Chapter 25
What Courage Feels Like
Gavin
Tyler's got his feet up on his desk, pretending to study while I toss a football at his ceiling. Catch. Toss. Catch. Toss.
"You're going to put a hole in my ceiling," Tyler says without looking up.
"Haven't yet."
"Key word being 'yet.'" He flips a page in his textbook. "Last night you and Seb were looking cozy."
Catch. Toss. A grin spreads across my face.
"That good, huh?"
"Doc's... yeah." I catch the ball and hold it against my chest. "He stayed. Even after his friends left. Max basically ordered him to sit on my lap and enjoy himself."
"Max is the tiny terrifying one with blue hair?"
"That's him."
Tyler finally looks up, smirking. "You've got it bad, man."
"Shut up."
"You do! Look at you, you're blushing. Gavin Robins, defensive end, two-hundred-and-eighty-plus pounds of muscle, blushing over a pre-med student who barely reaches your shoulder."
"He reaches my chin," I correct. "And I'm not blushing."
"You absolutely are." Tyler tosses his pen at me. I catch it without looking. "It's cute. Disgusting, but cute."
I throw the pen back. Miss on purpose. "How are things with Ethan?"
"Deflecting. Nice." But he's smiling now, too. "Things are good. Really good. He's coming to the exhibition game with me next week."
"I've almost convinced Doc to come too."
"Look at us. Two guys off the market."
Catch. Toss. "Yeah. Look at us."
My phone buzzes on Tyler's bed. I ignore it.
Toss. Catch.
Buzzes again.
"You gonna get that?" Tyler asks.
"Probably just spam."
Third buzz. Tyler raises an eyebrow.
I sigh, setting down the football and reaching for my phone. The screen shows Dad, and my stomach drops straight through the floor.
"Shit."
"What?"
"It's my dad." I stare at the screen like it might bite me. Fourth buzz. "He never calls. Like, ever."
Tyler sits up straighter. "You gonna answer?"
No. Yes. Fuck…
I swipe to answer before I can talk myself out of it. "Hey, Dad."
"Gavin." His voice is cold. Not unusual. But there's something underneath it. Something sharp. "You got a minute?"
"Yeah, I'm just—"
"Good. Because I just got off the phone with Rick Brennan. You remember him? Went to PCU same time as me. His kids are there now."
My jaw tightens. "Okay."
"He was telling me about how things have changed at the frat. How they've got—" He laughs, but it's not funny. Nothing about it is funny. "—they've got fairies in there now. Openly. Like it's normal."
I don't say anything. Can't.
Tyler's watching me, concern all over his face. I look away.
"You hear me, Gavin? Faggots. In our fraternity. The one I pledged. The one your grandfather helped build."
"Dad—"
"Rick thought it was hilarious. 'Oh, times are changing, Bill.' Bullshit. It's disgusting, is what it is." His voice gets louder. "And you're living with them? Associating with them?"
My hand's gripping the phone so hard the case creaks.
"Are you listening to me?"
"Yeah." It comes out quiet. Too quiet. "I'm listening."
"Good. So here's what you're going to do. You're going to talk to whoever's in charge now and get rid of them. Push them out. Whatever it takes. I didn't raise my son to live with ass-fuckers."
The word hits like a punch to the gut. Tyler. He's talking about Tyler. About Ethan and James and Caleb and every other guy in that house who's just trying to live their lives.
About me. He just doesn't know it.
I look up at Tyler. My best friend. The guy who's been there through everything: bad games, worse grades, family bullshit. The guy who's happier than I've ever seen him because he finally let himself fall for someone.
The guy my father wants me to "get rid of."
Something in my chest hardens.
"No."
Silence on the other end.
"What did you say?"
"I said no." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Tyler's my best friend. Has been since freshman year. He's the VP of the frat, and he's one of the best guys I know."
"Tyler." Dad's voice is dangerously quiet. "Tyler's one of them?"
"He's gay, yeah. So's his boyfriend. So are a few other guys in the house. And they're my brothers, Dad. I'm not pushing anyone out."
"Gavin—"
"You're wrong about this." I'm standing now, pacing Tyler's small room. "You're wrong about them. Dating a guy isn't… It's not what you think. It's not some sin or disease or whatever you've convinced yourself. It's—"
Why am I explaining this to him?
"You know what? It's none of your damn business, actually."
Tyler's eyes go wide. I probably shouldn't have said that last part. Sounds too personal. Too specific.
But I can't stop now.
"What people do privately is just that… It’s private, Dad. They're good people. You don't know them."
The silence stretches so long I check to make sure the call's still connected.
When Dad speaks again, his voice is ice. Cold and sharp and nothing like how a Dad should sound.
