9. Jonah
CHAPTER NINE
jonah
Okay, so that did not go as planned . . . not at all. I thought maybe if I told him about me—why my father kicked me out of the house—that he’d understand I can relate to him.
That he’s not the only one . . . and I know I’m assuming some big things here, but I can feel it. I’m not wrong. I can see he’s at the very least attracted to me. Put that together with the way his teammates all joke about him. Well yeah, it’s obvious.
I just want him to know it’s okay. That he’s not alone.
But first thing this morning, I went over to his locker to wish him a happy Monday, and he just completely ignored me. Not even a look in my direction. Just slammed his locker and left. Of course, Adler and Shields were right there to witness it all, but they actually stayed quiet about it.
That is, until the same thing happened at lunch.
I sat down next to him, all cheery and asking if he got extra tater tots because of his winning smile, and he just ignored me.
Got up and emptied his tray into the trashcan before leaving the cafeteria.
Adler and Shields were all over that, calling it a lovers’ quarrel.
Fucking idiots.
I couldn’t have cared less. Except now, at practice, Calvin has taken quite a ribbing from those idiots, and he’s got to be hangry as hell. I guess that’s why, when we’re running drills, he moves out of the way, not blocking for me, and I go down hard, still clutching the ball.
Fuck, that hurt. I had my helmet on, but minimal pads. I’m going to feel that tomorrow. I hear a whistle, but I’m still down on the ground when Calvin’s big body drops down on his knees next to me. “Shit! I’m sorry. I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“It’s totally okay,” I say, but I think I got the wind knocked out of me because I wheeze that sentence out instead of sounding confident and cool like I’d intended.
He yanks his helmet off, and I can’t stop staring at the naked concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” Micah kneels down on my other side, and Calvin looks at him. “I’m really sorry, Coach. I messed up. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
I believe him. And when I turn my head—very slowly—I can tell Micah does too. “I know, Duke.” Micah’s concerned eyes roam over me. “You okay?”
I laugh at that, and I sound a little better now when I start to sit up. “I’m fine. I wasn’t paying enough attention. I should have dodged it.”
“I should have blocked for you,” Calvin says, guilt written all over his face.
“I should have blocked for you, baby,” Dumbass Shields says, bringing his clasped hands up to his chest to feign swooning in a mocking tone that makes me want to jump up and smack the shit out of him—but you know, maybe later because I did just get knocked the fuck down by one of the defensive players.
I’m not even sure which one, but by the way I feel, I’d say they’re fucking huge.
“Please forgive me! I’ll do anything! And I mean anything!
” Adler joins in with a shrill, over-the-top voice.
I’m starting to feel much better, and I start to stand up so I can look them both in the eyes when I tell them to fuck off, but Micah’s hand goes over my chest, keeping me sitting on the grass.
“Laps. Now,” he says in Shield’s and Adler’s direction. “Don’t stop until I blow the whistle. Go.”
They both huff and puff, but neither says anything else as they jog toward the outside of the field to do what Micah ordered them to, laughing like proud hyenas the whole way.
“I’m sorry,” Calvin says again, so quiet I barely hear him.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I say to him, hoping he really hears me, but the guilt-stricken look on his face nearly steals my breath again.
“Did you hit your head?”
“No,” I say immediately and firmly. It’s the truth, but I know if there was any hesitation on my part, my brother would be dragging me to the hospital.
I don’t have a concussion, and I’m not in the mood for concussion protocol.
Although yes, I know it’s important, and if I did hit my head, I’d allow him to baby me. But I didn’t. “Body took the hit.”
Micah stands up and reaches for my hand, pulling me up gently.
“All right, practice is over for the day. Go shower.” He’s talking to the whole team now but then gets a little louder in the direction of the guys running laps.
“Everyone but Shields and Adler.” He points to the two dipshits still running laps and looking pretty tired. They groan but keep going.
Guess their spots on the team are important to them because I know my brother, and he’s pissed. Even more than he’s letting on, and they know it.
