Chapter Thirteen #2
I stop stirring my soup and suck in a breath. “It is. That’s where you’ve been out avoiding me for the past couple weeks, I presume? Out exploring the town…”
He dips his head. Licking his lips, he takes a thoughtful moment before responding. “We had a moment back at the stream, and I didn’t know how to handle it.” He clears his throat. “I don’t know how to handle it,” he corrects. “Same as tonight…”
Ok good. This is good. He’s bringing it up again all on his own. He’s admitting he’s kerfuffled about it. We’ve led the horse to water. Now, can we teach it to drink?
“What do you need to handle?” I prompt him.
“That I’m your boss? If so, I promise, I’m not—this isn’t the norm for me to just, I don't know—I don’t usually act on impulse like that.
I’m usually too wrapped up in everything to take notice of anyone the way I have with you.
To be honest, I didn’t even think you were attracted to men—”
“I’m not,” he bites back quickly—harshly—nostrils flared and eyes wide. “I’m not gay. I told you earlier, it was just a lapse in judgement,” he reiterates pointedly. He pushes back from the table, nearly upending his bowl in the process.
“Whoa, whoa,” I stammer, rearing back and defensively raising my hands, wondering where that sudden change in demeanor came from, once again. “Wait, am I—did I read into something wrong? I’m confused…”
“I’m not fucking gay,” Evan snaps again. “Yes, you read into it wrong. I fucked up. It won’t happen again.”
Ah, so the horse we led to water is decidedly saying ‘nay’ to being thirsty. Great.
But—the flirting, the kissing… the sudden bolting… that wasn’t just because I’m his boss? Did I force myself on him? That’s not… I don’t…
I rack my brain trying to repeat these two events in my head over and over. He’s the one that definitely initiated things. I was hesitant.
‘Please, Reckless.’
Then something strikes me again, something Colton asked me earlier.
I assumed he was afraid to come out because he didn’t want to wind up in the same predicament Nikolas was in—being harassed by narrow-minded bigots.
But he was also concerned about coming out to his family.
He doesn’t want his dad reading too much into the portrait he drew.
He doesn’t want his dad to find out because he’s fearful of Evan’s reaction the most. He looked forlorn when I told him my family was accepting, and now I feel like a fool for not seeing this sooner—I realize that it’s probably because his own wouldn’t be.
Evan called what we did a mistake, but solely just because of the inference that he’s moving on from Miranda.
He rutted into me like a feral animal in heat down at the lake, and then is up here now bellowing about how he’s not gay.
Much like Colton is too nervous to come out to his father, Evan is too afraid to admit to himself that he’s attracted to men.
“Evan,” I call out to him, catching him at my door before he can bolt again.
“What?” he hisses.
“Can you just sit, so we can talk?”
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Yes, there absolutely is. Sit.”
“Brooks—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Come. Sit,” I grit out, practically hauling him into my living room-office and sitting him across from me. I fear that trying to sit on the couch together may just push him too far. He huffs, but then plops into the armchair across from me.
“I told you, I’m not gay and that’s that. Not every feeling needs to be psycho-fucking-analyzed by an expert,” he states.
“Liar,” I tell him coolly, assuredly. “Lots of things can be talked out, so that you get a better understanding of yourself. Lots of people see professionals for help, whether they admit it or not. Evan, don’t lie to me, is what we had out there all a figment of my imagination? ” I gesture out to the lake.
He rolls his eyes after a couple moments of tense silence. “Obviously not,” he finally huffs, as if someone was holding a knife to his throat.
“Well then, what was it? Please tell me. What was it?”
He folds his arms over his chest, like an oddly bearded, muscle-bound toddler holding a tantrum.
“I’ll tell you what it was from the way I saw it. You begged me to give in and kiss you. You begged me, Evan. Now, when did you first realize that you were attracted to men?”
“I’m not,” he grunts. “If that’s your thing, that’s fine. I’ve got no problem with that, but—”
“You… begged… me.”
He stands again, spinning away from me and running his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands. “In middle school, alright?! I realized I was attracted to guys in fucking middle school!”
