Chapter 5 #2
“So you see? It’s fine. We can have a sleepover tonight to get you used to it. I’ll even wear sweatpants so you’re not uncomfortable.”
“What?” Now I’m back to being confused. “What do you normally wear?” Is that a wildly inappropriate question?
Yeah, probably.
“Here I wear nothing.” He shrugs, and I have to grimace. Now, that would be inappropriate. “On the road I wear my briefs.”
“Sweatpants,” is the only thing I can say in answer.
He doesn’t need much more from me and just goes right into planning mode.
He finds me a pair of sweatpants that are worn enough to almost reach my ankles, and he gets me a new toothbrush that he finds in one of his five guest bedrooms, and then I’m standing by his big bed—as big as mine—and watching him throw about a hundred thousand pillows off it.
“Why do you have so many pillows?” I ask, because I was not expecting him to have any kind of decor in his bedroom, let alone pillows with horses embroidered on them.
“My mom got them for me,” he says defensively.
“Hey, no, they look nice.” I nod in encouragement and help him put them on the sofa he has by the windows.
But there are still six huge pillows, so he takes three away then leaves the rest there and gestures for me to get under the duvet.
I do . . . and then I can’t breathe.
God this is awkward.
Are we supposed to go to sleep now? At the same time?
How does that even work? Do couples get their sleep schedule synchronized or something?
“Let’s watch something,” I say, and it definitely sounds more like I’m begging.
“Sure, Sandy told me I should watch Shitt’s Creek,” he says conversationally.
“You told her about all this?” I think I succeed in sounding casual, because he stays focused on the TV and finding the right app to stream the show.
“Yeah, and she won’t tell anyone, don’t worry.”
God, he’s more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for, including me apparently.
We watch two quick episodes and by the third, AJ’s snoring softly. The control is next to his hand and within reach, so I take it and shut everything off.
As the room goes dark, I’m overly aware of his body lying next to mine, of the strange bed I’m lying in, of the soft pillow. Every little sound is like a cannon and every movement feels too big and sudden.
I spend what feels like six hours nervously recalling everything we’ve done to prepare for the reunion, doubting every decision I’ve ever made, and just generally having a really shitty time, but eventually I do fall asleep.
And when I wake up, I realize I’m a deeper sleeper than I thought because AJ is holding me to his chest like I’m his own personal teddy bear or something.
I do my best to escape without waking him up, but I fail miserably, and startle him so badly he pushes me away as his cheeks darken dangerously fast.
Again, I hate seeing him embarrassed, but in this case . . . well, this was pretty embarrassing. There’s not much I can do to defuse the tension.
“I-I’m sorry.”
I freeze at his groggy voice. I don’t think I’ve ever heard AJ stutter before. In the last decade I’ve heard him sound unsure, vulnerable, embarrassed, and sad, but never this much.
“It’s okay—”
“I just normally hug one of my pillows, but I guess you’re what I caught in the middle of the night.” I don’t think he heard me, so I try again when he takes a breath.
“It’s fine, AJ,” I tell him, a bit louder than normal. “I know you weren’t consciously cuddling me.”
“Not that I wouldn’t cuddle you, that would be fine—it is fine!” he shouts, and I hold up a hand before he starts digging any deeper.
“Stop talking about it and stop thinking about it,” I tell him. “I’m not offended, or upset, but I need coffee, so I’m going to go to the kitchen.” I nod decisively and turn to climb out of bed without a backward glance.
We’re going to have to get past these potentially awkward situations, especially if this will happen again at Mom’s house.
God help me.
MAY
There are levels of fame.
When I travel, I get recognized maybe one time out of ten, but AJ . . . well, he can’t really step into LAX without a mob of fans almost instantly forming around him, so we fly privately to Gomillion.
I feel better about this farce only because I’m doing it with AJ, who spent the whole flight taking my mind off . . . everything. I can count on him to have my back this weekend, and I think there’s not much else I could ask for right now.
After five hours of entertaining me, we land and AJ still isn’t done. In the rented SUV he arranged to be waiting for us at the private airfield that’s two hours away from my childhood home, he blasts music while I drive down the highway I still know so well.
Not that we’re going to my childhood home.
Mom sold it a few years back and finally let me buy her the house of her dreams.
It was a long flight, but the drive feels eternal, even with AJ belting out songs and butchering them.
We don’t talk about what we’re going to be doing this weekend or how nervous we both obviously are about facing Mom, we just sing and laugh and occasionally talk about how well LA did in the draft last month and how the rookies looked in OTAs just last week.
AJ’s pleased they got him a new left tackle, and I don’t blame him, since he was sacked twenty-seven times last season and I know how not fun that was for him.
He’s no longer twenty-five and able to jump up like nothing happened after a sack, he’s thirty-three, and though we haven’t talked about it, we know retirement is looming.
I know he doesn’t want to retire any time soon, and in June I’m going to start negotiations with the Warriors for his next contract, so we’re going to have to have a discussion about it—a real, serious discussion.
