Page 18 of Poet & Protector

“I haven’t told anyone,” I replied, shaking my head.

“That’s…They wouldn’t be cool about it?” He frowned.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, I think they would…but telling them…I’m not sure how.”

Nev made a quiet sound I couldn’t interpret. “Start with the packmate you trust the most. See how it goes.”

He fell silent, then a moment later he added, “It’s too hard to do this alone.”

For the first time, I was the one who couldn’t look at him. My throat was tight and my eyes stung. There was no way in hell I would let Nev see how vulnerable, how lonely I suddenly felt. When I didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, Nev cleared his throat.

“If there’s no one you can tell, maybe⁠—”

“There’s someone.” I cut him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

It was true. I could tell Ansel. I just had to work up the courage to do it. I also didn’t want Nev to assume my packmates were all bigoted assholes. They weren’t. It was about me finding my own way to be open about who I was. But having this conversation with Nev was a huge step in that direction.

“I know you’re tired of my questions, but can I ask one more thing?”

“Go ahead.” He looked at me with something I thought might be concern.

“Did you wonder?”

“Wonder what?”

“If I was gay,” I said. “Before you saw me at the Bunker, I mean.”

That slightly worried expression on his face vanished. “I didn’t bother to think about it.”

Okay, ouch.

“Right,” I muttered.

He scoffed.

“What?” The question snapped out of me. Nev’s haughtiness made it so hard to have a civil exchange with him. Every time we took a step toward friendliness, he pushed us a mile back by being a dick.

“You’re offended,” he replied. “But I’m guessing you never spent a second wondering about me either.”

“I—” Oh. He wasn’t wrong. “Shut up.”

One corner of his mouth curved into a half smile. “I thought so.”

“That doesn’t mean⁠—”

He interrupted me. “It’s like you’ve forgotten I’m a Bane and you’re a Nightshade. Part of our job description is ignoring each other’s existence so we don’t fight.”

“I didn’t forget,” I shot back. “I just thought…Never mind. How should we start this assignment? Other than me writing a haiku. I don’t want to do that.”

He watched me, taking his time in replying. I got the sense he wasn’t ready to drop that last thread of our conversation, but I had no interest in returning to it.

“We should pick a poetry style,” he said. “What are your favorites?”

“Uh…”

“You do know there are different styles of poems, right?” His lips curled back. “They don’t all rhyme.”

“Oh, come on!” God, I wanted to punch him. “Of course I know poems don’t all rhyme. We’re in the same class. We’ve been in all the same English classes. I get As.”