7. Cruz

"Don't just hold the stick steady and expect the ball to stay in the pocket, absorb the catch," Liam says, demonstrating how to follow the trajectory of the ball with the stick so it doesn't fall out of the mesh netting.

We're on the quad outside our dorm, enjoying an unseasonably warm October afternoon. He"s been teaching me for a couple weeks or so, but in that time all I"ve managed to learn is roughly how to play catch with a pole that's nearly as tall as me. And I"m quickly realizing lacrosse isn"t as easy as he makes it look.

I'm used to a large brown ball, and this one is tiny and white. Plus, it's not like you can wrap your fingers around it to keep it secure, either. You have to absorb it like Liam says or contort your wrist to twist the stick and wrap the net around it.

There are more steps involved in this type of catch, most of which require different muscles, and while I'm sure being an athlete gives me some advantage to picking it up, there"s a rather large learning curve. I think Liam secretly loves that—we've developed a friendly little lacrosse vs. football rivalry over the last several weeks—though he's not overtly gloating.

I manage to catch the next ball, but I don't need him to tell me the flaw in my return pass. The bells in my head are already telling me that I released the ball on the arc of my swing instead of following through.

See, I listen.

Although it's hard to feel guilty about the mistake when it forces Liam to show off his quick reflexes and surprisingly graceful moves to save my errant ball.

Not that football receivers aren't graceful when they dive for a catch, but Liam's doing it with a stick that's almost like an extension of his body. It's kind of hypnotic to watch, and it makes me appreciate his skill since I can now say with certainty that it's infinitely more complicated to catch with a stick than your own two hands. Not that I"d ever admit that to him. It'd only give him more fuel for the whole ‘lacrosse is better' argument.

"Don't say it," I warn as he jogs back into place. "I know exactly what I did wrong, I'm just tired and sore."

"How can you be tired?"

"I played a game yesterday."

"You probably ran less than two hundred yards and caught three passes. I run miles during my games."

"But I got tackled twice." I press my lips into a pout, which almost gets him to chuckle before his face morphs into a droll look that screams ‘really?'

I find myself choking back my own grin. He likes to pretend he's winning the lacrosse vs. football competition since he gets me out here throwing every week, but I've got him watching the games, so I'd call it a tie.

"Want to keep going, or are you too tired?" Liam goads me with a wry smirk.

I check my watch and shake my head. "I've gotta call my folks." We try to catch up every Sunday before dinner, and with parents' weekend coming up I need to touch base to make plans. Which reminds me… "Hey, do your folks hate football as much as you do? If not, I can probably get them tickets. I think everyone on the team is allotted four and we only need two."

The scowl Liam wore the first night we met some four weeks ago, which I've rarely seen since, takes over his face as he visibly stills. "No. Thanks."

I've never seen someone go from pleasant to pissed so fast in my life. It's like a damn switch flipped, swapping my roommate out with his ominous alter ego. Sunshine.

The last time I saw that guy radiate this much venom was when I collided with him in the hall. He accused me of being so self-absorbed I didn't even notice him. Which, come to think of it, might be the issue here. After nearly a month, I've yet to hear Liam talk about his parents, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't spoken to them since he arrived. Talk about self-absorbed.

I don't know that for a fact, but my gut tells me I'm right. He leaves the room whenever I call my folks, although I've never asked him to do that, and I don't think it's to give me privacy. It's almost like he tries to avoid the reminder of his parents by hiding when I talk to mine.

I've always had the sense his family isn't as tight knit as mine since he doesn't talk about them, but now I'm wondering if they even exist. Like, did something happen to them? An accident? No, if they were gone, I doubt he'd have gone all menacing when I asked if they'd want to go to the game. Maybe they disowned him for being gay? That would explain the daggers he's shooting at the world right now.

The fact Liam is tight-lipped about his life before college has never bothered me until this moment. I can't do anything to help if I don't know what's wrong, and it's not really in my nature to sit idle when people need assistance. Still, I won't invade his privacy by drilling him about something he clearly doesn't want to talk about.

"Do you want the tickets then? I know it's not your thing, but I've got nothing else to do with them. You could bring that guy from the frat party."

"Aiden?" My question seems to distract Liam from the dark path he was starting down.

