34. Chapter 34
My hands dug into the side of the kitchen table, sweat slicking my palms against the wood, the whole family staring at me while I tried to explain what I was thinking.
“You guys are sure about this?”
Mrs. Quinn nodded. “There’s no reason to sublet the room in Tanner’s apartment if you’re going to Missouri, too.”
“I’ll pay you back after college,” I said. Really, it was the least I could do. Coach Anderson had called yesterday, confirming that he’d been able to push me through the application process.
Between the half ride he offered, Missouri accepting my financial aid, and the Quinns offering free rent, I’d be able to go to college for free.
“Sure,” Mr. Quinn said. “You can pay us the exact same amount as Tanner will be paying us after he graduates.”
I nodded in agreement and looked over at Tanner, who was grinning in the seat next to me. “You know I’m not paying anything, right, dude?” Tanner laughed. “At least not for rent.”
I shook my head. No sense in arguing with them. “Sounds like we have a deal. I want to take a day, though, before we make it official and then I’ll let everyone know.”
I stood up, pushing my chair out from under me, the rest of the family doing the same.
“You know this means you can watch me play next season, right?” Gavin said.
“Totally why I’m going to Missouri, man. I can’t get enough of watching high school baseball.” It was only half a joke. Obviously I wanted to play Division I, but the Quinns being there for the ride made the decision easier.
“Tanner, can you follow me for a second?” I asked.
He fell into step next to me as we climbed the stairs, Gavin still talking to Zach as the two of them made a protein shake.
When we got to my room—Tanner's old one—I locked the door behind me. You never knew when Gavin would barge in.
“Listen, dude,” I said, barely turning to face him. I heard him flop onto the bed behind me, as I spun the computer chair out of my way.
I took a breath deep enough I could feel my whole body expand. “I know we don’t talk about this stuff. I don’t talk about this stuff. But are you okay with us living together? Given everything?”
I turned to him as he propped himself up on his hands. His eyebrows scrunched as he licked his lips.
Finally, he said, “We’re just friends now, right?”
“Yeah.” I took a longer blink than necessary. “Of course.”
“Then why shouldn’t we? It’ll be fun. My last roommate sucked, anyway.”
“There’s Calvin.”
Tanner chewed on his lip before speaking again. “It’s not like him and I are moving in together anytime soon. He has his own apartment. No reason we can’t share a house; we’re doing it right now.”
Sure. With him in Gavin’s room and four other people wandering the house at all hours. “It won’t be weird?”
“I don’t think so.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed, but he was the one with the boyfriend. “Alright. Cool. I needed to make sure you were actually okay with it before deciding.”
“So you’re locked in then?” His smile lit up the room. And me. Even now.
“Looks like I am,” I said, nodding.
“Sweet. I’m going to go tell Cal; he asked last week what we were doing with the extra room. I kinda hedged, knowing this would probably happen.”
Tanner bolted out of the room without another word.
I jumped on the bed where he had lain, my eyes closed. On paper, it sounded perfect. Hometown school, living with Tanner again, Gavin twenty minutes away.
Then my phone buzzed—a quiet ding, a vibration on my chest. This morning, I’d posted a picture on social media of me batting in the semifinals with the caption “Act Two.” We’d won our game yesterday, setting up our second date with destiny in three years.
We’d practiced earlier today and would be leaving for the finals tomorrow; this trip would be different from the last one, I was sure of it.
I lazily pulled my phone to my face, still more concerned with the conversation I’d had with Tanner. I clicked the little icon to pull up new alerts, expecting a classmate or a parent of a teammate had wished us luck.
Instead, the comment read: Can’t wait to see you play.
My dad. I had blocked him on all social media, but here he was again, on a new account, letting me know he’d be at the game Monday.
Reminding me he’d always try to find a way to be present, even with a restraining order telling him he couldn’t.
My pulse kicked into high gear; I didn’t want him anywhere near that field. Not for this game. Not now.
I tossed my phone away, disgusted. I shoved myself upright and reached for the nightstand, pulling out the story Tanner had written two years ago for the school newspaper.
I hadn’t known he was doing it, so when Joe had asked me in math class if I knew Tanner was gay, my instinct had been to deflect, as I thought he’d found out about me, too.
Then he’d handed me a copy of the school newspaper with the title Safe at Home sprawled across the front.
The words in Tanner’s story that had hit hardest weren’t the ones stating he was gay—which, obviously, I had managed to piece together—but the ones describing how he felt safe enough to tell his family and how much of a weight had come off of his shoulders.
I’d spent that day knowing I wouldn’t ever have that—a support system where I could be gay or—as Tanner had once told me—a goddamn tiger. The thought of Tanner being able to be out and happy and living the life he deserved had made me thrilled for him.
After we had lost in the state finals, Tanner had agreed to have the article posted in the city paper, which was shocking.
That’d taken balls and more comfort in himself than I’d thought he had.
I had cut out a copy of the article from that paper, too, and put it in an old school folder; the only other clippings in that folder were those from my dad's court cases and Mom’s obituary.
Both copies of the story were starting to fade, the edges wrinkling like my grandma’s face. I read the story again, mouthing words I’d memorized without meaning to, before rolling out of bed and walking toward Gavin’s room.
Tanner was still on Gavin’s top bunk, his phone in his hand, Gavin having joined him on the bottom bunk.
“Are you doing anything, Tanner?” I asked. I looked around the room; Tanner’s suitcase was perched against the wall, still unpacked, having refused to let me give him his old room back.
“No, what’s up?”
“Can you drive with me somewhere? It’ll be, like, an hour.” It was the first time I had specifically asked him for a favor.
“Sure.”
“I’ll come, too,” Gavin said, not even knowing the plan.
