Chapter 4 #4
I still think that the fact that we had two assholes for fathers was what really strengthened our friendship at first.
“Is he forcing you to move back?”
His move to Stanford was a hard blow for me. I was used to seeing him every day; he practically lived with me at Rague and Ollie’s. But I got it. Stanford was an amazing opportunity for him, and it took him away from his father.
“No. The opposite.” He huffs.
“So, did something happen at Stanford?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean…fuck! It’s complicated.”
I have only ever seen him this worked up after the attack I suffered.
Is whatever is happening that serious? I’m worried about him, but I don’t want to pry.
I know how hard his relationship with his father is.
Mine abused me physically until the day he died, while his prefers the mental, controlling kind.
Brad is such a sweet soul; he really doesn’t deserve it. Nobody does.
“It’s okay. When you are ready, know that I’m here.” I give his hand a light squeeze and let it go.
“Thank you.” He turns his blue eyes toward me, and they hold wry unhappiness. I don’t like it at all.
“What about you? Anything to spit?” he suddenly asks, turning the engine on.
My mind races like a bullet train from the masked man to the hot dreams, to Lori’s sex toy, and then stops on Ezra. I haven’t told Brad any of it. But there is a more pressing matter I want to say to him face-to-face, before he finds out from others.
“I’m gay,” I let out. My brain isn’t satisfied dropping such a bomb, so it makes me add, “and last week a car almost ran me over.”
The Jeep is backing out of the parking spot when Brad slams on the brakes, making my body lurch forward. The seat belt prevents me from propelling all the way against the glove compartment, but my hands reflexively land on the cold leather surface.
“Fuck, Sully! Warn a dude.”
I raise my palms up in total surrender. “I-I know I should have told you before.”
“Yes, you fucking should have!” Damn it! He sounds angry.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find the right moment, and then I started to be a little afraid of your reaction.”
“The right moment? How about calling me right after it happened?”
Happened? I don’t think I have a specific pivotal moment in which I realized I was gay; it was more like a combination of different moments.
“Are you okay? Where were you? Did you get hurt? Hit your head? Did you go to the hospital?” His frantic questions make my head spin.
He’s talking about the car accident. Did he hear the first part of my statement? “I’m talking about being gay, you doofus.”
“Okay.” He shrugs like it’s not a big thing. I almost snort at his casual reaction. Typical Brad, making light of whatever makes me choke with anxiety.
“I had my suspicions. You couldn’t stop looking at Matthew Brownson’s ass during gym class.”
I couldn’t? Which means Brad’s known since high school. My face is hot with embarrassment.
“What? Did you think I wouldn’t be fine with it? We studied together that in ancient Rome and Greece, being bi or gay was the norm.”
“True.” Partly. Same-sex relations were not viewed through the modern lens of gay or straight identity. Sexual behavior was defined by power dynamics and status. I don’t say it out loud, satisfied by the fact that Brad remembers some extra facts I taught him during our tutoring lessons in school.
“Would you push me away if I told you I was…bi, for example?”
Wait, did he just come out to me? His face has turned red, and he’s averting his eyes.
I’ve never seen him with a guy before, only with girls.
And he’s had plenty. Still, all that nudity in the lockers?
If it were me, I’d probably melt like a popsicle standing among so much raw hotness.
I’m diving into the gutters headfirst, remembering the last episode of Heated Rivalry.
Two sexy athletes going at it? Who doesn’t want that?
The sound of Brad nervously clearing his throat pulls me back into the car. Now is not the time for my dirty daydreams.
“Brad. Look at me,” I plead with him. When he timidly does, I say, “You are the yellow in my life.”
“The yellow?” The familiar frown line between his eyes makes me smile.
“My happy place. The person I can tell absolutely everything to because I know you won’t judge me, ever. I mean, I told you I was gay, and you focused on the car accident instead.”
“Because you being gay doesn’t change anything, but that car could have hurt you or worse, killed you.”
“I’m fine, thanks to Ren.”
