Chapter 8 #2
“I’m not giving you his address,” Rowan replies.
I narrow my eyes. “Why not?”
“Because, despite his many flaws, he does not deserve to be hunted for sport,” he explains.
“I’m not hunting him for sport,” I argue. “I’m fixing a problem. I just need to—”
“Patrick,” Rowan says, cutting me off, “I thought I was straight too.”
I pause, confused about what Rowan’s sexuality has to do with anything.
He continues, softer now and more serious, “And then I kissed Julian, and it turns out…sometimes who you are isn’t who you thought you were supposed to be.”
I frown, my grip on the phone loosening a little.
“It’s not easy,” he adds. “But pretending otherwise won’t make it go away. You need to listen to what you actually want, instead of what you think you should want.”
I let that sit for a second and turn the words over in my head.
Then I ask, “Did you kiss Julian after Elias did the spell?”
Rowan hesitates. “Well, yes, but—”
“Are you sure the spell didn’t turn you gay too?”
There’s a beat.
“…Oh my god,” Rowan says slowly. “Am I gay because of the spell?”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “See? That’s what I’m trying to figure out—”
“Okaaay,” Julian cuts in, voice suddenly closer as he takes the phone back. “The spell is broken, and he still likes kissing me, so we’re going to go ahead and say no.”
I huff. “Sure, but—”
“Patrick,” Julian says, gentler now, “the spell doesn’t create feelings. It just…makes them harder to ignore.”
I hum, unconvinced.
He sighs. “Look, leave Elias alone. He’ll probably just make it worse. You need to talk to Colten. That’s what helped us—communication.”
“I would talk to Colten,” I snap, frustration flaring again. “But he left, and he’s ignoring me even though he promised he wouldn’t do that again.”
Julian’s quiet for a second.
Then, he says, “Maybe he just needs space. You might’ve hurt him, even if you didn’t mean to.”
“But how did I hurt him?” I ask, my voice cracking. I know he’s hurt, I know he’s mad at me but—why?! Why couldn’t he just stick around and actually talk to me?
Aren’t we best friends?
“I don’t think I can say,” Julian says, which is extremely unhelpful.
“Whatever,” I mutter. “Fine, I’ll go talk to him. He’s had enough space.”
“Patrick—”
“And I don’t need Elias. I’ll fix this myself,” I continue, pacing again.
“Patrick, don’t do anything—”
I hang up.
Colten said he wouldn’t ignore me like this again, but this is even worse than last time! At least last time, he was still here.
He doesn’t get to just disappear and leave me with a note and weird glowing magic and a whole bunch of–of feelings.
I grab a backpack and the usual stuff I bring when packing for an away game, determination settling in my chest.
If Colten wants space, that’s fine. He can have space after we talk. Besides, we need to get to the combine, and it’s already less than a week away.
I head for the door, my hands sweaty enough that I have to wipe them on my pants before the knob turns. My eyes are still burning, so I just blink harder.
I’m not going to let him leave so easily. If he needs his time to think, fine, but I’ll be right by his side while he does it. I am not losing my best friend over the lamest superpower known to man.
With this firmly in mind, I walk into the night, determined and frustrated all at once.
Maybe I can figure out what I did wrong, so I can make sure I never do it again. I’ll get my best friend back, and we’ll go to the combine together, and I’ll go pro, and Colten will graduate and be my professional PT, just like we planned the first night we moved into our apartment.
Everything will be fine.
***
Everything is not fine.
Unlike Colten, I don’t have a car, so I take the first bus to Colten’s city that I find.
The first hour is full of overthinking as I try to figure out what I did wrong and how I can get Colten to forgive me. It doesn’t get me anything but a headache. I end up playing games on my phone.
By hour four and two transfers later, I get bored and eat all my protein bars.
By hour eight, I realize I took the wrong bus at some point, but have no idea when or where. Also, my phone is dead.
By hour fifteen, I have to sleep in the bus terminal, because I have no money for a hotel.
Thankfully, I remembered to bring a tub of protein powder, so dinner/lunch/breakfast is a tiramisu-flavored protein powder that Brian bought from Temo and then gave me because it tastes more like chalk than cake.
I mix it with water from the drinking fountain and enjoy my chalky coffee meals.
By hour twenty-nine, I finally find an outlet to charge my phone, but then learn that I forgot my charger. Colten is the one who always brings it.
By hour thirty-six, I don’t even know what town I’m in. There’s only one bus stop, and the bus only comes once every two hours.
Why did I get off?
Why didn’t I have Colten’s address saved on my phone??
By hour forty-nine, a kind and well-meaning person at the bus terminal tries to help me with directions. I end up in a different state.
By hour fifty-eight, I accidentally board the bus to the town with only one bus stop again.
By hour sixty-two, I cobble together all my quarters to buy a fast food burger because I’ve run out of the tiramisu protein powder and I’m starving.
Halfway through, I remember Colten isn't here to steal the pickles. I end up throwing it away because it just tastes wrong without him.
By hour seventy, a bored bus station employee spends an hour helping me figure out where I'm supposed to be. I cry tears of genuine gratitude.
By hour seventy-two, I finally stagger to Colten’s mom’s house, and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost at least three years of my life and most of my dignity.
Also, possibly my sense of smell.
I stand on the sidewalk for a second in the afternoon light, staring at the house like it might disappear if I blink too long.
It’s…different from what I remember.
Same split-level shape, but softer somehow. The siding’s a light blue instead of that dull gray it used to be, and there are actual flowers in the little front garden instead of whatever weeds Colten and I used to kick a ball into when I visited before.
There’s a wind chime on the porch, quietly clinking in the breeze. The windows are open, the light inside gently spilling out, like the house is exhaling.
It feels peaceful in a way it didn’t before the divorce.
I drag myself up the steps, legs heavy. It feels like gravity decided to double just for me. My backpack thumps painfully against my spine with every step, even though it only has my cleats and a training outfit for the combine.
Seventy-two hours of buses and wrong turns and asking strangers for directions when I don’t even remember the exact neighborhood.
I’m still not exactly sure how I got here, but I’m not about to question a miracle.
I lift my hand to knock, my muscles painfully protesting, before rapping against the wood.
There’s a shuffle inside before the door creaks open.
Ms. Hazel, Colten’s mom with her maiden name back, stands there, blinking at me in surprise.
“Patrick?”
I try to smile. It probably looks more like I’m dying. I feel like I’m dying.
“Hi, Ms. Hazel. Is Colten home?” I rasp.
Her expression shifts immediately—from surprise to warmth to concern in about half a second. “Oh my god, honey, yes, but please, come in.”
She steps aside, ushering me in like I’m about to pass out. Which, honestly, I might.
I probably should’ve finished that burger. That Temo tiramisu protein powder didn’t sit well in my stomach.
I step inside and notice that they’ve changed the pictures on the walls. It used to be awkward pictures of Colten and his parents, but now it’s just Colten with his mom.
There’s even more of Colten than before.