14. Lane

"Get out."

Noah scrambles back from snooping around my end table and falls on his ass, looking up at me with wide, confused eyes.

Did he think I left him in here so he could snoop around? I thought he"d clear out well before I was done scrubbing the shame off my body. He should be waiting in his own room for his turn to wash away the evidence of what we did, not hanging out waiting for me to come back. And certainly not violating my stuff the way he just violated me.

"I said get out."

"Lane—"

"Now!" I bellow.

Noah stares at me incredulously, but gets to his feet.

I don"t think I"ve ever raised my voice quite so loud or forcefully. I"m a big guy. I rarely have to assert myself. Except with Noah, who is as dense as he is pretty.

Not that I think he"s pretty. I just mean that everything interesting about him is superficial. A pretty face—when it isn"t contorted into an evil smirk—and some passing charm will only get you so far in life. But it"s not getting him anywhere with me. Not anymore. He went too far this time, and I?—

I"m not ready to come to terms with my part in whatever it is that's happening between us. Blood rushes in my ears, voices of my past reminding me exactly what it is.

A sickness. Unnatural. Abomination.

"Are you okay?" Noah asks, taking a step towards me and raising his hand like he"s about to comfort me.

"Don"t touch me!" I spit, shrinking away from him with revulsion. As though the harsher I am, the more likely the whispers will go away.

I should know better. The memories are always stronger after I"ve done something wrong. After I"ve sinned.

Noah throws his hands out like he"s placating a wild stallion.

"I"m sorry, okay, I?—"

"Get. The. Fuck. Out."

I so rarely curse, the words, paired with my deadly tone, get through to Noah. He steps gingerly away from me, not turning his back. Once he"s through the threshold, I slam the door so hard, I"m surprised it doesn't split the wood.

Instead of being relieved that I"m safely alone again, the moment I close the door, the walls close in on me. I wish, not for the first time, that there was a proper window in here. Although, it might be a good thing right now. I'd probably pitch myself off the third story just to get some air in my lungs.

It"s not quite eight o'clock. The dining hall should still be open, but I don't want to be around people. I need space. I need to move. I need to run.

After pacing around my room indecisively for what feels like an unhealthy length of time, I get dressed in some running gear and race out of the apartment before Noah realizes I"ve left my room.

It"s not raining as heavily as it was earlier, but it"s still drizzling. Random flashes of lightning illuminate the thick clouds, letting me know the storm isn't over yet. The rain makes the sidewalks and running trails slippery, but at least I"m not in danger of running into anyone.

Wrong again.

I"m on my fifth lap around campus, pushing hard, when my legs can"t hold out any longer. I collapse on a bench and lower my head between my knees as dizziness overtakes me. I"m not sure how long I"ve been like this when I hear voices. I pull myself up and stand, because I don"t want to attract any attention, but I make it worse for myself, because my limbs won"t cooperate. Three guys walking towards the athletic dorms see me and run over.

"Whoa man, are you okay—Lane?"

I blink up at the guys surrounding me. There's Danny Hastings and Jamie Peters, from my soccer team, and another guy that looks familiar, but I"m not sure I"ve met him officially before. He"s obviously an athlete, if his large build and team sweatsuit are anything to go by. I think I've seen him in the gym.

"Uh, yeah—no. I"m fine. Really. Just overdid it a bit."

Danny sits next to me, not too closely, and rests his elbows on his knees. "What kind of masochist are you to be out here running in the rain after a day of intense workouts and a scrimmage?" he jokes.

I shrug and give him a wry smile, because I don"t have a good answer for him. He's right, of course, my body is exhausted from the day. But I needed to get out of my head.

"When"s the last time you ate?" the guy I don"t know asks.

My features twist. I had a protein shake for breakfast, and a spinach salad at lunch, but I haven"t eaten anything since then. I got a little distracted from my dinner plans.

The guy murmurs something into Danny"s ear that I don"t quite make out. Something about blood sugar.

"Oh, no shit, dude? My grandma is diabetic. Do you need, like, a shot or something?"

"The other guy gave him juice," the stranger says.

"Pretty sure we have something in our room," Peters says, looking concerned.

"Wh-what? I"m not diabetic."

"His roommate said he gets kind of delirious or something, too," the random guy says, as if I'm not sitting right here.

"Dude, I"m fine," I say, irritation clogging my throat, looking at Danny because I don"t feel like anyone else is listening. "I just have a little cramp."

He nods, but still puts his shoulder under my arm. The bigger guy, the stranger, does the same on my other side. I want to shrug them both off, but as soon as I stand, I feel dizzy again, and my limbs are really weak. I wasn"t lying about the cramp. The muscles in my legs are tightening and releasing painfully, and I have a tight charley horse in my right calf. Peters runs ahead to get the door when we get close to the dorm.