“Ren was there?” He leans toward me slightly, his eyes narrow with intensity, waiting for my response.
“Yeah. He pushed me away from the car’s trajectory.”
Brad’s bicep flexes under the thin cashmere sweater as he takes a long breath.
“Are you jealous of Ren?” I ask him. I have been spending time with him, studying and having fun, all things I used to do with Brad. But my friendship with Brad is on a completely different level.
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” he groans. “I’m all over the place lately. I haven’t slept well in a while.”
“Hey, we might be living two thousand one hundred and sixty-three miles apart—that’s the first thing I checked when you told me you were going to Stanford—but nobody will take your place, ever.
” I go for a hug, but the seatbelt halts my movements again and again and again. Until I hear Brad’s snort.
“I’ve missed Kluzy-Sully,” he chuckles. “I’m surprised you haven’t stepped on an open bear trap and then fallen down a well without me.”
“Shut up!” I scold him, rolling my eyes.
When the mirth dials down, he looks forward at the windshield again. “You know you are the only one I can trust with everything. You are my yellow too, Sul.”
He’s such a gummy bear. I’ll let him be for now. But when he moves here next semester, he’ll spit everything out.
“I know. Now, take me to the bus stop. I have a shift at the pet shelter tonight.”
“Fuck that? I’ll take you.”
“You already took me here. It’s another hour and a half to go back.”
“Relax, man. I have nothing else to do but remind you how clumsy you are.”
And he does. On the way there, we reminisce about a few funny incidents of our past. Like the time he was found by the principal with his arm stuck in the teacher’s vending machine, trying to get me a bag of sour cream chips.
Or when I accidentally hit Mr. Swarts, our gym teacher, in the face with a basketball doing free shots—he never let me touch a ball again as long as I stayed in school.
And during the trip to Washington? Too many things happened: we got lost and ended up hitchhiking, a nice grandma with a passion for charades drove us back to the hotel; we got drunk and prank-called half of our teachers; we sneaked out of the hotel one night and went to a club using our fake IDs, Brad sucked face with a forty-year-old chick who left a huge hickey on his neck.
He reminded me how I accidentally fell into a fountain, tore the back of my pants getting out of the subway, tripped on an open manhole, almost fell down in the sewer, and sprayed alcohol in my eyes.
When he parks in front of Pet Manor, we are wiping off our laughing tears from under our eyes. After a big, long hug, Brad leaves, promising to send me a message when he arrives at the airport. I wish he stayed longer, but one day was all the time he could take without skipping football practice.
“Was that your friend from California?” Ren asks me from the shelter’s porch as I make my way toward the entrance.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you give him a tour of the place?”
“He had to go to the airport.” I’ll show him Pet Manor next time. He’ll definitely enjoy it. Animals seem to love him.
“Back to the sunny state.” Ren nods, then changes the topic. “Did you get your Harry Potter tattoo?”
“Did Ash put you up to it?” I grab the handrail before climbing the three steps to the porch.
“I…put him up to it when he showed me the design a month ago.” He smirks.
“It’s called bitch-craft.”
He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “What is?”
“The art of pissing people off with a smile.”
“Way to treat your savior!”
He is using that line whenever I talk back now. “Lori’s cattiness must have rubbed off on me,” I counter.
A half-smile forms on his lips as he runs his hand through his blond hair.
“I’m out man. George is taking a stroll. Leave the snake door open for him.”
That’s his pet snake, which likes to slither around the locker room inside the pet shelter. George is a…curious boy and very sweet.
“Clover said he’d come later.”
Clover is a freelancer, working with the brotherhood on their bloody side business. I don’t know what he does exactly, but it must be illegal since he’s, well, working with them.
“Did he find a stray?” I don’t know him very well, I’ve met him only a couple of times.
“It’s in his file. He has a pet, Mr. Squashy Pants…or was it Nuts? Just give it a check-up.”
Before I can ask Ren more about this pet, he has already turned his back to me and is walking toward his house. “Later.” He raises his hand in goodbye.