Chapter 2
“You’d better drink some water,” Lane said to him as they walked into his apartment. It was almost two a.m., and Trevor was both exhausted and wired. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep even if he wanted to.
Instead of heading towards the fridge and the aforementioned water, Trevor drifted towards the little table he’d gotten and set up next to the couch.
He had half a puzzle done, and leaning over it, he scanned over a grouping of pieces, still trying to find the exact right one to put into the section he’d been working on before they left for Vault.
“I said water, not puzzle,” Lane said gruffly. “But Gatorade would be even better.”
A second later something caught his eye in its periphery. A bright blue bottle.
Trevor looked over, and Lane had another one in his hands, orange this time. His second favorite. But the blue was both their number one, and Lane had given it to him instead of keeping it for himself.
Always when Trevor thought this living-together thing was never going to work, that he’d be better off moving out on his own, Lane did something shockingly thoughtful, something that told Trevor he was actually paying attention after all.
“Thanks,” Trevor said, picking up the bottle and twisting the top off. He wasn’t drunk by any means, but Lane was probably right about getting some extra fluids.
Not that he was going to tell him that.
“You gonna be up for awhile?” Lane asked.
They did have practice tomorrow, but it didn’t start til noon—a happy New Year’s gift from the coaching staff and a congratulations for making it to the end of the season. The last regular season game was coming up on Sunday, and it seemed like a lot of the regular starters wouldn’t be playing.
Trevor shrugged. Still feeling that electric current under his skin and not wanting to look too closely at why. And if he went to bed, there’d be nothing but the dark ceiling to distract him. “I wanna finish this section.”
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Lane said.
“Alright,” Trevor said. He shed his jacket and slipped out of his shoes, barely noticing when Lane left.
The puzzle helped; it always helped. But not as much as it usually did. The section he was working on—the picture was of one of the European Christmas markets and challenging in that so many motifs repeated, plus all those freaking people—was difficult and frustrating.
It was even more frustrating that he couldn’t quite lose himself in it the way he wanted to.
You’re twenty-two, he told himself firmly, if you liked more than girls, you’d have figured that out by now.
But the words were not as convincing as they’d once been.
Hadn’t Aidan not realized until later in life, until his thirties, that he was into guys?
Trevor was not stupid enough to think he was somehow better, more evolved, more anything, than Aidan Flynn.
“You still out here?”
Trevor looked up and Lane was standing there, wearing only a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants, muscled chest and abs on full display.
He swallowed and looked away.
“Yeah,” Trevor said. “This section fucking sucks.”
It was funny, because before coming to Toronto, Trevor wouldn’t have said he’d noticed Lane in any particular way. But the longer this living-together thing went on, it was like he couldn’t stop noticing.
He didn’t want to, because it was so fucking awkward that he couldn’t stop himself. Lane was his stepbrother, and just because he was gay didn’t mean he wanted to be ogled all the time.
But if he doesn’t want to be, he should put some fucking clothes on.
“You want some help?” Lane said, taking a few steps closer, leaning over the table, right next to where Trevor was sitting. He could feel the damp heat of his skin.
Lane had never volunteered to help before. A month ago, Trevor would have scoffed and told him that puzzles were way, way above his pay grade, and he almost said it now, but he didn’t want to fight.
Didn’t want to keep the demon-twin shit going. Not now, anyway, when it was nice and cozy in the apartment, the only light coming from the lamp he’d turned on next to his table.
“Sure,” Trevor said softly. He pointed out the section he was working on, and explained what general shape the piece he was looking for had, and what it should have on it.
“Got it,” Lane said. He didn’t pull up a chair, just leaned over, and began sorting through the pieces earnestly and with enough skill that Trevor was beginning to wonder how much he’d been paying attention before, even when he’d claimed Trevor’s hobby was dorky and stupid.
It was quiet for a long time, each of them working, though Trevor wasn’t as absorbed as he wanted to be.
Maybe it was time to finally admit that he needed to tell someone about this. As people went, Lane wasn’t the worst choice.
He ignored the small voice in the back of his head reminding him it was actually a terrible idea to confess this particular thing to a person he was beginning to think he might be attracted to.
Of course it was less insane because Lane had not once showed even a hint that he might be attracted to Trevor; he’d barely tolerated his presence from day one.
