Chapter 25 #2
"Look." Coach crosses his arms. "I'm not going to pry. Whatever's going on at home is your business. But if you need to talk about anything, my door's open. Understood?"
I blink. That's... not what I expected.
"Understood, Coach."
"Good." He claps me on the shoulder. "Now go shower. You're done for today. Clear your head before the exhibition next week."
"But—"
"That's an order, Robins."
I don't argue. Just nod and head for the locker room, Coach's words rattling around in my head. 'My door's open.' Didn't expect that from him. Kind of makes me want to cry, which is stupid, so I shove it down and push through the doors.
The guys are loud and rowdy when I get in.
"Robins! Where'd you disappear to?"
"Coach wanted to chat." I keep it vague, head for my locker.
"Oooh, someone's in trouble," Devin sings from across the room. "What'd you do, big man?"
"Nothing. Just checking in."
"Boring." Devin throws a towel at me. I catch it without looking. "Hey, you still seeing that little dark-haired dude? The intense one?"
"Doc?" A smile breaks through despite everything. "Yeah. We've got dinner tonight."
"Damn, back-to-back dates." Jamal whistles. "Robins is whipped."
"Fully whipped," Wyatt agrees. "Saw him at the party last night. Had the guy in his lap all night like a lovesick puppy."
"Fuck off." But I'm grinning now. "He's just… we're taking things slow."
"Slow? Brother, you look at him like he was holding The Lombardi. That ain't slow, that's full on falling."
The guys erupt in kissy noises and wolf whistles. I flip them all off, but the weight in my chest eases up a bit. This is what I needed. Dumb jokes. Normal shit.
My dad's voice fades a little further into the background.
"You bringing him to the exhibition?" Omar asks.
"Maybe. Probably. He said he might come."
"Good. We need to properly vet this guy." Jamal grins. "Make sure he's good enough for our gentle giant."
"I hate all of you."
"Love you too, man."
I shower fast, throw on jeans and a hoodie, and grab my bag. The guys yell goodbyes and more jokes about being whipped as I head out.
Doc's waiting outside the athletic complex, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He's wearing that Doctor Who t-shirt I like, the one that's slightly too big and slips off one shoulder. His hair's messy, like he's been running his hands through it.
God, he's gorgeous.
"Hey, Doc."
He looks up, and his whole face changes when he smiles at me. "Hey, yourself. How was practice?"
"Eh." I shrug, reaching for his hand. He lets me take it. "Kind of rough. Tell you about it over pizza?"
"That bad?"
"Bad phone call before. Got in my head." I squeeze his hand. "But I'm better now."
Doc studies me for a moment, those dark eyes seeing way more than I want them to. But he doesn't push. Just squeezes back.
"Pizza it is. I'm starving."
"Same. I could eat like three whole pies."
"That's disgusting."
"That's athletics, baby."
He groans at the pet name, but he's smiling. I count that as a win.
We walk to my truck, and I hold his hand the whole drive into town because, why the hell not. The pizza place is small, kind of a hole in the wall, but they've got the best pepperoni around and a booth in the back that's practically made for us.
Doc slides in across from me, and I immediately regret not sitting on the same side. Want to be closer.
"So." Doc folds his arms on the table. "Bad phone call. Spill."
"Can we order first? I think better with food coming."
He rolls his eyes but flags down the server. We order large pepperoni for me, small veggie for him because he's "trying to maintain some semblance of a balanced diet," and then he's staring at me expectantly.
"It was my dad."
Doc's eyebrows go up. I've mentioned my family in vague terms, enough for him to know we're not close, not enough for him to know why.
"He heard some stuff. About the frat." I peel the label on my water bottle. "About how there are openly gay members now."
"Ah."
"Yeah. He, uh..." The words stick in my throat. "He wasn't happy. Wanted me to do something about it. Push the gay guys out."
Doc's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes sharpens. "And what did you say?"
"I told him no." I meet his gaze. "Told him Tyler's my best friend and the guys in the house are my brothers, and he's wrong about everything."
"Gavin..."
"He didn't take it well. Said some... really shitty things. Brought up my mom. Basically told me to choose between them and him." I laugh bitterly. "Pretty easy choice, honestly."
Doc reaches across the table. His hand covers mine, small and warm and steady.
"That took courage. Standing up to him like that."
