Chapter 25 Shane
SHANE
Settling on my bed, I unlock my phone and pull up my mom’s number.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she greets, answering after only half a ring.
The last of the tension I’ve been holding onto since I saw her missed calls melts away at her warm tone.
I was right. Today is one of her good days.
“Hey, Mom.” I lean back against my pillows.
“How’re you feeling?” she asks.
“I’m okay. It was a rough morning, but I’m fine now.”
I have no idea what was in that mix Jace gave me, but it was effective, and all traces of my hangover disappeared within an hour of drinking it.
“I remember those days,” she says, and I can hear her smile.
“What days?”
“The days when I could party until dawn and get up a few hours later like nothing happened. Now a third glass of wine is enough to put me out of commission for the next two days.”
“I know you and Dad were normal teenagers and went to college and all that, but it’s so weird to think that you guys haven’t always been fully formed, responsible adults doing adulty things.”
She laughs. “I completely understand. I used to cringe so hard when I’d overhear your grandparents talking about all the crazy things they got up to when they were young. It’s weird to think of your parents as anything other than parents, even when you’re my age.”
“So weird,” I agree. “And even weirder to think of Grandma and Grandpa being young and raising hell. I’ve heard enough stories about what Dad got up to when he was in the Rebels that I’ve actively avoided learning about what shenanigans the rest of our family tree has gotten up to over the years.”
“I remember this one time when I snuck your dad into Belmont so he could—”
“Nope,” I cut in. “Fully formed adults, remember?”
“My mistake,” she says with a laugh.
“How’re you doing?” I ask.
“Good. I’m meeting up with some of the ladies from the historical council in a few hours, so I’m just killing time until then. I wasn’t calling for any particular reason,” she adds before I can ask. “I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing good.”
“Classes are going okay?”
“Yup.”
That’s not a lie, but it isn’t the entire truth. I’ve been skipping a lot of classes recently, but I’m keeping up with the work, so my grades aren’t suffering, which is all my parents or the school care about.
“Have you met anyone new? Maybe a special girl?” she asks, and the hope in her voice is as clear as day.
My parents met right here at Silvercrest when my dad was a sophomore and Mom was a freshman. They dated the entire time Mom was in school and got engaged a week after her graduation. Six months later, they were married, and after twenty-seven years, they’re still going strong.
I know they both hoped that I’d find my special someone here, but they’ve been good about not pushing things or nagging me about my lack of interest in dating and relationships, which I definitely appreciate after hearing the horror stories from some of the guys around here about the insane pressure they’re under to get married, or at least get into a serious relationship, with someone their parents approve of.
“No, no special girl,” I tell her, and a weird pit forms in my stomach.
I haven’t met any special girls, but there’s a guy who’s been wreaking havoc on my sanity, and I literally have no one I can talk to about it.
The guys in the house aren’t an option, and not because Jace is a guy or anything like that.
I’ve already come to terms with the fact that I’m not straight, and that I’m attracted to Jace.
The real reason I can’t talk to anyone around here about it is that it’s Jace, the guy I’ve hated since freshman year, and the guy I’m going to have to share the house leadership with next year.
“Shane?” she asks after a few beats of silence pass between us. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. Too quickly.
“Okay,” she says gently. “But you can talk to me about whatever’s going on. If something is going on.”
I start to tell her that everything is fine, but stop before I can get the words out.
I’m not fine, and I really need to talk to someone about what’s been happening.
My mom and I have always been close, and I’ve always felt comfortable talking to her about things that others might be hesitant to tell one of their parents. But I’m going to have to come out to her at some point, so I might as well do it now. Two birds, one stone, and all that jazz.
“Actually, there is something,” I say slowly.
“What is it, sweetie?” she prompts when I don’t continue.
“I’m not exactly sure how to say this,” I tell her honestly.
“You’re not?”
“No.” I pull in a deep breath. “So I guess just saying it is probably best. Like ripping off a bandage. Quick and painless.” I drag in another deep breath. “I don’t think I’m straight,” I blurt out in a rush.
“You don’t think you are?” she asks tentatively.
“I know I’m not,” I whisper. “I’m bi.”
