30. Blaise

THIRTY

In the fourdays since I walked away from Jordan's shocked and devastated face, I've done nothing but work, mope, and reply to Calla's daily "You alive?" message. I started out ignoring my friends' calls and texts, but that lasted all of three hours before they turned up on my doorstep, pounding on my door so hard that the neighbors came to see what was going on. After that first drunken pity party, I convinced them to leave me to sulk over the fight by myself, but Calla's check-ins were the only compromise they'd accept.

God. I can't believe I'm such an idiot.

I need to call Jordan and apologize. Beg for forgiveness, more like, with plenty of groveling. But every time I think of how often I went on and on and on about the internship, about how I'd love to work for Joy Inc., about what a hard industry it is to break into… I just want to die.

I said it all to his dads, too, who work for the damn company. And the whole time, he had all those contacts at his fingertips. I can't help wondering if deep down, he thinks that's why I'm with him. That I somehow knew, found out from a friend of a friend on campus, and that I've been hinting all this time.

That's the last thing I want, for him to doubt that I recognize how amazing he is. How sweet and cute and sometimes clueless in a way that makes me want to wrap him in cotton and keep him safe forever. How focused he gets when he's got a goal.

And yet… I also feel like a fool. He kept this huge secret—because he didn't trust me? Because he figured we were only a good time, not a long time, and it wasn't worth telling me? I don't want to believe that, but I don't know what to think anymore. He was so eager for me to apply for the internship this year… was it because he wanted to end us but didn't know how?

The memory of his face when I accused him of that rises in my mind's eye, and I shake my head. No. Whatever it is he's thinking, I don't think he wants to break up. He'll be mad, especially after what I said, and fuck knows he's got the right to be. I can't even believe I said it—I was overwhelmed and disheartened and feeling so damn low, and the words just came out. But even if he's confused about how he'd manage a career in the pros as a queer athlete, I don't believe ending us is what he wants.

Which just means that the longer I let this fight continue, the more he's going to think that I do. I don't… but…

Wouldn't it be easier?

My mind hasn't changed about wanting him to come out—I don't want to be known as the bisexual baseball player's boyfriend. I don't want to have to dodge the media to see him. I don't want some jackass digging up the details of my history, or worse, getting a soundbite from my dad… if he would even admit to knowing me. Let's face it, him denying he has a gay son would be clickbait-worthy on its own. So yeah, keeping our relationship quiet is fine with me. More than fine.

But not forever.

If Jordan's being scouted—which, god, he's earned it, and I'm so proud of him—if he decides he wants a career in professional baseball after all… well, that changes everything.

For one, it could turn a year or two of long-distance into a decade of cross-country distance. Illinois isn't exactly known as a hub for film and television. Even if he goes elsewhere or is traded around to different teams, there's no guarantee any of them will be on the West Coast. Most of my work will be here in California, maybe Vancouver or New York. And… what changes then? Do I want to be the boyfriend of a pro bisexual baseball player? It would be all the same issues, just on a bigger scale.

Or what if he doesn't want to be a bisexual baseball player? Do I want to be his secret boyfriend? I don't think I'm cut out for that.

Which is why I haven't called him yet. How can I grovel for forgiveness if we're just going to be back in the exact same place? If I don't even know what I want?

I sigh and rub my eyes. This is not a fun way to spend a Wednesday night… or the Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday that came before it. Saturday night was just a drunken haze.

The strident ring of my phone startles me. Who the hell could be calling? I don't recognize the number, but it's a California area code.

What the hell. Talking to a stranger for a minute will at least distract me from thinking about Jordan. "Hello?"

"Blaise?" The voice is familiar, but I can't quite place it.

"Yeah, this is he."

"It's Luke Durrant. Jordan's dad. Please don't hang up."

"I wouldn't," I protest instinctively, but shit. Why is— "Has something happened to Jordan?"

"Oh—no." He hesitates. "He's… upset, but he's fine."

I breathe a little easier, then tense up again. If Jordan's okay, why's he calling me? Is he going to warn me off his son? Or maybe he knows I know where he works and he's calling to threaten my future career? I mean, I don't think he'd do something like that, but I barely know him except through Jordan, and most kids are biased toward their parents?—

"I apologize for calling out of the blue like this," Luke says, breaking the awkward pause. "I wouldn't normally interfere in Jordan's life, as much as the rest of the family disagrees. But I thought you might need a listening ear."

He… what?

"Excuse me?" I ask blankly.

"I hope you don't mind, but Jordan's told us a little about your family. He might have mentioned to you that my parents disowned me when I came out to them—I was still in high school, and they kicked me out. I know friends can be amazing—god knows mine have been, all my life—but there were a lot of times I missed having a parental figure to talk to."

Tears burn my eyes, and I swallow hard to dislodge the painful knot in my throat. It doesn't work, and as the silence begins to draw out, he says, "I'm sorry, you probably think I'm being presumptuous. I'll let you go?—"

"No!" The word bursts out on a sob, and I suck in a wheezing breath. "I mean—" I have to stop, give myself a second to fight back the tears.

"It's okay, Blaise," he murmurs. "You're okay."

God. The sobs that rack me hurt, but it's such a release. I cried when Mom died—of course I did—but I never let myself cry about what Dad did. Or the fact that Mom never really accepted me being gay—it was something she just preferred not to think about. Since the day I came out, I haven't felt like I had a parent I could confide in… who would listen, no matter what, and still think every part of me was perfect.

