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It was ridiculous. It couldn’t be further from the truth. But Vance got talked about almost as much as I did, and most of the time, he let it roll off his back like water.
“I’ve seen it,” Vance said, a pained expression coming over his face. “Brody, I posted those photos. Not to the forums, obviously. But the pictures… I put them on my own private Instagram last night, and apparently someone lifted them and stuck them on the site.”
The molten feeling in my chest was finally hardening into stone.
“They were your pictures?”
Vance nodded once. “I’m so sorry, Brode. Nobody’s ever lifted anything from my private account like that before. I don’t know who it was.”
I let out a long breath of air, steam dissipating into the cold air in front of me. “We’ll probably never know who it was,” I muttered.
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I took it out, surprised to see a text from Logan.
>>Logan: I don’t think we should go to any parties like that together again. I saw the photos.
Panic filled my veins.
It was inevitable, really. Eventually I knew that Logan was going to find out. I had just hoped to God I’d be able to get some of the photos or comments to be deleted by then.
It was clearly too late.
>>Brody: I am so so sorry. I’m going to make this right.
I looked up at Vance. “He knows,” I said quietly.
Vance swallowed. “This has to be fucking awful for him. He’s such a shy guy, and—”
“I know,” I said.
“I’m so sorry,” Vance said.
I shook my head. “It’s not your fault. It’s my fault for thinking I can go to any party without shit being said about me online. My fault for being openly gay and playing football, too, I guess.”
“Well, you’re a fucking hero for doing it,” Vance said.
“Don’t feel like much of a hero this morning,” I said. “I’m going to go talk to him. Thank you for trying, Vance. And do me a favor and tell Charlie I’m sorry?”
“Of course,” Vance said. “You know Logan will be okay, right? It’ll suck, but the guy is stronger than he seems. I mean, he annihilated in beer pong last night.”
“He definitely did.”
Vance came in to give me a hug, patting me on the back before I took off, going around the side of the yard and leaving through the gate instead. I ran back to our house in the snow, feeling like I was running through sand. When I got there I swung open the front door, immediately beelining for Logan’s room.
His door was wide open, which was unusual. And when I looked in, he was nowhere to be found.
“Logan?” I called out, checking the rest of the house, but I quickly realized he wasn’t there. “Fuck.”
I pulled out my phone, shooting him another text.
>>Brody: Where are you? I have to talk to you. I need to know you’re okay, Logan.
There was a buzzing sound and a little ding from the coffee table. I swore under my breath, realizing that Logan’s phone was right here in front of me.
He’d left without it. Maybe on accident… or maybe because he didn’t want to be reachable.
A curl of worry crept up through my chest. I wanted to think that Vance was right—I knew Logan was strong, and I wanted to believe that he’d be fine, despite all of the shitty people chatting about him on the Internet.
But Logan had also opened up to me about the pain of his past. The years of bullying and harassment he’d endured, all when he was a young teenager. He’d worked so hard to put that past behind him, and now…
Now I knew it had to be like a wound being torn open, long after he’d thought it had healed.
I heard footsteps from the stairwell and soon there was a sudden, loud knock on our apartment door. For a split second I had hope, thinking it might be Logan, before realizing that Logan would never knock on his own door.
I swung it open to see Dani there, a concerned look on her face.
“Is Logan here?” she asked.
I shook my head slowly. “Shit. I was just about to ask if you knew where he was.”
She pulled in a long breath. “I have no clue,” she said. “I think I fucked up, Brody. I showed him the forums. I wanted him to hear it from me before he found out from… someone less nice. Someone on campus, or something. Fuck, why did I have to send it to him?”
“I understand,” I told her. “I thought about doing the same thing, myself.”
“And now we don’t know where he is,” she said.
“I know he’ll be okay,” I said. “But I just want to comfort him. More than anything in the fucking world. I know he might hate me, after this, but I just want him to know how sorry I am.”
