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For some reason I couldn’t explain, I suddenly knew what he was going to tell me, my heart rate spiking as pieces of the puzzle that was Hunter Callahan started clicking together.

Cally never talked about women—past or present tense. By his own admission, he never hooked up. Then there was the blushing and stammering whenever I said something stupid about sex. Before, I’d chalked it up to him being innocent, maybe even a virgin.

And I would probably still think that if he didn’t currently look exactly like Haley had when she sat our mom down at the kitchen table to explain that she only liked girls—his shoulders braced the same way my sister’s had been that day, his chin lifted determinedly.

“I could never hate you, Cal,” I whispered, remembering how my mom had said those same words to my sister.

He stared at me for a long beat, his eyes roving my face. Then he gave a small nod—barely a dip of his chin—like whatever he saw there made him decide he could trust me.

“I … I’m gay,” he whispered, and then, as if he couldn’t stand to see my reaction, dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling, more words tumbling out of his mouth in one long, run-on statement with zero pauses to breathe. “And I know we just agreed to live together, and I get it if you don’t want to anymore. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I’ve never told anyone this before. I’ve never said the words out loud. I wasn’t even willing to admit them to myself, and—fuck.” He dragged in several quick breaths, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. “Oh god. I’m so fucking gay.” He groaned, a pained noise that sounded yanked from deep inside of him, and dropped his head forward to rest against his forearms. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. Please don’t hate me,” he whispered into the fabric of his sleeves.

As if I ever could.

Cally was my best friend, and he’d just trusted me with the truest, most honest version of himself. What kind of man would I be if I hated him for that?

“Cal.” I scooted closer. “Hey. Look at me. Please.”

He lifted his head to show me wet, red-rimmed eyes.

“My sister’s gay and married to a woman named Kara, who is maybe the nicest, most patient person to ever exist. My aunt Pat is pan; her partner is trans.” I set my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “All my favorite people in the world are queer, man.”

“You’re not …” He swallowed deeply, his throat bobbing. “You really don’t care?”

“I care that you’ve been walking around terrified about this. I hate that for you. But the gay part?” I slid my hand away and shrugged. “That’s like telling me you’re left-handed or you hate carrots. It’s like, that’s just literally a part of who you are. Why would I care?”

He huffed out a laugh, wiping the back of his wrist across his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t apologize, Cal. Never apologize for being real with me.” I held his gaze so he’d see I wasn’t just saying what I thought he wanted to hear. “And for the record, I’m so fucking glad you trusted me enough to share this. I mean it.”

“Okay,” he whispered, turning his face away. “Thank you for being so cool about this. I know a lot of other people wouldn’t be.”

“I keep telling you, man—I’m fucking awesome.” I hooked my arm around his shoulder to pull him into a side hug. “Now let’s watch the rest of this terrible movie.”

“Yeah. All right.” He scooted down a bit, relaxing into my side as the movie played on, one ridiculous explosion after another.

I’d never had a friendship like this before—one where someone had handed me the most fragile thing about himself and trusted me not to break it. I would do everything in my power to make sure that no one else ever broke Cally, either.

THIRTEEN

CALLY

“Hey, Cal!” Mikey waved me over from where he was crouched down petting a small dog of indeterminate breed that looked suspiciously like an Ewok. It had its paws on his knees, and was trying to lick his face. “Come meet Kelly. She lives in 1A.”

I rolled my suitcase up against the wall, out of the path of the door. I wiped my palms on my thighs as I approached, my right hand extended in greeting. “Hi, Kelly. I’m Hunter.”

She tilted her head to the side, her eyes dropping into a squint as she looked between Mikey and me. “Wait. Didn’t he just call you Cal?”

Mikey ruffled the dog’s head and stood. “Oh, that’s a hockey thing. His last name’s Callahan, so to me, he’s Cal or Cally.”

“Well, Hunter,” she said, “it’s good to meet you. Michael’s told me so much about you.” She bent to pick up her dog, taking his paw in her hand and waving it at me. “And this little guy is Momo.”

“Nice to meet you, Momo,” I said, reaching my hand out so it could sniff my knuckles, though he barely paid me any attention. Instead, he began squirming in Kelly’s arms, trying to launch himself at Mikey.

I knew exactly how he felt.

Later, I heard the ding of the elevator sound in the hallway. A couple of seconds later, the front door opened, Mikey saying, “Yeah, just watch the corner there. You got it.”

He backed into the room, carrying one end of a box containing an eighty-five-inch television he’d ordered the night before. At the other end was a sweaty-looking guy I didn’t know wearing a Marauders shirt from the team’s first season.