"Yeah. Didn't you say you'd seen him a few times since then?"

"Those were more…" Liam shakes his head like he's decided it's better not to answer, the hair he hasn't cut since he got here casting shadows over his eyes each time his head swivels away from the sun. "And taking him to a game would be like a date."

"You guys are just each other's outlet. Got it." I start toward our dorm, and he falls into step beside me.

"Now I really need to stop seeing him." Liam exhales heavily.

"Why?"

"Because saying it that way makes me sound like I'm using him. And I think he might want it to be more."

"You don't?" I hold the door open for him.

He shakes his head decisively. "He's a nice guy but… We haven't been here all that long. I'm still getting to know people, still exploring what the school has to offer. I want the freedom to do that."

"You can't do that together?" We walk single file down the hall to our room, a habit I've fallen into so we don't take up the whole width of the path like my friends and I had when I bumped into him that first night.

"I guess. It's just…"

"You're not that into him."

Liam groans. "You're really making me feel like an asshole right now."

"Look, I don't get it personally," I say as we enter our room. "But from what I understand you won't know if you're into someone unless you try it. And if it takes you a few times to figure that out, is that so bad?"

"I guess not. So…" He trails off, leaning the sticks against the wall before giving me an uncertain look over his shoulder. "Is that how it was for you? You tried it a few times and realized you weren't into it?"

We haven't talked about my sexuality since the day I told him it freaks me out to have to define it, so I'm a little surprised he's asking questions now. Then again, I suppose by saying I don't understand what things are like for him I basically invited him to ask what they're like for me. And since he already knows this particular secret…

"Pretty much." The bed creaks slightly when I fall onto it. "I wasn't sure how long it was supposed to take to react, and I figured the first time was a fluke, like my inexperience was the roadblock. A few times after that, when I didn't magically get hard after kissing and groping and shit, I started to realize the desire just wasn't there. Even if I considered the other person attractive."

"Do you…"

"Do I what?"

"Can you…" I swear Liam's cheeks go redder than the Spiderman costume on the poster next to his bed.

"Spit it out."

He hops on his mattress and leans against the wall, eyes timidly meeting mine. "Can you get it up? Like by yourself? If you wanted to…"

"You mean like you do in the shower every night?" I cast him a sly grin, laughing when his head thunks against the wall. What can I say, the water doesn't muffle his noises completely.

"You know about that?" he groans, his face getting pinker by the second.

"Yes, I know about that, and yes, I can. I jerk off like everyone else, just maybe not as often."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew about that?" Liam nods his head toward the bathroom door. "You said you didn't want a front row seat."

"And I don't have one. You're in the bathroom with the door closed when you do your thing. It's not your fault the sound carries. And just because I'm ACE doesn't mean you have to change who you are."

I swear he almost smiles. "I can try to be quieter."

"And I can put in earbuds. Don't stress about it."

"Oh shit. Earbuds. You were gonna make a call. And I've gotta…" He jumps off the bed and spins in a circle, grabbing a ball cap off his desk that I'm certain he wasn't actually looking for. "I'll meet you for dinner in thirty."

Suddenly I'm alone, and while I feel somewhat like I've chased him out, I'm glad for the opportunity to talk to my parents without wondering if I'm making him uncomfortable.

***

Where the hell is he?

I check the clock on my phone, wondering what could possibly be keeping Liam away from our room. We always go to dinner together, usually at the same time since he gets hangry easily.

Clicking on the App Store so I'm not literally staring at numbers that don't move fast enough, I scroll through the games I could download. Candy Crush, Oregon Trail, Solitaire. That seems harmless enough.

While I wait for it to download, I wonder again what could be keeping my roommate from his evening meal.

He's been pretty scarce all weekend actually, passing on my game invite, dinner with my folks, and some welcome picnic thing with all sorts of food and games. I get that hanging out with your roommate's parents might be a little awkward, so it's fine that he turned me down. Except, he didn't even want to meet them, going so far as to invent a test he had to study for instead of agreeing to a quick hello.

Too bad he claimed the test was for biology, which Jagger and Cameron have with him, and they didn't know anything about any test. It bugs me that Liam wasn"t honest, but I haven't confronted him about it.

