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“It’d be weird, I suppose, for you to use his actual name.” Luke’s grin spread wider - and looked a little more authentic - at my awkward shrug. “But yes, I did. Have him, I mean. And for a while everything seemed far, far better than I ever could’ve hoped for it to be.”

He was a good storyteller; I already knew the dark cloud was upon us.

“And that’s when his roommate... when the blackmail happened?”

Luke’s mouth twisted. “Right. And I’m not proud of it, that I thought that way, but I really expected him to choose his team and not me.”

The nausea twisted in my stomach, even though I knew how the story actually ended. Caught, though, in imagining how Luke must’ve felt back then.

“Because wrestling was his dream,” I said, softly.

He nodded.

“But he didn’t,” I continued. Wanting to turn the page, even though it wasn’t even my history book to skip through. “He chose you.”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to describe the expression on Luke’s face.

“Like I said, I was convinced: I knew what his decision would be. Would have to be. And so, when Anthony picked me, instead - over his team, and even if he had to make that decision for terrible reasons - it felt like a commitment I didn’t really know how to process at first.”

I’d expected the happy ending to be picture perfect; reassurance in the face of prejudice and hate. Frowned, at how it seemed like things weren’t quite following those tracks.

“But you were pleased, right?”

He smiled at me. “Yes, of course. Surprised, and pleased, and surprised some more. And always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

I nodded, the reality of it dawning. Sometimes my brain felt like the water we were walking alongside: a constant stream of thoughts, almost impossible to grab onto for any hope of longer contemplation. Even those moments where I managed to hold the flow back for a while, there was the sense that some nuance was still escaping me.

“Like it was too good to be true,” I suggested.

“One part world-weary pessimism, one part good old-fashioned paranoia,” he replied.

We walked on further, the absence of our voices from nature’s hubbub a faintly comforting thing. Like the moments I’d sat at the edge of the locker room or the practice hall, watching my big bros laughing and joking with each other. Admiring the camaraderie between them, the tactility and gentle, unspoken affection. Feeling, too, like an outside observer in those times; still not quite certain how my own role fit in.

“They’re hard to live up to,” I blurted out, staring fixedly at the path ahead.

The non sequitur didn’t seem to phase him.

“It’s tough being the newest addition to a group.”

I nodded; a sharp, angry little movement.

“I expected them to be skeptical of me. Insist I had to prove myself, somehow, before they’d let me in.” The memory of that first day - walking into the locker room and waiting for my new teammates to show up - still curdled my stomach with echoes of preemptive dread. “But it all happened so... quickly.”

I paused, listening to the sound of the leaves under our feet, and the water, and the birds above us. Waiting to see if Luke would take back the reins of the conversation, guide us into some story, some lesson-learned from his own past. Wanting that; needing the reassurance that the steps I was taking weren’t rare and unfamiliar, but could be safely navigated with just a little guidance.

When I glanced at him, his expression told me he intended to listen, not speak.

I sighed. “I can’t shake the fear that I won’t be able to live up to them. To what they can do, or their expectations of me. And if they let me in so quickly...”

A beat.

“They could push you out, equally fast?” Luke suggested.

I stopped, my eyes closed. Trying to feel my way around the upswell of emotions that possibility roused in me.

“You clearly mean a lot to them,” he pointed out.

My mouth twisted, instinctively. “Wouldn’t you have said the same about your family, until they found out you were into guys?”