I"m thankful when they take me to their room. It's closer, and Noah isn't in there. The stranger, who eventually introduces himself as Jed, lives next door. He asks if he should go get my roommate, and I quickly blurt, "No!". I cover my outburst by telling them that Noah wasn"t feeling well and went to bed early, to which Peters and Danny joke about him needing to sleep off his shitty mood from getting his ass handed to him today. Even I have to chuckle a little at that.

Jed leaves and Peters disappears to take a shower, leaving me alone with Danny. He leaves my side to rummage around in the kitchen, coming back with two pixie sticks and a glass with about an inch and a half of bright green liquid in it.

"I couldn't find any juice, but Peters is a closet sugar junkie, so I dug in his secret stash and found these," he says, handing me the pixie sticks.

"Thanks," I say slowly. "I forgot to eat dinner, but I don't have a blood sugar problem."

Danny shrugs. "I was just going off what Jed said. He said he saw you passed out or something, and Noah told him you had low blood sugar."

"I didn't pass out," I grumble, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I think I remember what night he's talking about. "Why would he—" even thinking about my baffling relationship with my stepbrother is too much for me to handle right now, so I quickly change the subject.

"What the hell is that?" I ask, pointing to the glass in his hand.

"Pickle juice."

Danny barks out a laugh at the face I make.

"You're supposed to drink it. It helps with muscle cramps."

I stare at the glass he passes me, but choke back the sour juice in one gulp. It's not as bad as I thought it would be, and the shock of the salty brine clears my head a little. I suck my teeth, my mouth feeling drier than before.

Danny trades my glass for a water bottle. After chugging half of the contents, I tear open a pixie stick to get the aftertaste of pickle juice out of my mouth. The sugar that coats my tongue is yet another jolt to my system, and my mind is clearer than it was before getting into this whole mess. Maybe I should start buying pickles and candy from now on. I don't know how much of it is a placebo effect or actual science, but I do feel better.

Now that the panic and the pain have receded, I'm left feeling exhausted. But I'm not sure about going back to my room yet.

"How do you feel about grilled cheese?" Danny asks sheepishly. "It's about all I can cook."

"Oh, you don't need to cook for me. I should get out of your hair."

Danny's hand lands on my knee when I move to scoot forward and stand.

"Stay. Hang out. I'll make us some sandwiches."

Now that I know what I know about Danny, or at least what I think I know, given his involvement with the Blackbird Pride student group, I can't decide if hanging out with him is a good idea. He's a nice guy, and I've liked him since I met him at tryouts. We only have one class together, but Noah's in that class, so I've avoided even looking in Danny's direction. The last thing I need is him publicly declaring I have a thing for one of my teammates. Ever since the student org fair, I've noticed some of the other players treating him differently, and although no one has said anything or been outright rude, that has to weigh on him. I consider every interaction I've ever had with Danny, worrying over whether I might have been treating him differently since seeing him in that rainbow soccer t-shirt.

I definitely have. I"m such an asshole, but I feel incredibly skittish around him now. Is it obvious?

I barely pay attention to anything he says while he cooks, too busy overthinking my entire life.

What if the reason he"s been so nice to me is because he knows?

Can he tell?

What if he"s interested in me?

What if he"s not?

Can I be his friend with all of my baggage?

He"s not Chris.

"Yo. Blakely!"

I snap to reality, flinching at the sandwich hovering two inches from my face. Cringing at my awkwardness, I accept the plate from Danny with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts."

"That seems to happen to you a lot," he says with a soft smile. He sits on the opposite end of the small couch, giving me plenty of space.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. Peters comes out, sniffing the air like a dog. Danny points to the counter, where a grilled cheese sandwich is waiting for him. Peters picks up the plate, taking a big bite out of the sandwich.

"Ohmygawd," he groans. "This is better than a blow job."

"I can't decide if that's sad or not," Danny retorts with a chuckle.

Instead of joining us, Peters goes back to his room. The soft click of his door sounds loud, driving home the point that I"m alone with Danny. The silence feels awkward.

"It is a pretty good sandwich," I say, feeling the need to say something.

"I bet it tastes extra good when you don"t eat carbs often."

I laugh, holding up what might actually be the best grilled cheese I"ve ever eaten. "You"re not wrong." Then I pause, my brows pulling together.

It"s not like I make a big deal out of my diet, except maybe to Noah, because all he eats is junk. But I keep that between us. Am I coming off like a douche to my teammates?

"I notice a lot of things."

The look on Danny"s face has all my limbs turning rigid. My last bite of sandwich turns to ash in my mouth, and it sits on my tongue because I can"t seem to swallow.

My eyes must betray my panic. Danny smiles kindly and takes my plate from me.

"Your secret is safe with me," he says.

When his back is turned, I gulp down the rest of my water to clear my mouth and think of how to escape this situation. My mind is racing as quickly as my heart, and the whooshing sound is getting louder in my head.

"There's no secret to tell," I croak when I finally gain control of my faculties enough to speak.