The progress bar completes its circular loop, signaling the download is finished, so I open the game and start clicking through the stack of cards. Within the first minute I've already lost since I was too busy mindlessly tapping the screen instead of actually looking at the cards.

Clearly, my roommate has some issues when it comes to parents—all parents, from the looks of it—and I'd like nothing more than to understand why that is so I can help, or at least be there for him. I've got no right to demand answers though, considering I haven't exactly been forthcoming about my background either.

I'm less obvious about my secrets, but I have them, so it'd be pretty hypocritical of me to try to force Liam into talking about something personal when I'm not exactly baring my soul. Still, after living together for just shy of two months, it's evident something about his folks is eating away at him, and what started as mild curiosity about his history has morphed into concern after these past few days leading up to parent's weekend.

I start another game, paying even less attention to it than I did the first round.

Liam's been quiet all week. Distant. Temperamental. And yeah, he can be all those things on an average day, but he doesn't seem to get stuck in those moods for hours on end. It's more he'll see or hear something that takes his mind in that direction for a few minutes and then it passes, or he moves on from it. This last week though, he was in a perpetual state of ‘meh.'

He"d told me no one was coming to visit him and I assumed it was related. That was until I saw the dry erase board on our door this morning. It usually contains notes from our hall neighbors or the occasional reminder about upcoming events, but today the RA had written ‘Happy Birthday Liam.'

Everything clicked when I saw that note. Not only did his family skip a weekend to see him, they skipped seeing him on his birthday.

Who knows why they aren't here—I know literally nothing about them—but the way Liam's been acting leads me to believe there's no good reason for them to be absent this weekend. And my heart breaks for the guy.

I lose another hand, which gives me an excuse to check the time. Fifteen minutes have passed. On a normal day that wouldn't concern me. On his birthday, though? Knowing he's alone? Who knows what he could get into.

My finger clicks on the messages icon to send him another text, but before I start typing I go back to the game. I already sent two, if he planned to answer he'd have done it by now. Right?

Looking at Liam you'd assume he's a strong, smart, capable person who doesn't need anyone to look out for him. In a lot of ways that's true. But as his roommate, I've seen him when his guard is down. I've had a few glimpses of the guy underneath that tough exterior, and I'm pretty certain he's not independent by choice. I'd go so far as to say he's lonely, in a manner of speaking, which I can relate to.

If I didn't have my own issues, I'm not sure I'd recognize his, but I get the sense we're two versions of the same story. For me that story involves losing Xavier, and while I'm technically surrounded by people all the time, I still feel lonely without my best friend. That makes it hard to be around Jagger and Cameron sometimes since they remind me of what I lost, although having Liam as a roommate has helped offset some of the sadness I feel from watching them.

Based purely on my own issues, my guess is Liam has the same sort of thing going on with his family—like they're more of a memory than a reality—and he doesn't want to be reminded of that, which is why he's tried so hard to avoid mine. Knowing they didn't show up on his birthday makes me even more confused and angry on his behalf.

Liam is a good guy. Private, maybe a touch jaded, but a good guy. He deserves better, which is why I stopped by the bookstore on my way back to our room to get him a lacrosse decal for his Jeep. It's not much, but at least it's something, and everyone needs a gift on their first birthday away from home. Only he wasn't here when I got back, and that was nearly two hours ago. It's been radio silence ever since, which has never happened before. I'm kind of worried.

Maybe one more text isn't out of line?

Xavier used to tease me about my habit of playing protector, something I think started when we were kids playing flag football. I was bigger than most of my friends, so that role came naturally. Once my peers caught up to me in size—mostly—and could handle themselves, I'd been so used to looking out for them on and off the field, that it stuck.

For years my tendency to watch over my friends amused Xavier, but when he started dating, he had less patience for it. The fact I was concerned about his girlfriend's motives probably didn't help matters, but I genuinely wanted what was best for him and worried on his behalf.

At this point, worrying about my friends is just who I am, and I don't know how to turn that off. I'm trying to keep that to myself though, so I don't overwhelm anyone with that little personality quirk. On the surface, I think I'm pulling that off. Underneath though… Three texts isn't going overboard, is it?

More than forty minutes after we usually head to dinner, the door finally opens. ‘Happy birthday' dies on my lips when Liam comes into full view.

