20. Cam

My roommates and I lay sprawled on the oversized, threadbare couches of our living room, the air charged with anticipation for spring break less than forty-eight hours away. Ansel cradled a beer in one hand, idly flipping through Netflix options with his other. Mark was stretched out on the other couch, one arm draped casually over Chet as he scrolled his phone.

"What about Queer Eye? Breaking Bad?" Sam suggested from his position on the carpeted floor, leaning back against Jesse's thighs. "Think I'm too hyped up to focus on something new."

I watched the tableau with an inward sigh, the camaraderie and excitement skittering around me like fireflies I couldn't catch. All of my roommates had plans that sounded amazing while I would be traveling home to my parents' stale, sterile sanctuary where discussions would likely center around my mom's Bible study group or my dad's back problems. Home was a tomb of unspoken words, stifling expectations, and perpetual concern that I was about to fuck up again.

I knew my parents loved me in their own way, and I had a permanent reminder etched in the back of my mind that they'd saved my life. But I wondered if being around them would always be accompanied by the feeling that I'd failed to repay my debt appropriately, the way they'd wanted me to, by falling in line. Sometimes it felt like their kind of love was a cage I'd outgrown and yet I still squeezed into every time we were in proximity. It was full of shoulds and musts, a yardstick against which I'd forever fall short.

I wished I'd begged off the trip, told them I had other plans—it wasn't like some of my roommates hadn't offered, but that voice had started whispering again in the back of my mind, telling me that I owed them, that if I was going to fail them as a dutiful son in almost every way, I should show up for them in the ways I still could.

I guess I needed to suck it up since it was my own doing.

As much as I dreaded the idea of spending a week under their scrutiny and concern, I dreaded more the time apart from Grady. He felt like a haven to me now. Picturing him running a hand through his dark hair or the way he sometimes pinched the bridge of his nose when he lost his train of thought—so rare that I fucking loved catching it—brought an unexpected pang to my chest.

"Hey, Cam." Mark's voice pulled me out of my thoughts, a hint of concern wrinkling in his forehead. He eyed me with subtle curiosity. "You're extra quiet tonight."

"I'm fine. Just thinking about everything I need to get done before the break." I pasted a smile onto my face. I still had work shifts, classes, and a tutoring session with Paul to think about, but the last thing I wanted to do was be a downer. "All you fuckers better send me pics. I mean it."

Mark's eyes held mine a beat longer before he nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure he was convinced. Despite our tumultuous history, it still felt like we shared an understanding sometimes. Neither of us came from particularly typical households, and he knew me and my struggles with my parents too well to be fooled by my feigned nonchalance.

Mark reached out, thumping me lightly on my knee. "Call me if you need someone to talk to. Any time and for any reason."

I swallowed against the lump that formed in my throat at the sincerity in his eyes. "I will," I promised.

Paul leanedback in his chair and nudged my laptop back toward me. "This is solid, man."

"A-worthy, you think?"

He seesawed his hand. "Lusk can be tricky sometimes with his grading, but I have a strong suspicion you'll be fine. Is there anything else you want me to look over? He'll sometimes do a pop quiz second class after spring break. You feel like you're grasping all the stuff on decision-making models?"

"Yeah, it's the papers that give me more trouble. I'm not always good at organizing my thoughts coherently."

Paul's smile softened. "Well, you've got it locked down in this one."

I exhaled a relieved sigh. "Thank you so fucking much. I just want to keep my GPA as high as possible. I've been looking at the grad program over at Crestview U, and it sounds really competitive."

"It is. I didn't get in." Paul chuckled. "The grad programs here are good, too, though." He rested an elbow on the table and angled toward me. "Speaking of competitive. I'm applying for a pretty prestigious fellowship. I asked Lusk if he'll write me a rec letter."

"Oh cool," I said, my focus divided as I unzipped my backpack to shove my laptop inside. I had breakfast shift at the cafe the next morning and didn't want to be a total zombie. Plus, ever since Grady and I had started hooking up, I'd made sure to keep things on a professional keel with Paul and tried not to engage too much—which was kinda ironic when I thought about it.

