Page 30 of The Way We Swing

When we pulled apart, Easton still hovered over me, neither of us moving for a long moment. I looked into his eyes, letting my hand rest on his head, hoping for more.

“I’m not gay,” he said. This time, his voice was much softer than when we were in my car.

Maybe he was trying to convince me. Maybe he was trying to convince himself. Either way, it didn’t stop him from kissing me like he meant it.

“Okay.”

I searched his face for something—guilt, need, regret—but he only looked away, jaw clenched like the words were caught behind his teeth. Why would he ask me to kiss again if he wasn’t gay? Why had he avoided being alone with me just to jump at things the first time we were?

My hands hovered at his ribs, unsure whether to hold on or push him away. Every second he stayed there, the knot in my chest pulled tighter. I’d said yes again. Now I had to live with what that meant.

When I woke up the next morning, Easton wasn’t in the basement. The blanket he used lay folded neatly on the couch, and I couldn't see his bag anywhere.

Panic overwhelmed me.

I’d messed up. Again. We’d made out—longer this time, deeper—and still hadn’t said a word about it.

Easton had fallen asleep with his head on my chest. I didn’t know what he wanted. What he thought. Was he in this? I couldn’t make sense of it.

I should have waited until we’d talked, should’ve known better. But I’d let it happen twice, and now I’d ruined everything. He’d never talk to me again. Once the team found out, they’d never look at me the same. I’d just be their gay teammate and nothing more.

Every second our bodies had been intertwined had felt perfect, and in those moments, I hadn’t cared who found out. I hadn’t cared about the consequences.

But now, with no smile to change my mind, I wasn’t so sure.

I dragged myself upstairs, rewriting the same text in my head three times. Each one sounded more desperate than the last.

As soon as my bare feet hit the first floor, I heard sounds coming from the kitchen. I had no desire to interact with anyone until I got ahold of Easton, but my stomach had other ideas. Lost in thought, I walked toward the voices.

“How do you want your eggs, you bum?”

I froze. Easton was at the stove, apron on. A smile took over my face before I meant to let it. “You’re here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Gavin and I are cooking everyone breakfast. How do you want your eggs?”

“Whatever everyone else is having is fine.” I walked over to the countertop that Gavin sat on. He remained in his blue Sonic pajamas but wore a green apron over the top of his orange shirt, making him look like a pumpkin floating in the ocean.

“Try a piece of bacon,” Gavin said, dangling it over my head like a dog treat. I opened and chewed down, the grease lighting up my taste buds. Never before had I enjoyed a piece of bacon this much.

“Good, huh? I made it myself. Easton is teaching me how to cook,” Gavin beamed.

“Really good, Gav.”

“I’m on drink orders, too. What do you want?”

“OJ is fine.” I looked back at Easton, whose back was to me. His arm moved in slow, steady circles over the pan.

“Tanner,” Easton said, not turning around, “can you go wake up Zach? Your parents should be back soon. I thought we should all have a final breakfast together before school starts."

“Sir, yes, sir,” I said, walking out of the kitchen and toward Zach’s room.

So, Easton didn’t hate me. Just like after the kiss in the park, he was acting perfectly normal. Which was good and what I wanted. Maybe this was the start of something, something worth coming out for. I gave a small fist pump as I walked into Zach’s room.

“Dude, get up,” I said.

“I am up. You think I could sleep through those two clowns banging around in the kitchen?” Zach said.

I looked over at his bed. He was still lying down but was playing with his phone. He had organized his room closer to our parents’—he had a king bed in the center of the room and a wooden dresser on the near wall but not much else. His walls were splashed with the yellow of the Missouri Tigers.