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“Dude, this team has more than its fair share of queers.” Brendon shoves another bite into his mouth. “We should start a queer league in the off season.”
“Do you have to be queer to join, or can we just be supportive?” Willis asks.
“I guess that would depend on how many people sign up.” Brendon shrugs.
“If you need players, I’m in,” Jeremy adds. “And Preston will play too.”
Preston sighs. “Good, you’ll keep in shape during off season.”
I roll my eyes. Of course that’s his thought.
“Paul, make notes. You’re going to have to organize this.” Carp points at me.
That pisses me off. Brendon is fully capable of handling his own shit. He’s not stupid.
“I will help if he asks for it, but he can do it himself if he wants to.”
Brendon smiles shyly, hiding his face from the table, and hooking his foot around my ankle.
It drives me nuts when people think he can’t handle things or take anything seriously. Is he a goofball? Yes. But that doesn’t mean he can’t focus when he needs to. I love how his brain works. He’s quick-witted and makes me laugh, thinks outside the box, and finds solutions to problems other people can’t figure out.
Carp raises his hands, palms up, and dips his head. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”
The conversation flows again as we finish eating, then clean up.
Brendon and I are the last to leave and walk slower than the group, just enjoying the cold night. I miss the clear nights full of stars from back home. I need to go back and visit my grandparents before summer camp starts.
When we make it back to the room, Brendon strips down to just his underwear, which has dancing cheeseburgers on them, and climbs onto my bed before I do. He lies on his back, one arm behind his head, making his torso stretch in a long, lean line.
I kick off my jeans and strip my T-shirt off before crawling on the bed to collapse on his chest. He chuckles and wraps his free arm around my shoulders while I lay my cheek over his heart. I slide one knee between his and pull him closer with my arm around his waist. Brendon tosses my crocheted blanket across us, and I breathe a sigh of relief and contentment.
“I love you,” I mumble into his chest.
“I love you too.”
“This is really comfy. Now I see why you like sleeping like this.” I turn my face enough to nip at his skin, and he hisses.
“Right?” Brendon agrees and settles more into the pillows. “It quiets my brain.”
I close my eyes, breathing in the smoky pine scent of his deodorant, and absorb the comfort he freely offers.
“I’m afraid of what will happen to me if I lose you.” The words are quiet in the dark of our room, a place where secrets can be told. “When my mom died, my dad lost it. He mentally checked out. Couldn’t handle life without her.”
Brendon’s arm tightens around me, but the dam has burst, and I can’t keep the words in anymore.
“He came to the hospital, found out she was dead, and left me there. I was fourteen. I needed my dad. I needed him to tell me he didn’t blame me, that we were going to be okay, but he just . . . left.” Tears fall from my eyes onto Brendon’s chest, but I don’t try to wipe them away. “My grandparents basically raised me after that. Dad couldn’t be bothered to care where I was or what I was doing. When I was at home, I had to fend for myself. He spent more time out on the lake than with me, so I moved in with my grandparents. It was obvious they were trying to make up for him not caring, but it hurt so fucking bad.”
A sob escapes, and my grip on Brendon tightens as I let the pain from the last few years out.
“Why wasn’t I enough?”
Brendon wraps his body around me, arms and legs, to hold me as tight as he can.
“You are enough,” he says into my hair. My chest heaves with the emotions that I’ve kept locked up in a cardboard box in my heart. But it's been ripped open, and no amount of tape will put it back together. For the first time since my dad left me in the ER on my fourteenth birthday, I mourn the loss of my father. I let myself purge the fear of being in love, the fear of turning into my dad, the fear of never being enough.
“Don’t leave me, okay?” I lift my face into the crook of Brendon’s neck while my chest heaves and my skin feels too tight. “I don’t know if you want to do the kid thing or have twelve dogs, but if you die, I promise I won’t abandon them. You have to promise too.”
“I promise not to abandon our hypothetical children if you die before me.”
