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“I don’t want to lose you,” Ian says so softly I barely hear him. But his next words are like a bomb. “I love you—I’minlove with you.”
My breath catches in my throat at the confession. I wait for Enzo’s reply, but it never comes. Instead, the door suddenly swings open and I’m met with Enzo’s angry face.
“Great,” he mutters as he pushes past me. “Fucking great.” My gaze meets Ian’s, and he roughly wipes at his face. I glance behind me, finding Kennedy trying to talk to Enzo. When I look back at Ian, his face is red, and he wipes at it again.
“You heard?” he asks. I’m still frozen, still trying to figure out exactly what I heard.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice light. His chin shakes as he steps toward the door.
“Figured.” He looks past my shoulder, and I wince when the front door slams shut. The look on his face guts me, and I open my mouth to reassure him, to tell him that maybe Enzo just needs time, that it’ll be alright. But before I can say a word, he shuts the door in my face.
Something crashes, and he lets out a choked sob, then Kennedy’s at my side, reaching for the doorknob, but I catch her wrist.
“He needs a minute,” I murmur. Her eyes flash as she yanks her hand from mine.
“He needsme,” she hisses, and reaches for it again. But, again, I stop her.
“Give him a minute,” I say again, firmer. Her jaw clenches as she glares at me, but she can give me that look all she wants. He needs time to himself, not his mother demanding answers from him. Not right now.
Her throat bobs as she stands at her full height, her eyes narrowing. “What happened? Enzo wouldn’t tell me.” I shake my head. I won’t tell her this. I won’t out Ian, not before he’s ready. I shouldn’t have been listening to him, but I was, and I heard what he’d said, but that doesn’t mean it’s my place to tell anyone about it, not even Kens. I’ll take this to my grave if that’s what he wants.
“He’ll tell you when he’s ready,” I say with a small shrug.
“Ezra,” she growls. “What the fuck is going on?” The door opens and we both stiffen as we look toward Ian. “Hey, bud,” she coos, but his eyes are on me.
“Can I talk to you?” he says, his voice flat. I glance at Kennedy, finding her brows lifted.
“Me?” I put my hand to my chest, and he nods as he takes a step back. Kens and I glance at each other again, then I clear my throat. “Yeah, of course.” Stepping inside, I try to ignore the look on her face as I shut the door.
Leaning against it, I fold my arms over my chest and watch him. He sits on the edge of his bed, his head hanging and eyes closed.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to tell Mom,” he finally says, and I swallow hard.
“Alright,” I say. “We’ll tell her whenever you’re ready.” His eyes lift to mine, and I push off the door. “It’ll be alright, Ian.” I sink onto the bed beside him, resting my shoulder against his.
“I wasn’t ready to tell anyone,” he says, dropping his eyes again. “It just came out.” I nudge him with my shoulder, and he looks at me again.
“It’s okay,” I say, and his face finally breaks. Tears fill his eyes as he shakes his head.
“It’s not okay,” he cries. He covers his face with his hands, and I wrap my arm around him, my thumb stroking his back. “I lost my best friend. Why couldn’t I just shut up?” He hits the side of his head, and I grab his wrist before he can do it again.
“He’ll come around,” I say gently. “And if he doesn’t, he’s not a friend you would want, anyway.” He cries harder at that, and I wince.
This parenting shit is hard. I have no idea what the fuck to say.
I tighten my arm around him, holding him against my side. He rests his head on my shoulder as he cries, and my heart aches even more for him. His tears soak into my shirt, but I let him soak it. I let him get it all out, and when he finally pulls away, he uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face.
“I’m not gay,” he says.
“Wouldn’t matter if you were,” I say, shrugging. “Your mom will love you either way. I’ll—I’ll care about you no matter who you like.” I can’t drop the L word on him. Not until Kennedy drops it on me first. He shakes his head, wiping his eyes with his shirt again.
“I—I like both,” he mumbles. “Girls and guys.” I nod in understanding, then clear my throat.
“I’ve hooked up with a few guys,” I admit, and he snaps his head to me.
“Really?” he breathes, sounding shocked. I shrug as I rub the back of my neck. I don’t know if talking about my sex life is the best parenting tactic, but it’s the only one I have.
“Yeah,” I say, shrugging again, nonchalantly. “There was one guy that I had a—” I try to find the right word. “If we couldn’t find anyone else to sleep with, we’d just fu—hook up together. Sometimes we had threesomes, but it was usually just us.”