I stand, allowing myself to take a couple of tentative steps towards him, but not too close. He reminds me of a wild animal, heaving breaths and spitting mad. I’ve pushed his buttons, for sure, but he’s also finally talking.
“Okay,” I say calmly, “but this, tonight, was this the first time you ever took that anywhere?”
He nods. It’s super subtle, but I catch it. Then he sighs heavily.
“There’s something about you, though…” he murmurs, voice cracking, losing the hard edge.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I’ve been here.
I can’t just lock up these feelings and toss the key into the drink, like I’ve always been able to.
I can’t even be near you, and it’s torturing me. ”
“So, wait—Colton’s almost seventeen, and you’re in your early thirties,” I say, quickly doing the calculations—which lands him in junior year of high school when he got Colton’s mother pregnant.
The insinuation I made must be made of crystal.
“I started dating Miranda, because I felt like dating girls was what was right, not because I was particularly attracted to them,” he explains, gazing out the window at the moon dancing on the rippling water.
“I stuck with her when I found out she got pregnant. I married her, on both our father’s insistence that I do right by her and Colton. ”
“And you honored that, until death do you part,” I guess.
He nods, aggressively swiping at his cheeks, from what I can see in his reflection.
“You’ve kept that secret about yourself for a long time, Evan.”
A secret, I’ve noticed, he still can’t bring himself to admit aloud.
“I’ve got to keep it a secret as well,” he insists.
“My son already hates me enough as it is. I refuse to make it worse. As it stands, Colt already seems to have carried on some of her resentment and bitterness towards me. He doesn’t even know that Miranda was going to leave me if I couldn’t fix things between her and me. ..”
“What did she feel needed fixing?” I ask him.
“Everything,” he sighs, finally spinning to face me.
“She told me I was vacant, that I lacked depth, that I didn’t connect with her on a deeper level, I showed no emotion, was too cold with her…
the list goes on and on. The real kick to the manhood was that I was a lousy, boring lay, but damn it if she wasn’t right.
“She was right about me being a shit father, too. Things between Colton and I started falling apart. He used to be my best buddy when he was younger, but about three years ago, he started pulling away. Favoring Miranda more. Even he was telling me I wouldn’t ever understand him, but it feels like he never even gave me a chance!
After Miranda passed, he totally gave me the cold shoulder. ”
Every part of me wants to console Evan by telling him what I believe really caused the rift wasn’t because he's carrying on bitterness from his mother. No, the catalyst was likely that Colton discovered his sexuality and doesn’t feel like his dad would understand.
I get why he would feel like that, given the way Evan just lashed out—denying his own sexuality.
But the two—father and son—aren’t so dissimilar.
I can’t even tell Evan that, though, because of patient privilege.
Waters that I have now muddied so terribly, by having a weak moment hours ago.
Waters that, despite knowing I shouldn’t, I can’t help but want to muck up even more, because I just want to help Evan too. He needs it just as badly as Colton.
Instead, I try a different route, urging him to sit back down again. Surprisingly, he does, so I sit back down across from him and lean in. “When was the last time you considered yourself truly happy, Evan?”
“I don’t even know…” he replies, voice gravelly.
“Probably the day Colt said he wanted to learn how to ride my Harley, so he could be just like me someday. We were having an awesome time. He wanted to go to the batting cages for once; said he wanted to learn how to hit grand slams like his dad used to,” he adds, with a hint of wistfulness in his expression.
Oh boy, you have no idea how alike you both are…
Then his expression sours again, when he continues, “I had always played in high school, and he seemed like he wanted to as well, before his grandfather and his uncle convinced him football was the superior sport, because they played that instead. Apparently, liking a sport that didn’t involve fucking hurling yourself into another player wasn’t ‘manly’ enough.
Christ, they acted as if I were a cheerleader or something equally girly, just for playing baseball.
You ever get hit in the cup with a fastball? It’ll test your manhood… real quick.”
I can feel my cheeks feeling flush again. “No, I never got hit with a fastball. I was a cheerleader in high school, though. Pretty sure I’m still a man, last time I checked.” I look down at my lap. “Yep. The parts are all still there.”
His eyes go wide. “I’m so sorry I blurted that out. Fuuuuck, Brooks, I didn’t mean to offend—”