"Yeah," he said, eagerness evident in his voice. "I figure his name has some star power since he's got that book coming out."

"Oh yeah, good thinking!" I had to suppress a fond smile at the mention of Grady's book. He'd recently shared the chapter he'd written about decision fatigue, and seeing that he'd included the Enigma maze had made me feel all kinds of chuffed. Like my suggestion had legitimately helped him. He'd watched me carefully while I read, and afterward, when I'd told him I thought it was amazing, he'd chided me with a teasing smile for being biased. But I could tell I'd made him feel good, too. I didn't think I was biased, though. The chapter, and other parts of the book he'd shared with me, were better than the ones he'd assigned us in class, and most of those had been New York Times bestsellers.

"Mm-hmm. But I also know he doesn't write rec letters often or easily. He's kinda known for that, too. And he's been more distracted lately. So I was hoping maybe you could help me out a little bit. Hype me up to him."

A chill throttled me, but I forced myself to carry on, zipping my backpack. I mustered a light laugh. "You've got the wrong dude. I don't have any sway with him." Even as I said the words, I wondered if they were true. I didn't think Grady gave me preferential treatment in the classroom, nor would I want or expect him to. It had worked out well that he'd passed me off to his TA instead of helping me directly as he did other students because it kept the boundary lines cleaner.

"I'm not sure that's true, Cam." Paul's tone was affable, but the look in his eyes as I met them was more direct.

I shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about." I wasn't sure if it was more disconcerting that the lie rolled off my tongue so easily or that I was having to lie in the first place.

"You knew he had a book coming out."

"Everyone knows that."

Paul pressed his lips together. "Look, I'm not trying to threaten you. Or him. But I know there's something going on between the two of you. And that's fine. It's none of my business. I'm just trying to ask you for a favor. It's not like I'm not qualified for the fellowship. I am. I work my ass off, but an edge will help me a lot, and he's the edge."

I swallowed hard, the weight of Paul's words hanging heavy in the air and creating tension that crackled between us, charged with unspoken implications. I shifted in my seat, suddenly acutely aware of the fragile balance I'd been trying to maintain between my sex life and academics and struggling to find a way to navigate it.

Paul's expression softened, as if he could see me struggling, which in itself didn't particularly help my case that nothing was going on between me and the professor. "Cam, come on. I'm not judging you, and I won't tell anyone. I'm not asking you to spill any secrets. Just put a good word in for me. That's all."

I ran a hand through my hair, pressure building in my chest. Paul's request pushed boundaries and blurred lines in a way that made me uneasy. I didn't want Grady to feel like I was using our connection for personal gain. Or anyone's gain. I had no idea if he'd panic if he knew that his TA was onto us. He had so much going on between his classes, me, and his book, the last thing he needed was to worry about his job. Shit, Paul had said he wasn't going to say anything. It wasn't like he was outright blackmailing or threatening me. Maybe I could simply hype Paul enough to nudge Grady to write the rec, and we could all move on.

Taking a deep breath, I met Paul's gaze squarely. "I'll see what I can do. I make no guarantees. I'm trusting you to be true to your word, but I'm pretty fucking jaded at this point."

"That's all I'm asking, just a little nudge, man, no biggie. Have a good spring break, okay? Be safe."

After he left, I exhaled a long sigh and closed my eyes, trying to relax. Maybe this didn't have to be a big deal. Paul wasn't asking me to forge a letter or anything, commit fraud, lie, or steal. Somehow it felt that way, though, and made me all too aware of my precarious situation.

I considered calling Grady and telling him about the exchange right then, but I knew he'd planned on spending the weekend grinding through the editor's notes on his book, grading midterms, and prepping for the final weeks before summer started. We'd already said our goodbyes for the week, so I decided it was something I could share with him in person when I returned. I had enough on my plate with my trip back home.