“Meet me in the car with Zach.”
I sat in the front seat, as the only one with the address, rehearsing in my mind what I’d say. Zach controlled the music from the back and was playing rap; Gavin tried to scream a conversation over the lyrics, asking me where we were going, but I ignored him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Tanner asked, not looking away from the highway.
“What do you mean?” I said, my phone twirling in my hand.
“I know what direction we’re going. Just making sure you’re up for it.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course he’d pieced it together. “I’ll be good,” I said, unsure of my words.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a mobile home park. I’d never been here before, but it wasn’t too difficult to find the home address of a convicted felon.
“That’s his truck,” I said, pointing at the beat-up Chevy next to an even more beat-up trailer.
Tanner parked across the street as Zach turned off the music.
“Stay here unless I need you guys,” I said, opening the door to questions and arguments from all three, the words bouncing off my back.
My feet scraped across the gravel, my eyes never leaving the door. A dog barked somewhere nearby, but not as loudly as the doors of the Quinns’ car shutting behind me. I didn’t turn around; I knew they wouldn’t follow but just hover outside the vehicle, ready to pounce.
I knocked on the white door, my knuckles brushing the fading paint.
The door swung open, and my dad started to talk. “What the hell—” He looked me over, realizing who stood in front of him.
I stared back, my fists balled, my voice steadier than I felt on the inside. “I’m going to talk, and you’re going to stand there and listen.”
Dad stepped back but didn’t say anything, his hands folded across his chest.
“I don’t want you coming to the game on Monday. It’s the most important game I’ve ever played, and you’ll be nothing more than a distraction. And when we win a state title, I don’t want you to be there.
“You don’t get to celebrate and pretend you had anything to do with me being who I am. I’ve spent the last nine months living in a house that showed me more love than you were able to show me my entire life.
“You are no longer my father. Not after what you did to me. Especially not after what you pushed Mom to do.”
Dad pointed at me. “I didn’t—”
“No!” I snapped. “You don’t get to talk right now.
I’ll walk away, and you’ll never get to hear what I have to say.
I’m not here to fix anything between us.
I’m here because I’ve carried your voice in my head for too long.
Every time I feel anything, I hear you telling me I’m not allowed.
Every time I want to cry or laugh too loud or hug someone in public, I hear your voice.
You taught me that hurting was something you did alone, with a bottle in the dark.
I’m still working on that one, but I’ll no longer have you telling me that’s the only option.
” I wiped my palms on my shorts. “You no longer get that power over me.”
He opened his mouth, ready to argue.
I didn’t let him. “And one last thing.” I smiled, knowing what I was about to say would drive a knife through his chest and guarantee he never tried to talk to me again more effectively than any restraining order ever could.
“You remember when I was twelve, and you caught me crying over that book? Bridge to Terabithia? You grabbed me by the collar and said, ‘Don’t be a little fag, Easton. Toughen up.’ That’s when I realized how much of a coward you were. ”
His jaw flexed, and his fingers curled. He looked past me, and I knew he was trying to calculate how fast my brothers could get to the door.
I smiled, knowing he couldn’t touch me anymore. “I used to think you were a monster. But you’re just sad. You’re nothing.” I nodded to myself, setting up my final blow. “And I’m gay.”
I turned around, not needing to read his face to know his reaction.
Maybe he’d try to use it. Tell people, twist it, show up Monday anyway, and say it out loud to the entire stadium. A year ago, even the vague threat of being outed would’ve kept me up for weeks.
But really, I knew him better. He’d never associate with me again. Which was perfect.
Gavin, Zach, and Tanner leaned against the car as I approached, Zach with a bat in his hand. I was glad he hadn’t had a reason to use it.
My body felt lighter, like I’d peeled off a version of myself I didn’t want to wear anymore. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t bracing for anything.
“You good?” Tanner said.
“Perfect,” I said, smiling at him.
We stood for a moment in silence, the engine idling, heat hissing from under the hood.
I could’ve let the moment drift. I could’ve shoved it all down like always.
But I thought about Tanner’s article and realized if anyone deserved the truth and to hear the words out loud, it was these three.
Not because they were kind. Not because they’d opened up their home to me or because of baseball or the history I shared with all of them.
Not because of the history I shared with Tanner.
But because they had proven themselves to me over and over and over again, and they mattered to me more than anyone ever would.
And because saying it to my former father didn’t count. That man no longer counted. He wasn’t a person anymore—not to me, anyway.
“I need to say something,” I said, six eyes on me. I looked at Tanner because he deserved this the most. “I told him I’m gay.”
Tanner blinked twice. Didn’t move. Just stared motionless, his face wiped blank.
“But it didn’t feel like coming out,” I added, this time sweeping my eyes over the other two as well. “Because he’s nothing.” I swallowed. My fingers tapped my thighs, my head bobbing to a tune I didn’t even hear. “But you three are important. So, you’re the first people I’m officially telling.”
Tanner’s throat moved like he was holding in his words, his Adam’s apple pulsing. Gavin ran up and wrapped me in a hug, the way only Gavin would. He squeezed so hard I thought he would break me.
“Doesn’t mean you get shotgun on the way back,” Zach said, moving around the back of the car and jumping into the front seat.
I shoved Gavin away, needing to regain the ability to breathe.
“Th–thanks for telling us,” Tanner said.
“Not that you had to,” Gavin said.
“Can it, kid,” I said.
When we settled in the car, Tanner gunned it out of the trailer park, Gavin already reaching over the console to try to take over the radio.
I let myself sink into the seat. Nothing chasing me.
Nothing to brace for. Three people in a car who now knew exactly who I was—and a state title in two days, waiting for a reckoning.