Prologue
Garrison
“Where the hell are you going, Dixon? You’re drunk off your ass,” shouts Oakley Easton, my best friend for as long as I can remember, but I just wave him off.
I have to piss. And yeah okay, maybe I had a little too much whiskey, but whatever. We’re celebrating. We won the game tonight, and the whole town is on a high.
I stumble through the trees and farther away from the big-ass bonfire burning on the back area of Oakley’s parent’s land. It’s where we hold most of our celebrations after the games.
It’s dark, but the moon lights my way until I’m finally far enough away from the crowd, and I unzip my fly, relieving myself as I lean against an old tree, feeling a little tired now. No way am I driving home tonight. Looks like it’s a campout at the Eastons’.
I zip back up and turn to head back to the party when movement catches my blurry eyes. Someone else is out here. For whatever reason, I walk toward the person instead of back to the party. But then, I quickly realize it isn’t one person, and instead, it’s two people.
The bodies are going at it up against a tree, and I laugh, my feet wobbling as I head that way to give the couple making out some shit, my voice loud and boisterous. “Now, that’s how you celebrate!”
The bodies jump apart as I walk closer, and I recognize the voice that responds, “Dixon?”
Oh, great. It’s Bates. This motherfucker has hated me since I can remember. We grew up together in this tiny little town of Kensley, Kansas. We all know each other. Our parents all know each other. Even our parent’s parents all know each other.
But Jameson Bates decided a long time ago that he and I are not friends. Despite being the same age, in the same grade, and playing every single sport together for years, the guy hates me.
As usual when I reach him, my eyes tired and bloodshot, I see the ever-present glare on his face is aimed right at me. “Aw, little Bates is getting lucky. How cute.”
“Get the fuck out of here, Dixon,” he growls, and I just smirk at him, like I do every time he turns salty on me. But then I turn slightly to the right and see the other person out here with us. Travis Wyatt is who Bates is out here with.
“Travis,” I say, blinking, then blinking again as I take in the guy from our class. Another teammate. Travis is fucking smart. He doesn’t love football like Bates and I do, but he plays football because it’s just what we do here.
I’ve never understood him. He’s smaller than most of us on the team. Fast but disinterested. He’s the one who always raises his hand in class when a teacher asks a question, and he always knows the answer.
My eyes return to Dixon, who doesn’t look freaked-out. He looks downright pissed. “Trav, go back to the party.” He doesn’t look away from me when he makes his command to Travis.
I don’t look at Travis when he responds, “I . . . um . . . Jameson.”
“Go,” Jameson barks, his eyes pulling away from me and softening as he turns to look at Travis. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” My gut twists with the sweetness in Bates’s voice. I’ve never heard him sound that kind since I’ve known him.
“I . . .” Travis stutters again, but I don’t look at him.
I watch as Bates reaches out for his hand and gives it a squeeze, his eyes on Travis fucking Wyatt, after being caught mauling him out here among the trees and the moon with nothing and no one else around.
I wonder how often they’ve done this. Is it at every party? Every day? Are they together? Holy. Shit. They could be. Shit like this doesn’t happen in Kensley though. Two guys being together is practically unheard of around here.
Travis wanders off, and Bates turns to me, squaring his broad shoulders and piercing my eyes with his own. “Don’t. Say. A. Fucking. Word.”
I straighten my back and narrow my eyes in his direction, sick of his bullshit. It’s our junior year of high school, and I’ve been putting up with it for far too long now. “I’ll say whatever the fuck I want to.”
His hand grabs the collar of my jacket. Before I know it, my back hits a tree as I stumble into it, and then Bates is in my face. “No, you won’t. You’ll keep your goddamn mouth shut. Do you hear me?”
I shove him off me. Even though I’m drunk off my ass and experiencing some balance issues, I have a good thirty pounds of muscle on him, and he releases me, stumbling back. “I hear you. I don’t understand what the fuck your problem is, but I hear you.”
“Don’t say anything.” He glares at me. “Whatever you think you saw, you didn’t.”
Oh. I definitely did. I move toward him again. “If you and Trav have a little secret love thing going on, you don’t need to worry about me. I think it’s adorable.” I’m an asshole, I know.
“There’s no secret and no love. Shut the fuck up, Dixon.”
“Or what?” I get in his face, annoyed at the way he talks to me. Like I’m nothing more than a dumb meathead. He’s always seen me that way. Too dumb to matter. It’s probably why he’s into Travis.
