13. Ethan

13

ETHAN

This is just great. Somehow, during the first home game after our road trip, I manage to sprain my leg. Everything hurts. My instructions are clear: one day of complete, uninterrupted rest. At least we’re back in Boston, so I can sleep in my own bed instead of on some strange hotel mattress with scratchy sheets.

In a twisted kind of way, it’s what I need, though. We got our asses handed to us tonight, and I want nothing more than to take a short break. Wincing, I lean back into the seat of James’s car with an ice pack clenched tightly against my groin.

We pull into the garage, and James is out of the car before I can even unbuckle myself. He walks around and opens my door, his hand outstretched. “Here, I can help,” he says, grinning.

I roll my eyes but let him guide me out. My movement is slow, and James is treating me like I lost all my limbs, my eyesight, and any sense of direction.

Okay, James might have a point. Walking hurts and my groin is radiating heat. I stumble into the elevator and lean against the cold metal handrail, closing my eyes and trying to ignore the pulsing coming from below.

James rushes in and stabilizes me. “Ethan,” James scolds. “The doctor told you to rest!”

I laugh through my partially gritted teeth. “He told me to take it easy, not that walking is forbidden.”

He tilts his head at me in apparent disbelief before gazing at me with dark, serious eyes that hold so much emotion, and concern, and?—

Nope. Do not go there. No.

“Dude, you’re clearly in pain. I saw you limping those last few steps into the elevator,” he argues. There’s some truth there, I’ll give him that.

James continues, undeterred by my screwed-up pain-face. “Just rest, and don’t do anything until tomorrow.”

I reluctantly oblige, slinging my left arm around his broad shoulders. We make it inside, and James helps me up the stairs before unceremoniously plopping me onto my bed. I land with a soft thud on top of the fuzzy green blanket that I’ve had since I was nine.

He disappears and returns a few minutes later with a bag of ice wrapped in a dish towel. He sits on the side of my bed and props the bag on my lap.

“Ice it for fifteen minutes,” he orders, “then I’ll make you some soup.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. This is way too much. What’s next, last rites or something?

“No moving allowed. If you want food, tell me. If you want to watch something, tell me and I’ll grab your laptop. If you want to freshen up, tell me and I’ll give you a sponge bath.”

“Dude! You are not giving me a fucking sponge bath!”

He’s not done. “But I need an excuse to get my hands on you!” He winks at me, making me blush in what I hope is embarrassment, and then proceeds to cup my pecs.

I swat him away. “Dude, get your hands off my tits!” I’m sputtering through laughter, and I can’t even roll away because it hurts to move. I settle on giving him the finger instead.

James ruffles my hair, chuckling as he lets up and goes to fulfill his promise of bringing me soup. I sink down into my mattress and rub my chest to erase the imprint of James’s hands on me.

Yeah, I’m seriously trying not to think too much about it.

A few minutes later, James returns with a mug and a tall glass of water with a metal straw in it. “The straw is so you don’t have to move at all if you want a drink,” he explains, placing both drinks on my nightstand.

“Thanks, appreciate it.”

James stretches up. “I think you’re fine, so I might watch some TV or something.”

I stare ahead, trying to suppress, yet again, my bubbling, annoyingly unshakable attraction to James. He’s my friend. In fact, he’s the best friend I’ve had, hands-down. It’s normal to want to spend time with him. It’s just that right now, the thought of him leaving my room makes my chest ache in a way that it shouldn’t.

My thoughts race as James helps me tidy up, moving my perpetual clothes pile from the bed to my armchair. I spend so much time with him, and that does me no favors at all in the “do not fall for your straight best friend” department.

Right now, I should thank him for his help, tell him I’m gonna sleep, and then spend the rest of the night by myself. That’s what I need.

“ Thanks for the help, James, appreciate it. I’m gonna go to bed, good night.” I just have to say that. Simple, easy, and effective.

“You should stay and chill for a bit,” is what I say instead.

James shoots me one of his adorable— no , not adorable. One of his pleasant smiles, and then proceeds to jump into my bed.

I curse silently at how James unknowingly makes not falling for him way harder than it needs to be. I thought I had a solid track-record of not getting straight crushes because I’ve deflected them so many times. In college, I had a ton of hot straight friends that I genuinely wasn’t attracted to because I was able to focus on the friendship.

The only difference is that my straight college friends didn’t flirt with me for fun 24/7, joke about us being a couple, or get into bed with me . Those are all James things. I’m used to bro-hugs, not whatever the fuck James is doing now.