"Let me make something very clear to you, son." The word 'son' sounds like a threat. "You associate with those people, you're spitting on everything this family stands for. Everything I've built. Your grandfather would be rolling in his grave."
"Grandpa never—"
"I am talking." His voice cracks like a whip. "You want to throw away your future for a bunch of cock-sucking degenerates? Fine. But don't come crying to me when it all falls apart. When they corrupt you. When you catch whatever the hell they've got."
"That's not how—"
"I don't want to hear it." A bitter laugh. "My own son. Defending fairies. Maybe I should've spent more time with you instead of letting your mother coddle you before she died."
Low blow. He knows it's a low blow. Uses her against me every goddamn time.
I can't breathe.
"Stay away from them, Gavin. Or stay away from this family. Your choice."
Click.
He hung up on me. Just... hung up.
I stare at my phone. The screen's gone dark. My reflection stares back, some pale, shaky version of me I don't recognize.
"Gav?" Tyler's voice, soft. Careful. "Hey. Talk to me."
"He..." I have to swallow twice before words come out. "He wants me to push you out. All of you. The gay guys. Says I'm betraying the family by living with—" I can't repeat the words. "—by being your friend."
"Jesus."
"I told him no." My laugh sounds wrong. Broken. "Told him you're my best friend and he's wrong about everything. And he just... he brought up my mom. Said she coddled me. Like that's why I'm not a raging bigot like him."
Tyler's on his feet now, hand on my shoulder. "Fuck him."
"Ty—"
"No, I mean it. Fuck him." His grip tightens. "You stood up to him. For me. For all of us. Do you know how huge that is?"
I'm shaking. When did I start shaking?
"He's my dad."
"He's an asshole who doesn't deserve you." Tyler pulls me into a hug. I'm bigger than him, but right now I feel about two inches tall. "I'm so fucking proud of you, man. What you said to him, that took guts."
"Doesn't feel like guts. Feels like I’m gonna throw up."
"That's what guts feel like." He pulls back, hands on my shoulders. "You okay?"
"No." Honest answer. "But I've got practice in an hour, so I'm gonna have to be."
Tyler winces. "You sure you should go? Coach would understand—"
"I need to hit something." I try to smile. It doesn't really work. "Might as well be a tackling dummy."
"Fair enough." He squeezes my shoulders once more before letting go. "Text me after? Let me know you're okay?"
"Yeah. I will."
I grab my bag from the corner of his room. My hands are still shaking, but less now. Tyler's watching me with that worried look he gets, the one that says he wants to fix things but knows he can't.
"Hey, Gav?"
I stop at the door.
"What you said to him. About dating a guy not being a big deal." Tyler's voice is careful. Deliberate. "That sounded like more than just defending your friends."
Shit.
"I mean... I am dating a guy now. Makes it personal."
"Yeah, but..." Tyler hesitates. "The way you said it. Like you were trying to convince yourself as much as him."
I don't have an answer for that. Because maybe he's right. Maybe part of me is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For someone to tell me I'm doing this wrong, that I don't count, that I'm not really—
"Hey." Tyler's voice softens. "You know it doesn't matter, right? Whether you've figured out all the labels or not. You like Seb. Seb likes you. That's enough."
My throat feels tight. "Yeah. I know."
"Do you?"
I flip him off and head to practice.
Practice is a disaster.
Not technically, I go through the motions, hit the drills, do what I'm supposed to do. But my head's not in it. Every time I close my eyes for a second, I hear my dad's voice. Faggots. Ass-fuckers. Degenerates.
I hit the tackling dummy so hard it almost comes off its hinges.
"Robins!"
Shit. Coach Williams is storming over, and I brace for the yelling. I deserve it. I've been sloppy all practice, too aggressive on some plays, too distracted on others.
"Yes, Coach?"
He stops in front of me. Studies my face for a long moment.
"Walk with me."
Double shit.
We head to the edge of the field, away from the other guys. I can feel their eyes on us. Jamal shoots me a questioning look. I shrug.
"You want to tell me what's going on?" Coach asks.
"Nothing, Coach. I'm fine."
"Son, I've been coaching for twenty years. I know what 'fine' looks like, and this ain't it." His voice is gruff but not angry. "You've been wound tighter than a spring all practice. Nearly took Martinez's head off on that last play."
"Sorry."
"I don't want sorry. I want to know what's wrong."
I stare at the grass. At my cleats. Anywhere but at him.
"Just... crappy phone call from home. Before practice. Got in my head."
Coach is quiet for a moment. When I finally look up, his expression is softer than I expected.
"Family stuff?"
"Yeah."
He nods slowly. "That's tough. Family knows exactly where to hit to make it hurt."
Understatement of the century.