with a shrug. “I’m still figuring that out. But when I see Elliot and think about him, I don’t think about pronouns or what’s between his legs. I think about wanting to be with him, making him smile, roll his eyes, and make him—what? Is there something on my face?”
I swipe at my nose, fearing I might have a booger, but I don’t. So, why is Jackson grinning like The Joker?
“Gerard, you don’t just like Elliot. You’re crushing on him and want him to be your boyfriend .”
Huh. Can I see myself walking across campus holding Elliot’s hand, going to dinner and seeing a movie, or cuddling in bed? Yes, yes, yes, and… yes.
Oh, wow. I guess I do want him to be my boyfriend. But the bigger question is whether Elliot wants that, too. Sure, he likes my hands. But does he like me?
I shake my head. Somehow, the conversation has veered from Elliot’s homelessness to my sexuality. Now is not the time to decide whether I want to explore my feelings for Elliot. I can do that later, alone in my room. Maybe with my dick in my hand—it’s been a day since I last came, sue me.
“Can we focus on what’s important right now?” I ask. “What are we gonna do about Elliot’s living situation?”
“You’re right, sorry. We need to figure something out. He can’t keep living in the library, that’s for damn sure.”
We spend the next ten minutes brainstorming. If Jackson didn’t have a roommate or lived alone, we’d be like Ariana Grande and have one less, one less problem.
“Hey!” Jackson breaks the silence, startling me. “Sorry. Are you able to squeeze another guy into the Hockey House? ”
“We totally can…as long as the other guys agree with it. Knowing Oliver, it’ll be put up for a vote.”
“Alright. Then we should give that a try. In the meantime, what are you going to do about the Ice Queen?”
“What do you mean?”
“If she gets wind of this…”
“Already on my list of things to do today.”
Jackson raises an eyebrow. “You think she’ll keep this on the down low?”
No, I’m not sure at all. But what other choice do I have?
“Yeah,” I lie. “She will.”