CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

F inn

Noah didn't mean to say that, I'm sure. He didn't mean to tell Evan that he was gay. Because, if he is gay, he definitely likes men.

My mind whirls, and Vinnie thrusts a platter of lamb ribs in my hand, and it takes me a moment to remember I should compliment the ribs and not simply gaze at them in a shocked manner.

"They look good." Evan shoots me a strange look. "Good job, honey."

I'm a hockey player. A good one. Slow reflexes aren't normally my thing.

But now my mind is racing, and it's forgotten my body.

All I can think about is Noah.

Noah who might be gay.

Noah who should have told me that.

I slide my gaze at Noah again. His cheeks are still a ruddier shade than when we entered, and I don't think he can blame the beer that someone has slid into his hand at some point.

I look at my hand, and I'm holding a beer too. My eyes widen.

I am really out of it.

Did I concoct that Noah said what he said? There would be no reason for him to not just say that he was bisexual. I mean, that's what I said. And Noah is the sort of agreeable person who often says the same thing. That's probably why we're holding the same drink.

"Do you feel okay?" Evan asks, his brow furrowed, his gaze darting from me and Noah.

"I'm fine." My voice cracks like I'm a preteen again, and I take a lengthy sip of beer.

"I can get you some water if you're thirsty," Vinnie says, his gaze dropping to Stella, as if he's expecting that I'll be singing on the table before dessert.

Shit.

They're already regretting inviting us. Because even though I acted all cool and knowledgeable to Noah when we came here, and even though I explained everything I knew about Vinnie and Evan, there's still so much I don't know about them.

Invitations to Casa Evan are coveted and rare.

Stella chatters about her teacher, and I wonder if Noah had the good sense to ask her about that or if she spontaneously filled the silence.

The latter is likely, given Vinnie's tendency toward silence, though maybe at home he doesn't spend his time pretending he's auditioning to play Heathcliff or one of those other tormented heroes found wandering moors in my mother's favorite Masterpiece Classics period dramas.

I look around the table. It's decorated impeccably, and bowls of delicious looking food are everywhere.

"You made all of this, Vinnie?" I ask.

Vinnie beams.

Evan beams .

Stella beams.

"Vinnie is an amazing cook," Stella declares. "Daddy used to do all the cooking, and it wasn't the same."

"Those were the tragic days." Evan bites back a smile.

"Big time," Stella says solemnly.

God. I didn't know that about Vinnie. And apparently there are huge things about Noah I didn't know either.

I try to make stilted conversation, but mostly I'm wondering if I can make an excuse and drag Noah to one of the bedrooms and have it out with him now.

Not the best idea.

Evan is a chill dude, but his eyes seem to be more narrow than normal, and his brow more furrowed.

A chill slinks up my spine. Noah and I fooled Coach H, fooled the team, fooled Tanaka, fooled Daniela, fooled our parents, fooled the press.

We've been lying to everyone.

And I thought we were getting away with it.

But now I'm not so sure.

How much shock was on my face when Noah told Evan that he was gay? Given the fact I'm acting quiet and withdrawn, all the things I'm not, I'm sure he noticed.

Wouldn't I have known that my husband was gay and not bisexual? Isn't that the sort of thing a same sex married couple knows about each other?

My heart beats unsteadily, and when I try to eat all the delicious food, my throat is dry, and my stomach has turned to stone.

Noah casts a worried look at me, his bright green eyes round and concerned .

Normally I would reach him and comfort him, but now uncertainty has built borders between us.

Finally, Noah says something about an early day tomorrow, and I look down and find a half-eaten dessert—cheesecake, I think—at my plate.

I usher all my platitudes about how this meal was amazing, bringing out my best Carrington charm, but Vinnie's look is strange, and Evan's look is stranger, and I don't think I've fooled anyone.

Noah suggests we get an Uber, but I want to walk. I want to walk everywhere and rid myself of the energy and uncertainty moving through my body, and I never want to reach home, because I don't know what to say to Noah once we arrive.

NOAH

Finn's steps lengthen, and I hurry after him. The night is dark, the sky black. The beautiful homes in Beacon Hill with their intricate warm red rick design have been replaced with large blocks. The flowers baskets that hung from glossy black lampposts have vanished, and the light from the lampposts, now lit, looks eerie. The Boston Common is dark, and the flowers resemble shag rugs in a dark room, and not anything that people have carefully designed, carefully grown and carefully nurtured.

Then the rain begins to fall.

A drizzle thickens to large raindrops, moving from a playful allegro to a full crescendo.

Still, Finn is silent.

Maybe he always will be.

I shouldn't have said that to Evan.

I wasn't thinking. I was too relaxed, and now Finn knows.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"You didn't do anything."

"I know, but—"

"We can talk at home."

The knot in my chest tightens. "Okay."

Shame fills me as I remember ducking into his room my first morning here, interrupting Finn doing an activity that he expected to be private.

Does he think I ventured in there on purpose, eager to try my chances?

My breath quickens, my heart threatens to explode. I think Finn glances at me, but when I look at him, his gaze is straight ahead. Raindrops wet his hair, and I want to brush them away. Yesterday, I would have. Now I totter uncertainly.

"Hello boys!" The security guard beams when we enter the lobby of Finn's building, but his smile drops when he sees our faces.

The elevator takes forever to reach the lobby, and Finn paces the marble floor, as if dismayed he might have to make small talk with me, might have to talk with me.

The main door opens, and Madison saunters in. She joins us in quick efficient strides, unhampered by her heels. A floral scent wafts around us when she joins us in the elevator, and I can scarcely breathe .

"Ah, the happy couple," she says.

Nothing about the words are cruel, but they slam against my chest all the same, and Finn's expression is torn.

Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no.

"Hello Madison," Finn says.