Chapter 14 Seth #2
“Then what would you call it?” He turned back, and the hurt in his eyes made my chest ache.
“Because from where I’m standing, it feels like I’m something you hide.
Like if it came down to choosing between keeping me or keeping the possibility that your parents might one day approve of you, I already know which one loses. ”
“That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not.” His voice wobbled despite his obvious effort to keep it steady. “But it’s how it feels.”
I didn’t have an answer. The truth was ugly. I wasn’t ready to add another item to the list of things my parents hated about me, that coming out to them felt like handing them ammunition, that some desperate part of me still hoped I could make them proud before I destroyed that possibility forever.
“I’m not ashamed of you,” I said. The words came out rougher than I intended. “That’s not what this is.”
“I know.” He wrapped his arms around himself, the defensive posture making him look smaller. “I know you’re not ashamed. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt less.”
“Tanner—”
“I need some space.” He shook his head. “To think. I’m not mad at you.” He turned, and his expression had smoothed into something controlled, but I could see the effort it was costing him. The slight redness around his eyes. “I’m just tired. I’ll be in my room.”
He paused in the doorway, his gaze dropping to my ribs one more time. For a second, I thought he’d say something—ask if I was okay, offer to help, be the person who’d spent weeks patching me up after every game. I could see the instinct warring with something else, some need to protect himself.
Then he was gone.
I iced my ribs alone on the couch, the cold pack pressed against bruised skin while I stared at nothing.
The apartment was too quiet. No music from Tanner’s room, no shuffle of pages. Just the refrigerator humming, the heat clicking on, my own breathing loud in the stillness.
My phone buzzed. Hunter.
How’s Tanner holding up? My dad said the holidays are going to be rough for him.
I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Started typing before I could talk myself out of it.
Honestly? Not great. We had a fight tonight. Or not a fight exactly, but he’s pulling away. And I don’t know how to fix it.
Hunter’s response took a minute.
What happened?
Thanksgiving drama. Family wants me home. He’s upset that I’m even considering going. That they don’t know about us. That nobody really knows about us.
Another long pause. When Hunter’s message came through, I could almost hear the careful way he’d chosen his words.
Seth…
That’s rough. For both of you, but especially for him. You know I love you, but Tanner’s like a brother to me. He’s been through a lot.
I know.
Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’re asking him to be invisible while you try to win over people who’ve never supported you.
I stared at the message. Put the phone down. Picked it up again.
What if I need to know for sure? That there’s no chance with them?
Then go if you have to. But he’s already lost so much. His dad, his sense of security. This is his first holiday season without his father. If he feels like he’s losing you too—or like he never really had you—that’s going to break something.
I hadn’t thought about it that way. Hadn’t considered that my need for closure might land differently for someone who’d lost his father and was about to spend Thanksgiving without him for the first time.
Fuck.
Yeah. Talk to him. Actually talk, not just apologize and move on. He’s probably spiraling about six different things, and none of them are actually about you going home.
Hunter was right. I knew he was right. But knowing and doing were different things, and the thought of having another heavy conversation when we were both already running on empty made me want to crawl into bed and not emerge until December.
Thanks. I’ll figure it out.
You always do. But maybe let someone help for once.
I set the phone down and stared at Tanner’s closed door.
One conversation. That’s all it would take.
Walk over there, knock, tell him everything I was feeling instead of trying to manage it alone.
Tell him I was scared of going home and scared of not going.
Tell him I didn’t know how to be the person my family wanted and the person he needed at the same time.
My legs stayed frozen.
The door stayed closed.
I’d given up on studying, on icing, on doing anything except lying in bed and cataloging all the ways I was failing at everything when the Taner finally came home. The footsteps in the hallway paused outside my room. I held my breath.
The door creaked open. Tanner stood in the dim light from the hallway, wearing his sleep clothes, his hair mussed from lying down.
“Can I—” He stopped. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”
The admission cost him something. I could see it in the set of his jaw, the way he wouldn’t quite meet my eyes.
“Yeah,” I said. “Come here.”
He crossed to the bed and climbed in, but he didn’t curl into me the way he usually did. Instead, he lay on his side facing away, a careful six inches of space between us. Close enough to feel his warmth. Far enough to make a point.
I wanted to reach for him. Wanted to pull him against my chest and hold on until the distance between us closed. But my ribs ached, and he’d drawn a line, and I didn’t know how to cross it without making things worse.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the back of his head.
“I know.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of this.”
“I know that too.”
The silence stretched. I listened to Tanner breathe, felt the mattress shift when he adjusted his position, and ached with how close he was and how far away he felt.
“I’m scared,” I admitted. “Of going home. Of not going. Of what happens either way.”
He was quiet for a long time. Then his hand reached back, found mine in the dark, and squeezed once before letting go.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said.
It sounded more like a question than a promise.
I lay awake long after his breathing evened out, staring at the ceiling, counting the inches between us.
Tomorrow, I’d decide about Thanksgiving. Tomorrow, I’d find a way to make him believe he wasn’t losing me.
But lying there in the dark, feeling the weight of everything unsaid, I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.