I make my way into the locker room with Calvin stalking in behind me. “I really am sorry,” he says again, peeling off his pads and shirt, leaving him sweaty and with a naked chest I shouldn’t look at, but I mean, it’s right there.
“I’m okay,” I say with a laugh, trying to portray just how unbothered I am by it. It hurt, but I’ve been playing football for years. I can handle a little pain.
“Maybe we could hang out . . .” he says. And yeah, I know it’s because he feels guilty, but I’m not above using that guilt a little.
“Yeah?” I ask, stripping out of my sweaty shirt and enjoying the way his eyes roam over my naked torso. “Tonight?”
His eyes snap up to my face, and he looks like he’s going to say no, but his lips purse, and then he gives the quickest nod known to man before stripping out of his shorts and underwear, fleeing to the shower and giving me a perfect view of that magnificent ass. “Okay.”
Holy shit. Well, okay then.
I strip off quickly and take the world’s fastest shower. One, I can’t wait to hang out with him. Two, I cannot be naked and think about him being naked really, really close to me around all our teammates.
Not the time for that.
Uh—not that there ever will be the time for that.
But a guy can hope, right?
We’re both dressed and walking out of the locker room when a very tired Adler and Shields stumble in through the door, sweaty and disgusting and huffing and puffing.
They sneer at us, but I think they’re just too tired to say a damn thing. Micah knows what he’s doing. I plaster an obnoxious grin on my face as we pass them and then get a little hop in my step on the way out to my truck—which again is parked right next to Calvin’s.
“So, my place or yours?”
“Uh—” I watch as he nervously pushes a hand through his wet hair, and God, I want to do that for him. I want to feel his short locks with my hands, let my fingers tickle his scalp before dancing over the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “Is that okay?”
Oh shit. He was talking?
“What?” I ask dumbly, and yeah, he’s looking at me with a little concern that I might be insane or maybe really dumb. Whoops.
“I said maybe we could go back to your place. I owe your sister-in-law an apology.”
Oh my God, he really is adorable. “You don’t have to apologize to Jenna. She was just worried about you.”
He looks bashful, his cheeks all flushed. “I shouldn’t have left like I did.” Okay, so the guilt is really hitting him.
“Let’s go,” I say, choosing not to deal with this in the parking lot. We both drive our own trucks to my house, but this time, he doesn’t seem as hesitant to go inside the house, though the hesitation is still there.
We walk in and are instantly greeted by my two nieces, hyper and happy as always. “Uncle Jonah!” Ruby looks over at Calvin. “You’re back.”
“Yeah,” He offers her the slightest smile, but I can tell he’s really trying. “Sorry I left so fast last time.”
“Hi.” Jenna walks in, all put together and happy with bright red lipstick that really suits her. Her pretty smile in place. “Calvin, it’s good to see you again.” And I know she means it.
“Uh yeah, sorry I left like I did last time. I should have at least said goodbye.”
Uh-oh. Jenna looks like she might melt, her face all giddy. “Oh, honey, don’t you worry about it. I’m glad you’re back.”
Calvin looks like he wants to be anywhere else, and I know he’s searching for something to say, so I try to swoop in and help.
“We’re going to go study.” I say, not touching Calvin this time, but directing him to my room.
He follows quickly to get out of the conversation.
I’m glad she doesn’t call us both out on not even having our backpacks with us this time.
Oops?
But unlucky for him, I want to talk too. I sit on my bed and pat the spot next to me—a respectable distance, might I add—but he ignores that and takes a seat in my desk chair, looking at me warily.
I don’t want to scare him off again, but I have this strong urge to talk to him. To help him not be so afraid. And I get it, believe me, do I get it. Growing up with a pastor for a father who loved to preach about the sins of homosexuality . . . I definitely get it.
The town I grew up in may have been fairly liberal in some ideologies, but not my house. Not with my parents’ friends. Not in the church, and hell, some of my siblings are even shitheads who believe the horrid words my father spewed.