He shoves my shoulder with his hand, not moving my solid mass. “You won’t. I’ll ruin you. I don’t know how, but I will. Travis doesn’t deserve—” He stops himself midsentence.
“Doesn’t deserve what? To be outed?” I say it, feeling sick, just thinking about it.
My stomach twists because I’d never do that.
We may live in an ignorant small town, but sexuality isn’t anyone else’s business.
I’d never do that to anyone. Still, I’m pissed off, and Bates just rubs me the wrong way.
“Nothing happened. You’re drunk off your ass, as usual, and you’re seeing things.”
I heard the smacking of lips. I saw their hands roaming in the shadows. I know what I saw. “Fine. Whatever you say.” I’m being a cocky motherfucker and baiting him. But fuck him. I’m not going to give him peace of mind when he can’t bother to be decent to me on any day.
“I mean it, Garrison.” He uses my first name. That never happens. He moves into my space again, and for a stupid second, I make the mistake of breathing him in. He smells like the bonfire and the woods—dirt and some sort of spice.
He smells fucking good.
And I step back only for him to follow. “You got it, Jameson.” I use his first name and watch the vein in his neck throb as his jaw clenches tight.
I know I should tell him that I’d never tell a soul about this. That I know we all have our own secrets, and it’s none of my business that he’s out here making out with Travis Wyatt. I should tell him he’s safe with me.
But none of that comes out.
Instead, like the cocky shithead I am, I wink at him. “You better go find your boyfriend and let him know it’s all fine.” I turn toward the party and walk off with a wave. “Give him a kiss for me.”
“Motherfucker,” I hear him grumble as I stumble away.
Yeah, I probably should have handled that better.
Jameson
It’s been a couple of weeks since one of the worst nights of my life. Why the hell I thought it would be a good idea to kiss Travis at that party, I’ll never know. I’ve been curious about my attraction to guys for a while, and when I saw him looking at me that night, I was intrigued.
We’ve been friends for so long, and I’ve noticed him looking at me here and there, so I thought it would be safe. But of fucking course, Garrison fucking Dixon just happened to be out there at the exact moment I took my shot.
Now, Trav won’t even look at me. It’s not like I was in love with him or anything, but we were good friends. He was probably the best friend I’ve ever had, which isn’t saying much. I don’t let people get too close to me. But still, we were as close as I’d allow. And now, nothing.
And it’s all his fault. I glare at Dixon as he blocks for Camden Prescott, our quarterback. Dixon’s big-ass body barrels into the other players out on the practice field, and I feel nothing but rage as we go through drills with Coach.
My heart isn’t in it, despite our last game of the year coming up. I’m irritated that Travis won’t look me in the eye, even though Coach is talking to both of us. He only focuses on Coach, not me. Not at all. He blames me for Garrison knowing about what happened.
By the time we’re heading to the locker room, I’m tense and angry. Annoyed that Dixon is going on about his life, carefree, when Trav and I have this weight sitting on our chests. Wondering if today will be the day he opens his big mouth.
And for whatever reason, it’s Dixon and me who are last in line to head into the locker room.
The guy ahead of us pushes through the doors, leaving the two of us in the hallway.
Dixon tosses a cocky wink my way, keeping his voice low with a hint of teasing.
“You and your boyfriend better be ready to catch that fucking ball on game day. You’ve both had your heads up your asses all during practice. ”
He pushes through the doors, and I fucking lose it, throwing my body forward and landing against him as we fall to the cement floor of the locker room.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he growls. My body is on his as I throw the first punch and connect with his nose, causing blood to pour down his face. “Fuck!”
He hits me back, shoving me so I’m on my back, and then he hits me again. But I don’t give a fuck. I take the pain and keep it inside me when I hit him in the jaw and shove at him, both of us rolling around on the floor as our teammates shout at us.
I feel Coach on me as Kingston Wells grabs Dixon, both of us clawing to get at each other, both of us rabid and angry and spitting blood. Fury rages through my body because it’s not fucking fair.
It’s not fair I was born in this bullshit small town where homophobic slurs are thrown away like insults.
It’s not fucking fair that Garrison Dixon was out there that night, and now my closest friend won’t fucking talk to me.
All of it is bullshit.
And I don’t care if I have to sit out my last game this year. I don’t give a fuck that he’s as bloody as I am because at least, right now, he looks exactly how I feel.
Broken. Angry. And so goddamn confused.