SHORT STORIES 5 #3
I swallowed hard. "I know. Thanks."
But I wasn't ready to say the words out loud yet. Not to him, not to myself. Parker Cole had walked into my life like a fastball I never saw coming, and now my carefully ordered world was spinning out of control. All I could do was hold on and pray that the path ahead, whatever it was, wouldn't break me.
Chapter 3
Fall deepened across the Rice campus, bringing shorter days and a crispness to the air that made everything feel sharper. My classes intensified, with professors piling on projects and exams that tested not just knowledge but endurance. I thrived in the challenge, finding solace in the precision of theorems and proofs. Yet even as I solved complex integrals late into the night, my thoughts kept circling back to Parker. Our meetings had become the highlight of my week, a bright spot amid the grind.
One Tuesday, after a long morning lecture on abstract algebra, I received a text from him. "Practice ran late. Still up for our study session? I can bring coffee."
I replied quickly. "Absolutely. Library, usual spot?"
When he arrived, he looked windswept and energized despite the extra practice. His hair was tousled, and there was a faint red mark on his cheek from where a ball had grazed him during drills. We settled into our corner, textbooks open between us. Today it was his turn to help me with a statistics concept I was struggling with for a minor elective.
"See? It's like pitching," he explained patiently, sketching a diagram on a napkin. "You calculate the probabilities, adjust your grip, and throw. Confidence is key."
His analogy worked better than any textbook explanation. I laughed, genuinely, and caught him watching me with a soft expression.
"What?" I asked, self-conscious.
"Nothing. Just like seeing you smile. You get this intense look when you're thinking hard, but when it clicks, it's like the sun coming out."
The compliment landed warmly, and I ducked my head to hide my flush. We worked for another hour before calling it quits. As we packed up, Parker suggested a walk around campus to stretch our legs.
The paths were lined with fallen leaves, crunching under our shoes. We talked about lighter things—favorite childhood memories, embarrassing stories from high school. Parker shared how he once struck out the bases loaded in a championship game and froze in front of the crowd. I told him about the time my sisters caught me dancing alone in my room to a hymn remix and teased me for weeks.
"You're full of surprises, Wyatt Donovan," he said, nudging me playfully. "Bet there's more under that serious math guy exterior."
I wanted to tell him then, about the nights I lay awake questioning everything I had been taught. About how being near him made those questions louder. But fear held me back. Instead, I smiled and said, "Maybe. One day."
Isaiah noticed the shift in me more clearly as the days passed. During a late-night snack run, he brought it up directly but kindly.
"You and Parker seem close. He's good people. If there's something on your mind about... life stuff, you know you can trust me, right? My cousin back home is gay. Family took time, but they're figuring it out."
My heart stuttered. I stared at the vending machine, pretending to choose a snack. "I'm fine. Just busy."
He let it drop, but the seed was planted. Someone else saw it. Maybe it was okay to admit it, at least to myself.
Parker had a home series that weekend, and I made it a point to attend every game with Isaiah. The team was on a roll, and Parker's pitching was a big reason why. From the stands, I watched him dominate, his form powerful and precise. After one particularly strong outing, the crowd chanted his name. He looked up toward us, pointing subtly in my direction with a grin.
Post-game, the three of us plus a couple of Parker's teammates grabbed food at a popular campus spot. The athletes were loud and energetic, slapping backs and recounting plays. I felt a bit out of place but stayed for Parker's sake. One of the guys, a catcher named Marcus, teased Parker about not having a girlfriend yet.
"Come on, Cole. All these girls at the games checking you out. What's the holdup?"
Parker shrugged, his smile easy but his eyes flicking briefly to me. "Focused on baseball and classes right now. No time for distractions."
The words hung in the air for me. Distractions. Was that what this was?
Later, as we walked back, Parker separated from the group to talk with me alone. The night was cool, stars visible above the campus lights.
"Those guys mean well," he said, "but they don't get it. Not everyone wants the same things."
"Yeah," I replied softly. "Some of us are still figuring out what we want."
He stopped under a lamppost, turning to face me. "Wyatt, I... I really value our friendship. More than I expected when I first got here. You make this place feel less overwhelming."
My pulse quickened. "Same here, Parker. You're a good friend."