“We forgot our bags,” he says, his eyes wide like he just now realized.
“Yeah, I don’t have any homework or any tests coming up. Do you?”
He shakes his head slightly. “No.”
“I just wanted to hang out. You looked pretty distraught out there on the field,” I say, not trying to tease him or make light of it. But I’m not sure anyone has ever been that concerned for me. Not even Micah.
“I didn’t mean to not block for you. I was, um .
. .” I wait, but he stops. We sit there, kind of in a standstill for a moment, but I’m quiet, and I continue to wait because I want to hear why—even if I’m not mad at him for it.
I need to know what he was going to say.
“I guess I was too in my head out there. Not paying attention.”
“Thinking about Friday?” I ask, and I know it’s bold, but again, I need to know.
Being out there is a little scary, even for me.
I’m someone who knew he was gay for a really long time and am proud of it, despite being kicked out of my home.
Despite my father and mother doing what they could to talk me out of it. Spoiler alert—that’s not a thing.
He looks nervous, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he shifts around in his seat, fidgeting. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You wanna talk about why you ran out of here?” I know why he did it, and he knows I know why, but if we’re going to be friends—if I’m going to try to help him out of this obvious hell he’s been locked in—then we have to talk about it.
I don’t need him to come out to me or tell me any of his truths before he’s ready, but he has to let me be me. I won’t hide for anyone. Not ever again.
“Not really,” he says in a clipped tone that’s just this side of angry. Well, too bad. I want to help him. I want to be his friend, and there’s no denying I’m attracted to the guy, but this is nonnegotiable.
“If we’re going to be friends, there’s something you should know about me.”
“I don’t need to know . . .”—he stops, snapping his mouth shut and then looking at me with such a pained expression, I almost back off entirely, which is so not like me—“that.”
He can’t even say it.
Poor guy.
My heart aches for him, but I just sit up a little taller and look him in the eyes. “I’m gay, Calvin. It’s not that. It’s not something I’m ashamed of, or something anyone should be ashamed of.”
He stands up abruptly, and I think he’s going to leave again—I’m almost certain of it, but his feet don’t move toward the door. “Why did you need me to know that? Why?”
I stay seated and look up at him, his large body rigid and stiff, anger and fear written all over his face. “Because it’s part of me.”
He shakes his head, and I’m starting to worry a little because it’s not the cute little flustered thing I’m really starting to love that he’s doing right now.
No. He looks downright distraught. Full of stress and panic.
“But why tell me that?” He places a hand over his heart when he says the word me.
“Because we’re friends, and it’s part of me.”
“We aren’t friends though.” He starts pacing my room now.
“We aren’t. We hung out for two seconds on Friday.
I let you get smashed into the ground today, and now we’re in your room, and you’re telling me .
. .”—he stops pacing and turns to look at me, his hand sweeping in the air in my direction—“that you’re . . .”—he motions again—“you’re . . .”
“Gay,” I say, supplying the word he can’t seem to say. Someone really did a number on him, that’s for sure.
He huffs and drops his arms to his sides. “But you don’t need to tell me that. Can’t we just like play a game or watch a movie or something? We don’t have to sit here and spill our guts out, do we?”
Okay . . . so my rash way of doing things isn’t going to work with him, I’m starting to see. I mean, I really thought if he knew I was gay, maybe he could relax a little around me. Knowing I wasn’t going to tease him for whatever the school thinks they know.
But it’s abundantly clear now that it’s not going to work like that. He still doesn’t trust me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, kind of hating myself for telling him I’m gay, but I have to remind myself that I’m not apologizing for being gay. I’m apologizing for telling him before he was ready.
I guess.
That still sounds kind of fucked up.
“We could play Fortnite?” It comes out as a timid question, but hey, I’m grasping at straws here.
That finally gets him to relax and take a breath, sitting shakily down at my desk again. “Okay.”
Okay, so we’re going to take this slow. Really, really slow.