“Thank you for telling me, sweetie.” She pauses. “I hope you already know this, but there’s nothing you could ever say or do that would make me love you any less. I love you just as much now as I did five minutes ago.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I let my head fall back against my pillow. “I did know that, but it’s nice to hear it again after dropping a bombshell like that.” My chest tightens. “Does Dad feel the same way about this kind of thing?” I ask, and I hate how small my voice sounds.
I’m not as close with my dad as I am with my mom, but we’re still a tight-knit family, even if we don’t always see eye to eye on things.
As far as I know, my dad is open-minded and has never come across as homophobic or anything like that, but it’s easy to support a community when it doesn’t affect your life in any way. The thought that my dad might not be able to look at me the same way is terrifying.
“Yes,” she says quickly. “Your dad and I are both in agreement that we don’t care who you love as long as they treat you with respect and make you happy. Male, female, none of that matters as long as you’re happy.”
All of the fear and worry I’ve been carrying over coming out to my parents melts away, and I feel ten pounds lighter as I let out a long, slow breath. “Thanks, that’s really good to hear.”
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on?”
“Yes and no.” I huff out a laugh. “Yes, because I feel like I’m going crazy, but also no, because this whole situation is crazy.”
“I’m here to listen if you think talking about it will help.”
“It can’t really hurt at this point,” I muse. “This whole thing is complicated and messy, and I don’t even know how to start this conversation.”
She stays quiet while I gather my thoughts.
“So, I kind of have this thing going on with one of the guys in the house.”
“Oh,” she says. “Now I understand why you said things are messy and complicated.”
“Oh, that’s not the messy part,” I tell her.
“But wait, there’s more!” I say in my best infomercial voice.
“I couldn’t even stand him for the past two and a half years, like legit couldn’t spend more than a few minutes in the same room with him without it turning into a fight of some sort, and now I kinda like him. ”
“Two and a half years…”
I can practically hear the gears grinding as she pieces things together.
“Do you mean Jace Hawthorne?” she asks carefully.
Being part of a group like the Rebels is both a blessing and a curse.
It’s a blessing because of the obvious advantages it gives me, and it’s basically a golden ticket into the most exclusive circles in both the social and business worlds.
But it also means that my parents don’t just know all of my housemates; they also know their parents, and they have for years.
“Yup.”
“One of the boys you have to share the leadership with next year,” she says slowly.
“Yup,” I say again.
“Oh my. That is messy.”
“Yup.” I let out a weary sigh.
“And you like him?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I rake my hand through my hair and lean back on my pillows. “He’s aggravating and annoying and knows exactly how to piss me off, but he’s also interesting and unpredictable and knows how to work me up in a different way.” I grimace. “Sorry if that was TMI.”
“It’s not,” she says lightly. “You’re an adult, and it’s not TMI when you’re talking about girls, so it’s not TMI with guys, either.”
“Yeah, I’m still getting used to the whole he’s a guy thing,” I say. She doesn’t need to know that it’s not so much that he has a dick that’s tripping me up, it’s the fighting and dirty talk and the way he can so easily turn me into a desperate, whimpering mess that’s fucking with me.
“So things aren’t serious with him?”
“No, they’re not really anything. Just hooking up.”
“Do you want there to be something between you?”
That makes me pause, and I mull that over in my head for a few beats.
Usually my reaction to that kind of question is a quick “Hell no,” but the typical icky feelings I get when I think about dating or settling down with someone aren’t there.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But it doesn’t matter because it can’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re going to be working together next year. And it’s not even like that between us. He’s not into me that way. This is just him having some fun.”
“Are you having fun?” she asks carefully.
“Now that I’m not confused and questioning everything I ever thought about myself, yeah,” I admit.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. It would be easier if he could just go back to being an insufferable asshole so I can go back to hating him.”
“And if he doesn’t revert to his asshole ways?”
“Then I have no idea,” I repeat. “Probably wait for him to get bored and move on.”
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” she says, and I can hear how carefully she’s choosing her words. “But I’m not surprised that there’s something between you and Jace.”
“What? You’re not?”
“No.”
“Could you maybe elaborate?” I say. “’Cause that totally came out of left field.” I pause as something occurs to me. “Did you know that I’m…”