The word "friend" felt both true and insufficient. We stood there for a moment, the space between us charged. Then he pulled me into another hug, this one lingering a second longer than before. His arms were strong around my back, and I allowed myself to relax into it briefly before stepping away.
"Goodnight," he said, his voice a little rough.
"Goodnight."
In the following days, our texts became more frequent. Not just about school or baseball, but random thoughts throughout the day. A funny meme, a question about a Bible verse that puzzled him, a shared frustration with cafeteria food. Each notification brought a rush I couldn't deny anymore.
Midterm season peaked, and stress levels rose for everyone. One evening, Parker showed up at my dorm unannounced, looking drained. Isaiah was at a study group, leaving us the room to ourselves.
"Bad day?" I asked, letting him in.
"Coach chewed me out over mechanics, and I bombed a quiz in history." He dropped onto my bed, running a hand through his hair. "Feel like I'm letting everyone down."
I sat beside him, careful with the distance. "You're not. One bad day doesn't define you. Remember what you told me about confidence? Same applies off the field."
He looked at me, eyes searching. "How do you stay so steady, Wyatt? Like you've got it all mapped out."
I laughed bitterly. "I don't. Not even close. I pray a lot. Try to listen for answers."
Parker reached out and squeezed my shoulder. His hand was warm, calloused from gripping baseballs. "You're stronger than you think."
The touch sent sparks through me. I didn't pull away. We talked for over an hour, voices low in the quiet room. He opened up about the pressure from his parents to succeed and settle down traditionally. I shared fragments of my own upbringing, the expectations of purity and righteousness. It felt safe, this sharing. Intimate in a way I had never experienced.
When he finally stood to leave, he paused at the door. "Thanks for listening. I don't know what I'd do without you here."
Before I could respond, he stepped forward and hugged me again. This time, his hand rested on the small of my back. My arms went around him instinctively. We held on longer, neither wanting to break it. His breath was warm against my neck. When we separated, our faces were close, eyes locked. For a heartbeat, I thought something might happen. Then he cleared his throat and smiled.
"See you soon, Wyatt."
The door closed behind him, and I sank onto the bed, heart pounding. My mind raced with forbidden thoughts, desires I had fought for years. I knelt by my bed and prayed, asking for forgiveness, for strength, for clarity. But the peace I sought was elusive. Instead, a quiet voice in my heart whispered that maybe this feeling wasn't the enemy I had always believed it to be.
Isaiah returned later and found me still awake, reading my Bible. He didn't comment, just offered a supportive nod before turning in.
The next morning brought a new resolve mixed with fear. I couldn't keep running from this. Parker was becoming too important. As I walked to class, my phone buzzed with a good morning text from him, complete with a silly baseball emoji. I smiled despite myself and replied.
Whatever was building between us, it was gaining momentum, like a curveball heading straight for home plate. I could only hope that when it arrived, I would be ready to catch it without dropping everything I had ever known.
Chapter 4
Thanksgiving break approached like a finish line after a long race. Campus buzzed with students making travel plans, and the air carried the scent of autumn leaves mixed with anticipation. My parents called every few days, reminding me to come home for the holiday and to stay strong in my faith amid "worldly influences." I assured them I was doing fine, but the words felt heavier each time. Parker mentioned his family driving in for a visit, excited to see him pitch in a pre-break game.
Our study sessions continued, now laced with an undercurrent I could no longer ignore. One crisp afternoon, we met outdoors on a bench near the math building. Parker brought sandwiches from a local deli, insisting it was his turn to feed me after all my help.
"You're spoiling me," I joked, unwrapping the food.
"Good," he replied, his hazel eyes warm. "You deserve it."
We ate in comfortable silence for a while, watching students pass by. Then Parker turned the conversation deeper.
"Been thinking a lot about what we talked about last time. About expectations. My parents keep asking if I've met any nice girls here. I tell them I'm focused on baseball, but it's more than that."
I swallowed a bite, my appetite suddenly fading. "What do you mean?"
He looked out across the quad, choosing his words carefully. "I don't feel that pull toward girls the way other guys do. Never really have. It's like... part of me is missing that script everyone else follows."
My heart hammered. This was close—too close—to my own truth. "Parker..."