“How did you know you were gay?” Trevor had tried to come up with a softer, more subtle introduction to the question, but finally decided maybe the more direct approach was better.
From the way Lane jerked in surprise, sending at least a dozen puzzle pieces cascading to the floor, maybe that hadn’t been the best tactic to take.
“Shit sorry,” Lane said, leaning down and picking them up, depositing them back onto the table.
When he finished, Trevor looked at him expectantly. “So?”
Lane opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. “How did I know I was gay?”
Trevor nodded intently. “Yes.”
“Uh. Um. Well. I just . . . I just did. I never felt the same way my friends all did, about girls. Even at eleven and twelve. I just . . . knew.”
That was not really the answer Trevor had hoped for. He didn’t just know. If he didn’t, did that mean he was undergoing this crisis for nothing?
“Oh.” Trevor wished he hadn’t asked.
“But,” Lane said, continuing like Trevor hadn’t said anything, “that doesn’t mean someone else would be the same.”
“What do you mean?” Trevor asked carefully. Not sure of how much he wanted to say. If he should say anything. Maybe he should tell Lane to forget he’d said it at all.
“I mean, just because that’s how it went for me, doesn’t mean that’s how it goes for everyone.” Lane breathed out unsteadily. “Are you thinking . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to for Trevor to understand his meaning.
“Um. Maybe? I don’t know.” Trevor hesitated.
“I’ve been thinking about it. I just . .
. it takes a lot for me to like someone.
And girls? I don’t feel the way everyone else seems to about them.
I thought I might just be a late bloomer, but after getting here?
And spending time with the guys, who aren’t straight?
It just made me wonder, if maybe I’d missed something about myself. ”
Lane looked shellshocked. He shouldn’t be so surprised, Trevor thought. It wasn’t that crazy. He was only twenty-two years old, for God’s sake. What was it that people were always telling him about finding himself? To not rush it? To take his time? Well, he freaking was.
“Are you . . .” Lane swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that Trevor didn’t think it normally did. “Are you attracted to men, then?”
Trevor hadn’t expected him to ask the question quite so directly, but there it was, blunt and impossible to shy away from, even if Trevor wanted to.
And he didn’t not want to.
“Uh. Yeah. Think so.”
I’ve been trying not to stare at your chest for the last ten minutes, so pretty sure, yeah.
But there was no way Trevor could say that without making it weird. Making it weirder.
“Huh. Huh.” Lane stared at him.
Trevor had expected that Lane would have something to say about this. He wasn’t normally the most expressive or communicative guy, but he’d liked to think they’d formed some kind of relationship. Something, anyway, that might mean he’d get more than a muttered huh.
“What do you think I should do?”
Lane swallowed hard again. Trevor didn’t know why he was tracing the way his throat worked with his eyes. Okay, no, that was a lie. He knew why. What he didn’t know was why he couldn’t stop.
“What do you mean?”
Trevor was annoyed now. “What do you think I should do about thinking I might not be straight,” he retorted.
Lane flushed. “Oh. Well. Um.”
“Come on, Lane, you’ve done this.”
He took a deep breath and met Trevor’s eyes.
Trevor felt the impact of it with an unexpected jolt.
“I’d suggest you do something about it,” he said.
“Pick up a guy. Download Grindr. Experiment. Figure out if it’s not just attraction, if you want to—” Lane broke off.
It was silly because normally, he wasn’t so prudish.
Trevor had heard Lane make raunchy jokes and comments with Nate and Levi and a dozen other teammates, straight or otherwise.
It was so annoying that Trevor was apparently the exception to this.
“Okay,” Trevor said. Clearly that was the best he was going to get out of Lane, when it came to this subject.
Was it his age? Was it that his dad was married to Lane’s mom? It shouldn’t have mattered, but there was no question Lane was behaving oddly, even for him.
Much more close-lipped than usual, Trevor thought morosely. Maybe he could talk to Cam or Levi. They’d probably echo the same advice Lane had given him, but maybe they’d pair it with a nice little pep talk about finding yourself.
“Oh,” Lane said, holding up a piece, “I think I found that one you were looking for.”
Trevor sighed and plucked it from his fingers. “Great. Thanks.”
Lane straightened up. “You gonna be up much longer?”