Danny nods, not pushing or judging. It helps me calm down a little. He takes his seat on the far side of the couch again, turning his body towards me. I can"t decide if his pointed look of understanding is making me angry or helping me feel better, but I look away from him, not wanting to make eye contact. My eyes examine the room. It"s set up exactly like ours, except the kitchen and sitting room are on opposite sides. Their apartment is tidy, but lived in. There are multiple game consoles, and a lot of pictures displayed on the shelf. For some reason, I"m surprised to find a bronze cross hung over the door. My eyes flick back to Danny, who looks up to follow my gaze.

"That"s mine," he says. "My mom hung it up on move-in day. Thankfully Peters didn"t mind."

"She"s very religious?"

"Oh yeah," he says with a laugh. "Like, super super Catholic."

"And she"s okay with..." I"m assuming if he"s open at school, his family must be aware. Though it might not be the case.

He looks as though he was expecting the question. "It took her a while to get comfortable with it. But she loves me—every part of me. Even the parts she doesn"t understand very well. It helps that Pope Francis is a lot more inclusive of the alphabet community."

"Oh. That"s good."

I can"t think of anything else to say. There seems to be a blockage in my brain; I"m not processing things at the same speed as usual. This is not the kind of conversation I"m used to having with anyone, much less another guy.

"My Uncle Leyton was a different story," Danny adds with a sarcastic grimace. It feels like he"s trying to play it off, but there's an underlying sadness that is easy to pick out, considering Danny is usually so happy-go-lucky.

"I guess he didn"t approve?"

"Not even a little. He went on a whole hellfire and damnation tangent during Sunday dinner and even renounced the Pope. It was a whole thing. Caused kind of a rift in the family, considering he and my mother were really close."

"That"s awful, I"m sorry."

"His loss," Danny says with a shrug. Though I get the feeling that there"s more to it. I can"t help but be curious, but I don"t want to press too much.

"But the rest of your family is cool with it?"

"Eh, "cool with it" might be a stretch. But most of them have taken on a "don"t ask, don"t tell" kind of attitude, which is fine for now. It"s not like I"ve ever brought anyone, guy or girl, home, to test them on it." He snorts. "That"ll be the day," he adds, laughing.

"Guy or girl?" The words slip out before I can control them. "Sorry—It"s none of my business. I didn"t mean to pry."

Danny leans forward and taps my shoulder to get me to look up at him again. "You"re not prying, Lane. I"ll let you know if anything you ask is too intrusive, and you do the same for me. It"s how friends talk to each other. Right?"

I nod and decide to be brave enough to continue the conversation, but I end up choking on my words. "So you"ve been with both—Er, like both—" I swallow down my embarrassment and run a hand over my flushed face. "Ugh. That"s not what I meant to say," I huff out. Danny manages not to laugh while I compose myself. "What I meant was, you"re bisexual, then?"

"I like the term pansexual," he says. Before I can ask, he explains. "It basically means that someone"s gender doesn"t matter to me when I'm attracted to them. Hearts not parts."

"Hearts not parts," I repeat. "That's cool." I"m not sure that I really understand it, it"s so far outside of what I"ve been taught. But it sounds nice.

"But to answer the question you really wanted to ask—yes, I"ve been with both men and women."

Oh, Jesus.My face is so hot, I"m surprised the picture frames aren"t steaming up like the bathroom during a hot shower. Then I think about Noah standing outside the shower, hand on the curtain, threatening to open it if he doesn"t hear me following his instructions.

Stop it, Lane. Stop it!Think about something else. Anything else.

"It intrigues you?" Danny asks, and from the corner of my eye, because I refuse to look right at him, I"m pretty sure he looks in the direction of my lap.

"N-no." As casually as possible, I cross my ankle over the thigh of my other leg to make my discomfort less obvious.

"It"s okay to be curious, you know."

Is he closer to me than he was a minute ago?

"I"m not—" I can"t even finish the sentence. My breathing picks up, and I can"t even begin to hide my agitation. Thankfully, the blood that was starting to fill my pants is now rushing to my head. I feel woozy with anxiety and my face is flaming. My grilled cheese might make a reappearance, though.

"Lane!" Danny barks out my name as I flinch away from him. Has he been trying to get my attention?

"Sorry, I?—"

"It"s okay."

"I"m not?—"

"Lane. Stop. It"s okay. You don"t have to be anything. You don"t have to talk about anything. I"d never pressure you, okay?"

My eyes are wide and I realize that I"m half out of my seat, pushing myself away from where Danny was trying to comfort me while I freaked out. My face burns even hotter. He probably thinks I"m a basket case.

Who am I kidding? I am a basket case.

"I think I should go," I mumble. This time, Danny doesn"t stop me, but he gets my attention just as I reach the door.

"Can I say one thing? As a friend?"

"What"s that?" I ask, my hand hovering over the door handle.

"It"s okay to be whoever and however you are. And if you decide that you"re curious—if you decide," he adds quickly before I can say anything, "I"m here to talk, or whatever you want. No pressure. You have my number."