"That's what Tyler said but mostly i just felt like puking."
"That's what courage feels like." He squeezes my hand. Same thing Tyler said. "I'm proud of you."
"You don't even know him."
"I know enough. I know the kind of person who would demand their son cut off friends for being gay. And I know the kind of person who would say no." His thumb traces circles on my knuckles. "You're a good person, Gavin. Better than he deserves."
Fuck. My eyes are stinging. I blink hard, clear my throat.
"Doc..."
"Shut up. Take the compliment."
I huff a laugh. "Yes, sir."
Our pizzas arrive, breaking the moment. Probably for the best, I was about two seconds from crying in a pizza parlor, and that's not the vibe I'm going for tonight.
We eat. Talk about easy things: his study schedule, the exhibition game next week, and Ethan and Tyler's increasingly disgusting cuteness. Doc makes me laugh, describing JP's hangover cure lecture at the party, complete with hand gestures and a perfect imitation of JP's serious voice.
By the time we're finishing up, the weight of my dad's call has faded to a dull ache. Still there, but manageable. Doc does that, makes things manageable.
"Ready to go?" He's already reaching for his wallet.
"I'm paying."
"You paid last time."
"I'm bigger. I eat more. Basic economics."
"That's not how economics works."
"Too bad. My card's already out."
He glares at me, but it's kind of a fond glare. I pay, leave a good tip, and we head for the door.
The night air's cool, and Doc shivers a little. Without thinking, I shrug off my hoodie and drop it over his shoulders.
"Gavin, I'm fine—"
"You're cold. Wear it."
He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. Pulls the hoodie tighter around himself. It absolutely swamps him, sleeves hanging past his hands, and he looks so fucking cute I want to die.
"Don't say it," he warns.
"Say what?"
"Whatever sappy thing you're thinking."
"I wasn't thinking anything sappy."
"Liar."
Guilty.
We're walking toward his car when I see someone familiar leaning against my truck in the parking lot. My stomach drops.
Clint.
What the hell is Clint doing here?
"Gav?" Doc notices me tensing. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just—" But Clint's already spotted us. Already pushing off the truck and heading our way with that swagger he picked up from Troy.
"Well, well. Baby cousin."
"Clint." I keep my voice neutral. "Didn't know you were in town."
"Had some business. Thought I'd grab dinner." His eyes slide to Doc. Narrow. "Who's this?"
"This is Sebastian. Seb, this is Clint."
Doc kind of jerks beside me when I call him by name, not nickname.
But he's a polite guy, so he extends his hand. "Nice to meet you."
Clint looks at the hand. Doesn't take it. Just looks Doc up and down with barely concealed disgust.
"Right." He turns back to me. "Heard you talked to Uncle Bill today."
Shit. Word travels fast.
"Yeah. We talked."
"Talked." Clint snorts. "That's what you call it? Because from what Troy told me, you pretty much told him to go fuck himself."
"That's not—"
"Whatever, man." He's already backing away, hands up. "Your funeral. Just don't come crying when it all blows up in your face."
He shoots one more look at Doc, dismissive, cold, and then he's gone. Climbing into his truck and peeling out of the lot like the asshole he is.
Silence.
"Gavin?" Doc's voice is small. Uncertain. "Who was that?"
"My cousin. Clint." I run a hand through my hair. "He's... we're not close. He's more my brother's friend than mine."
"He didn't seem happy to see you."
"He's never happy about anything." I try to smile. It feels wrong. "Don't worry about it, okay? He's just... he's like my dad. Got the same shitty opinions."
Doc doesn't say anything. Just stands there in my oversized hoodie, looking up at me with those dark eyes that see too much.
"Hey." I take his hands. "It's fine. Really. Clint's a dick, but he doesn't matter. None of them matter."
"You sure?"
No. I'm not sure. Clint showing up here, knowing about my call with Dad already, that's not good. That means they're talking. Comparing notes. Building a case against me.
But Doc doesn't need to worry about that. Not tonight.
"I'm sure." I lean down, press my forehead to his. "The only thing that matters right now is you."
"That's cheesy."
"You love it."
He sighs. But he's leaning into me, hands gripping mine, and when I kiss him, he kisses me back, soft and sweet.
We'll be okay. Whatever shit my family throws at me, we'll be okay.