But that all has to wait because at just past five, when I finally park in Mom’s driveway and we jump out to meet her, we don’t have much time to show her how we really are boyfriends since we need to shower off the plane ride and get ready for the sign-in event, which starts at six.
Mom’s instantly charmed by AJ, which is just how it always goes when these two see each other, but she’s fine with us leaving so soon, which I think is weird because it’s been years since I visited.
She comes to LA at least three times a year, normally, and we talk once a week without fail, so it’s not like we don’t spend enough time together, but I don’t love coming to Gomillion, even though she always wants me to.
Sharing a room when we’re only getting ready and taking turns in the bathroom isn’t so bad, but I know the real test will be tonight. I wonder if that’s why I can’t really focus on that, because it’s not immediate? All that’s on my mind is the dread of arriving at the school and . . .
And what?
I have no fucking clue what’s going to happen.
I need to just get this over with.
Caden will be there, if he hasn’t changed his mind since the last time we texted, and also Shane Bailey, Ray Barker, and Dale Rivers, the other three who played alongside us senior year.
It’ll be good to catch up with them. I’m sure in some way it will be like no time has passed, but I’m well aware they’re not the ones I’m worried about.
Fucking Soren. I really want to never have to think about that asshole again.
I drive us to the high school, and finally AJ’s complete silence registers.
“Are you okay?” I ask, and my hands clench on the steering wheel involuntarily. “There’s still time for you to back out, I won’t—”
“Stop that,” he snaps with as much harshness as he’s able, which isn’t much. “I’m worried about you. You’ve barely said a word in the last half hour, and for me to notice that’s pretty impressive.”
I snort despite myself.
“I guess you have a point,” I mutter. “I’m nervous, but otherwise I’m okay,” I tell him honestly, and since it’s not a huge town, I’m turning into the school’s parking lot already by then, and I turn to look at AJ for a moment after I park.
He looks as good as he always does, though he isn’t wearing the shirt Hawk told him to, and god, I hope he doesn’t wear it tomorrow.
“Let’s do this,” I murmur.
Before I can move, AJ shouts, “Wait, don’t move yet.” There’s enough urgency in his voice that I do what he says, but then . . .
Well, he gets out and rounds the hood of the SUV, and opens my door.
He’s always been a gentleman.
I smile at him when he offers me his hand, touched that he’s doing this admittedly small thing to add more credibility to our act.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Come on,” he whispers, and looks around at all the other people arriving at the same time as us, while pressing his hand to my lower back. Yeah, more than a few are staring at us, and they notice that gesture for sure.
It could be because we’re both tall, or men, or it could be that AJ’s bright blond hair always attracts attention, but I think it’s his aura, his charisma, which pours out of him in waves.
We pass by a few of my old classmates as we make our way to the small gym, and I try to smile with enough kindness to not be dismissive but without making it like an invitation to come and talk to us.
Not yet . . .
We get in line at the sign-in table and I force myself to look around.
I see Ray, Shane, and Dale chatting by the bar, but no Caden. I guess he might be running late, that’s fine, but I can’t help wanting to look out for him. This is bound to be as hard for him as it is for me.
I see a figure walking fast, and when he stops I realize it’s Theo. Someone’s running at him, and shouting “Coach Brooks,” and that has me raising my brows as far as they’ll go.
Damn, he’s grown up a lot.
I wonder if that’s why Caden is late?
AJ pokes me with his elbow and snaps my attention back to what we’re doing.
“Uh, yeah. Hi. Cameron Jameson and plus one.”
Yeah, I’m definitely not introducing AJ to the girl—woman—but he doesn’t seem to have any issues with it.
“I’m AJ, also known as Cam’s plus one,” he says brightly.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, with stars in her eyes. “Uh—” She has to clear her throat, and then looks down. “Here are your name tags, and uh—” Her brain seems to short-circuit when AJ leans down to grab the name tags and hits her with that blindingly bright smile.
“Thanks so much,” I mumble, and I grab AJ’s hand to pull him away.
Okay, so now we’re holding hands. That’s fine, that’s what we planned.
So I begin leading him right to the bar, to my friends, and don’t allow myself one single glance to see if Soren is here.
I’ll just pretend this is normal.
But life just won’t let me catch a break before I’m forced to face my biggest regret.
Soren appears out of fucking nowhere it seems. His hair is way too dark, and since I remember what his father looked like when he was in his forties, I suspect he’s colored it, but his smile—slimy and almost a sneer—looks exactly the same as it did twenty years ago.
Those blue eyes I used to love staring at for hours jump from me to AJ, and the spark in them is more infuriating than anything else.
“Cam,” he cheers, and I hate how my breath catches. “I can’t believe you’re actually showing your face around here.”
I feel AJ go rigid next to me, and I know his protective instincts are kicking in. I don’t know if I want to stop whatever he’s going to do or not, but first I need to let him know who this is.
“Soren,” I say, in the most monotone voice I can conjure, and somehow AJ’s grip on my hand tightens even more.
Funnily enough, the last thing on my mind at the moment is Soren getting his ass beat, but my worry for AJ and the legacy he’s worked for kicks in.