And I've missed it.

When the tears finally peter off, I let out a shaky sigh. "Sorry. That's… sorry." I'd be embarrassed, but honestly, I don't have the energy.

"Don't be sorry. Do you want to talk about it?" he offers.

I clear my throat. "Uh… wouldn't that be weird? Jordan's your son."

His chuckle is warm and comforting and everything I ever wanted from my own dad. "Maybe that gives me a unique perspective. As much as I love my kid and think he's incredible, I know he's not always right, Blaise. He messes up just like any other person. In this case, I'm going to guess keeping secrets for too long was part of the problem."

I groan. "I'm so embarrassed. I swear, I didn't know—I wasn't using him, and when I went on and on at dinner that night?—"

"Relax. I know. This is partly my fault—we've spent a lot of years warning Jordan not to be too trusting. He's such a sweet kid, and he always wants to help people, but that makes it easy for them to hurt him."

"I never wanted to do that," I whisper. "This whole thing has just been a mess."

"Why don't you tell me your side?" he suggests. "It'll stay between us, but it might help to just talk it out."

I take a second to gather my thoughts, then start slowly, back when my car broke down. By the time I'm done, I'm shocked by how much stress I've been feeling about all this. How much I really wanted to be able to lean on Jordan and accept his help, but also… not. Because I want to do this myself.

"Is it so bad that I want to do this without handouts?" I ask, feeling stupid and vulnerable. "I know this industry runs on who you know, and I'm not opposed to making contacts and leveraging them, but I don't want to feel like… like I didn't earn it. Like I never would have made it if my boyfriend didn't lend me money or… or call his dad for a favor."

Luke's quiet for a moment. "I'm going to ask you to stop that line of thinking," he finally says, more firmly than I've heard from him before. "Because I've seen your work, my friends who work in the industry have seen your work, and at a senior management meeting on Monday, the Wardrobe Director for the whole damn studio made an impassioned—if fruitless—plea that the company give the internship program the budget to pay the interns. It's not a coincidence that she did that two days after you said you couldn't afford to apply."

I hesitate, because… it could be a coincidence.

"It's not a coincidence," he repeats firmly, as though he knows what I'm thinking. "You're talented and you've worked hard. You've already earned this, Blaise. If you had money, this wouldn't be an issue, and the lack of money to support yourself for a year is not your fault. Most people can't afford to do that. When I was your age, there was no way I could have done it, and the only reason I could now is because I've been in an executive job for nearly twenty years and made a pile of good investments along the way. Stop beating yourself up for things you can't control."

Taking a quiet breath, I let go of my fear that Jordan's dad might still think I only wanted him for what he could do for me. "I still don't want to borrow money from my boyfriend or my friends," I admit. "I just… the idea stresses me out. I need them in my life, and I don't ever want anything to come between us."

"I get that. Did Jordan tell you how I'm related to him?"

I frown. "He said you were married to his uncle and then adopted him after his parents died."

"That's right. His mom was my first husband's sister. I met Matt when I was at college, and don't get me wrong, I loved him, but I think I loved Mandy more." He laughs quietly. "She used to joke that if Matt and I ever broke up, she was keeping me. I had no family, and she was the big sister I always needed. Losing her hurt me more than any other loss I ever experienced, because she loved me unconditionally—so much, she named me as the guardian of her children."

I swallow. That's… a lot.

"I understand needing your friends and being afraid to lose them, but part of friendship is supporting each other when you can. That's definitely part of a relationship. I'm not saying you need to borrow money from anyone, especially since this isn't an emergency situation, but I think you need to let yourself be open to the idea that your friends won't leave you if you need them. Mandy knew I would gladly spend the rest of my life parenting her kids, and I know I could have asked her for a kidney, and she'd have reached for a knife." He pauses. "Okay, that's a little more macabre than I intended it to be. But do you hear what I'm saying?"

I laugh—it's a little rusty, but it's real. "Yeah."

"Now, I'm not going to offer you money, and I completely understand why you might feel awkward staying with us, but if you want, I can ask around and see if anyone is willing to let a hardworking, talented intern live in their spare room."

I think about it—really think about it. "That's kind of you," I say finally, "and I don't want you to think I haven't been listening. But I don't think I'm ready for that."

"You have to be comfortable. Despite what my impatient son thinks, if you prefer to wait until next year, that's not the end of the world."

An hour ago, I would have said it felt like it, but… it's really not. And hey, the extra time will let me play around more with the cosplay business.

"So that brings us to the other part of the problem," Luke continues.

"Jordan being scouted," I confirm. "I'm so happy for him, but…"

"But," he agrees. "The only thing I've ever wanted for my kids, both of them, is that they're happy. If Jordan decides this is the path he wants to take, I'll support him completely in that. But I'll be honest with you, Blaise—it's not the future I want for him."

"Honestly, it's not the future I want for us. If there even is an us." Since I haven't yet called to grovel. "But I don't want him to make decisions about his future based on what I want."

"I'm pretty confident you and Jordan have a future," Luke says wryly. "I guess what it's going to look like all comes down to Jordan."

I might feel more confident in my decisions now—and more aware of the steps I need to take in letting my friends help me when I need it—but I'm still scared shitless about calling Jordan.

Because right now, that's the only thing that matters.