"Oh my God! What happened?" I spring off the bed to hold the door, so he doesn't have to use the arm sporting a new cast to keep it from shutting on him.

"You know how the sidewalk is divided into walking and biking lanes?"

"Yeah."

"Well, parents don't know the difference." He drops his backpack on the desk with a frustrated huff. "A biker swerved to avoid a group walking in his lane and barreled into me."

My eyes travel from the cast to his face, where scabs are already forming on his cheek and forehead. "Why didn't you text me? I would've taken you to the hospital."

"You were with your parents. The guy on the bike got me an Uber."

"Jesus, Liam. You've got a broken arm. I think that trumps parent's weekend." I run a frustrated hand through my hair, trying not to imagine him sitting all alone in the exam room.

"If I'd texted you, you would've showed up with your parents in tow."

"So?"

"So, I didn't want to ruin your day." He hops on his bed and reclines against a stack of pillows.

I mirror him so we're facing each other across the room. "What ruins my day is thinking of you dealing with this on your own. No one should be in the hospital by themself."

Liam chuckles without any humor. "It's not my first broken arm. Or the first time I took myself to the hospital."

"What?" My shock makes my voice loud enough that Liam jumps.

"Last year. Right about this time, actually. This one isn't as big a deal, just a hairline fracture." He shrugs like that makes it okay. "Last time was a solid break."

"You'd have been a minor then, right? How could you take yourself to the hospital? Don't you need parental consent or something?"

"I'd just turned eighteen." He fluffs his pillow, conveniently averting his gaze, suggesting that he doesn't want to talk about it, but I can't let it go this time.

"So, what? Age doesn't mean shit when you're hurt."

"Actually, it does. Legally the doctors couldn't talk to my parents without my consent."

"You didn't give it?"

"I did." His expression is eerily vacant when his eyes finally meet mine.

"And?"

"It didn't matter."

"What do you mean it didn't matter?" I'm trying really hard not to frown or raise my voice, but he's being so cryptic, and it's making me nervous.

"They have a thing about hospitals."

"That's even less of an answer than it didn't matter. How'd you break your arm the first time? Did your parents do it? Is that why they don't like hospitals? Are they a danger to you?"

I half expect Liam to flinch from my rapid-fire questions, but he just sits there stoically. "They've never beaten me if that's what you're implying."

"Did they disown you because of…"

"What, being gay? No." He swings his head to the left but pauses before it swivels back right. "I'm not sure they know I am."

"I thought you were out?"

"I am."

Jesus, this guy. "How can you be out and your parents not know?"

"Long story." Liam closes his eyes and lets his head hit the wall with a heavy sigh. "Can we not play twenty questions right now? It's been kind of a shit day, and this isn't my favorite subject."

"Fine. On one condition," I tell him.

"What?" He gives me a droll look.

"Don't pull this whole ‘I can take care of myself' crap with me."

"But I can take care of myself."

I can't help my eye roll. "You know what I mean. There are some things you shouldn't have to do alone, even if you can. Going to the hospital with a broken bone is one of them."

Liam studies me for a second, like he's not sure why that's my stipulation. Finally, he huffs out a ragged breath. "Anyone ever tell you that you've got a hero complex?"

Now it's my turn to shrug indifferently. "I look after my friends." I feel myself wince as those words spill out. "Try to, anyway."

Liam's brow furrows when he catches my blunder, but before he can reciprocate the interrogation I just gave him, I grab his tiny gift bag from my desk and toss it across the room. Ask the guy with a broken arm to catch—good one. At least his present is about as heavy as a feather because it lands right on his cast.

"What's this?" Liam frowns at his package.

"Open it."

Using his right hand, he reaches into the bag and pulls out the window decal, studying it curiously before his inquisitive gaze finds mine.

"Happy birthday."

He blinks at me in rapid succession. "How did you know?"

"The RA put it on the door."

"This is… I don't…" He stares at me, completely speechless.

"I know it's kinda lame, but the bookstore doesn't have a lot of options, and I—"

"It's perfect." Liam smiles at me. A genuine one instead of the partial one he typically gives, and the notion that I may have helped make a shitty day better eases the weight bearing down on my chest.