I hate this. I also love this in theory but not when it’s James, and especially not when I’m using all of my limited brainpower just to avoid falling for him.

James’s phone pings with about fifty texts in quick succession, which interrupts my tortured thoughts. He fumbles around under the covers for the phone that fell out of his pocket, narrowly missing my traitorous, involuntarily semi-hard dick way too many times, and triumphantly thrusts the glowing rectangle onto his pillow.

I twist my neck so I can see James. He’s flicking through his phone, a wide smile plastered on his face.

“Got some good news?” I ask.

James dips his phone to meet my gaze. “My parents were watching the game tonight and they’re sending a care package because we lost.”

“A care package?”

James’s face lights up. “Yeah! They said it’s a surprise but it’s full of food and stuff. It’ll get here tomorrow morning.”

“That’s so cool, your parents are great.”

James smiles. “Yeah, they’re awesome. They’ve always been there for me and they’re my biggest cheerleaders.”

Most of my friends’ parents are also kind, so I’m past the point of jealousy.

James is clearly thinking about something. “What about you? I don’t know anything about your parents. What’re they like?”

And there it is. I stiffen, and my mouth hardens.

“They’re… my parents. They still live in Machias,” I deadpan.

“Cool. You go back often?”

I hesitate, taking a deep breath. There isn’t much to say about my parents, so I don’t talk about them. But I trust James.

“Nah. Haven’t been back since I was nineteen.”

He bunches his eyebrows together. “Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

James doesn’t push, and it gives me the courage to keep going. “I came out to them when I was in college, when I was back home over break.”

I’m met with silence.

“My Dad lost it, called me a bunch of names, and they both chucked me out of the house. I ended up having to crash with a friend a few towns over and then drive back to Vermont a week early. Since all that went down, I haven’t spoken to either of them.”

James pulls me into a side hug, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and taking care to keep me as still as possible.

“I’m sorry, Ethan,” he says, his voice steady but sympathetic. “That must have been brutal.”

I shrug, downplaying it. “That was a long time ago. It sounds bad to say, but I… got over it pretty quickly? I had a scholarship and an apartment in Vermont to go back to. It’s whatever, and the town basically cast them out once word got around.”

“It’s not whatever,” he says with more force. “That’s fucked up. They’re your parents. They should’ve supported you.”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

James squeezes my shoulder lightly. “You deserved better, Ethan. You’re their son. That’s the only thing that should matter.”

Tears start to well up in my eyes, and I force my eyelids shut to prevent any from coming out.

James lays his chin on my shoulder and sighs. “I can’t understand how anyone could treat someone like you that shittily.”

I open my eyes back up and snort. “Is shittily a word?”

James pokes me in the ribs. “If it wasn’t, it is now. I just coined it.”

He’s gone quiet again, but not for long. “If you ever go back there to give them a piece of your mind, take me with you,” he says.

“What?”

“I mean it. If you ever want to go and face them, you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be there with you.”

His sincerity knocks the wind out of me. I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t expecting any of this.

Trying to find the words, I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. What can I even say? James just offered to step into one of the most painful parts of my life with me. No one has ever offered to do that.

“I blocked them after it all went down, and I don’t feel a need to reconnect with them. But I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it, bro. I’ve got your back. Any time.”

Hearing him say that hits hard. It’s difficult not to fall for him a little more every time he does something deep like this. I mean, he’s attractive, of course, but he’s a lot more than that. This is something else. He treats me well. He says he cares, and I know he means it.

I’m grateful for all that, but I hate that I’m falling for him like this.

Oh, fuck.

I’m falling for him.

My eyes shut as I lean back into my pillow, willing myself to let this go.

It’s clear he’s not into me like that, but the way he looks at me and talks to me screams that this is more than friendship.

But it can’t be. He’s straight, and I need to remember that.

James pulls back, giving me a small, reassuring smile. “Alright, enough heavy stuff for tonight. How about we watch something stupid?”

I laugh, grateful for the shift. “Yeah, I could go for that.”

Grabbing the remote from the bookshelf, James fires up the projector. I lean back into a pillow that James brings me and realize that the pain in my groin is already throbbing a little less.

James wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Sponge bath after this?”

Groaning, I sock him with a pillow. “Shut up, you idiot. Find something for us to watch.”

James tousles my hair. “Whatever you say, buddy.”

Rubbing my stomach, I try to stop it from flipping. Damn it, my stomach shouldn’t be flipping in the first place.

I’m a mess.

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