Page 1 of The True-Blue Romance

PROLOGUE

16 YEARS OLD

“Get the fuck back here, boy!”

The rusty front door squeals behind me as I escape with my shoes barely on and my backpack sliding off my shoulder. The early summer day is already damp with humidity and sweat dots across my neck before I even have a chance to blink through the brightness of the sun. Today’s going to be a hell of a scorcher. The summer heat wave is going to follow us all the way to fall, and probably all the way to winter.

I can still smell the whiskey on Dad’s sour morning breath, and I know I’ll pay for leaving without a scolding when I get home later tonight. But I don’t care. Not today. Today is the first official day of football practice. Beau and I made varsity this year despite only being sophomores. I guess that’s the bright side to Beau’s height and my weight. I might not be tall, but I’m big. I also have repressed anger, so tackling guys on the field sounds like a great time.

Tackling guys.

I fight the flush burning my cheeks. I have to mind-over-matter it to survive. I’m not going to give up the chance to get home late even if it means I spend all weekend cleaning and picking up after my drunk dad.

I hate him.

I hate my mom more for leaving me.

Honestly, I kind of hate everyone.

Better to stay quiet than give anyone else the chance to hurt me. At this point I think Beau’s the only person I trust in the entire world.

Reaching the end of the long dirt driveway, I use my hand to block the sunlight so I can see down the road. The sun is already at peak brightness today. I can’t bite back the relieved grin from spreading across my face when I spot Beau’s beat-up Ford barreling toward me. He comes to a jolting sort of stop right in front of me, leans over the console, and shoves the door open with a playful grin of his own. Everything settles into place at the sight of my best friend.

“Get in, Lee.”

“Thank you very kindly, Beauregard.”

Beau laughs good-naturedly as I haul myself into the truck. He reaches over to blast the air-conditioning, and I salute him in thanks. The radio plays old country as we amble down the road, and I press my hot cheek against the cool window.

“Excited for practice to start?” Beau asks conversationally, since I’m the only person he actually talks to.

I hum in agreement. “Excited to have an excuse to not go home.”

Beau shoots me a look, like he always does, and his fingers flex against the steering wheel in what I have to assume is anger. Not at me, but at my loser drunk father. “You could come stay with us.”

“Like hell,” I say with a bitter laugh. “Who would pick up after him? Two more years and I’m out. Just two more years, Beau. Just two.”

Beau stays quiet like he always does when I mention the length of time I have left to survive in my house. At least Dad hasn’t hit me recently. Beau’s mom and dad don’t take too kindly when I show up with a new shiner, and they never believe me why I say it was a fight at school that caused it. Probably because I’m a bad liar and Beau’s face always tells the truth even without me uttering a word. But one day I’ll get out, and I’ll never go back. Someday I’ll be free.

Beau’s quiet the rest of the way to school, which is par for the course for him. I’ve known Beau my entire life. Our properties are right next to each other in Clay Springs, both of us fifth generation in this small town that only got a traffic signal the year we were born. He’s my secret keeper, and I’m his, which means that I’ve known Beau is gay since he was thirteen years old and he told me with tears in his eyes. I didn’t tell him that I thought maybe I was gay, too, because that secret is far too big, and my dad finding out would mean sure death. No Bradley would ever be a queer would surely be my dad’s response. But he can’t stop me from being Beau’s best friend and from loving him the way he deserves.

Nobody’s ever gonna mess with Beau anyway. He’s sixteen and already six foot two, and he’s still growing. Meanwhile, I’m under six foot, with wavy dishwater-blond hair that’s somewhere between blond and brown, blue eyes that are too dark to be cool, and I’m a size forty in men’s pants when all the guys in school are thirty-fours. Nobody ever looks twice at me, which I guess is good in a roundabout way, ’cause then nobody bothers me. Except for my dad, and that’s only ever for a beating.

The truck rolling to a stop breaks me from my ruminating, thankfully. Beau and I are quiet as we walk up to school, people shouting hello to Beau as we pass. I feel my shoulders hunch in a little because if people see him, then maybe they also see me. No thanks.

Beau and I wordlessly separate because he’s in the honors classes, and I’m in with the regular folks. He hates when I say that, ’cause he thinks I’m calling myself stupid, but I’m not. It’s just that Beau’s the smart one and always has been. My dad’s probably beaten my brain to mush. Doesn’t help that I can’t read for shit. Dyslexic or whatever. It all gets blurred in my head and makes it hard to concentrate. At this point, I’m only passing high school ’cause Beau helps me.

I sit down at the back of my English class, away from everyone. A few people smile at me, and I smile back, but otherwise I try to not talk to anyone. The teacher calls roll and I lift my hand when she says Andrew Bradley. Nobody calls me Andrew though. I’ve been Lee since I was born. In the South, and particularly in my family, everyone has a nickname that makes no sense. Everyone sort of lost their imagination with me and just shortened my last name, so I became Lee. The name just kind of stuck. I probably look more like a Lee than an Andrew anyway.

I doodle in the margins of my notebook as the rest of roll finishes but glance up when the door opens for a late student.

Who is that?

A guy with a head of dark curls and the start of a five-o’clock shadow strolls into the room. He’s as tall as me at least, but thinner. He’s got actual muscles, and they flex in his biceps when he grips his backpack a little tighter. My eyebrows furrow as I take him in, all dark jeans and black T-shirt, beat-up checkered Vans on his feet. When my eyes lift to his face, it feels like a truck hit me in the chest. His smile is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. His lips are in the shape of a heart—Cupid’s bow lips, as my grandma used to call it. And that smile feels like a weapon; surely the teacher feels it too. She smiles at him with her eyes a little narrowed and points at the desk near me in the back.

No fucking way.

Everything slows down as he makes his way toward me. All the girls in the class have their eyes wide and trained on him, their lips parted like Keanu Reeves just walked into the class. I’m immediately annoyed. If he sits by me all year, all these girls will be fluttering around trying to impress him. The new kid slowly tugs out the chair from the desk, metal screeching against the tiled floor. I roll my eyes and look away.