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It’s mesmerizing.
We grab our sleeping bags—thank God, we each have our own—and roll them out inside the tent. But when we get ready for bed, it doesn’t matter that we’re in separate sleeping bags.
His face is right by mine. I can feel his body heat through the nylon. I can smell his shampoo mixed with the smell from the fire.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I have to ask him. It was one thing before he knew I’m gay—that’s still so damn hard to even think. But now that he knows for sure I’m interested in guys, this might be weird for him.
Us sleeping together out in the middle of nowhere.
No one else is around.
But he just looks at me with those big blue eyes, and I see the anger—or maybe frustration—flaring in them. “Okay with what? Sleeping on the hard-ass ground when it’s freezing?”
His tone has an edge to it because he knows that’s not what I’m asking. And yeah, I’m sure it’s frustrating to him that I won’t just take his word for it. But the thing is, Adam is just so damn good. He’ll protect me, no matter what, and I don’t want it to be at the expense of his own comfort.
“You know what I’m asking,” I say quietly, rolling to my back and looking up at the top of the tent and not at Adam.
I hear rustling, and I’m sure he’s rolling fully to his side to look at me. “I do, and I don’t like it.”
I sigh softly. “I’m sorry, Adam. I just can’t make it make sense to me in my head that you’re totally okay with all this.”
“Zach, look at me.” I don’t want to. My eyes slide closed, and I take a deep breath. I hate this. I wish I had just kept my mouth shut, but he doesn’t sound upset. He sounds concerned, and I can’t let him worry.
I open my eyes and roll to my side, mirroring his position.
“I’m broken.”
That’s not at all what I expected him to say, and I almost choke on my own spit when he says it, but I recover. “What are you talking about? You’re not broken.” He’s the least broken human I know.
“Haven’t you ever noticed that I never talk about sex. Or dating. Or girls. Or anything really, other than sports and the farm.”
I go over every conversation we’ve ever had—really quickly—and no, I guess it’s usually about sports or farming. But that’s not that weird. “I mean, those are your priorities.”
“Yeah, and how many eighteen-year-old guys do you know who don’t comment on how hot chicks are or how badly they need to get laid, even if they never have.”
I shrug, using my hands as a pillow, watching him. What exactly is he trying to say to me. I’ve participated in those conversations a couple of times, but it was for show. It was always a damn facade. But Adam never has. “You’re kind of a quiet guy. Everyone knows that.”
He’s lying on his big hands too, his eyes locked on mine. “I don’t join in because I don’t feel that way.”
“You’re private.”
He sighs and gently shakes his head. “It’s more than that.”
I study him closely and suck in a deep breath. Is he saying what I think he is? No. He can’t be. If he were gay too, he’d have said something, right? But I don’t think that’s what he’s trying to tell me.
My heart is pounding in my chest so damn hard. “What is it?”
“I told you...” His voice is quiet and raspy. “I’m broken.”
I frown. “What does that mean?” I mean, believe me, I thought I was broken many times over the past few years. “Are you”—I can barely bring myself to say it, but I finally accomplish it—“gay?”
I wait for so long I swear I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, but my stomach drops when he shakes his head. “No.”
Okay.“So you’re straight?”
He shakes his head again. I’m not a total moron, I know there are other ways to identify. But I haven’t looked into it much. I don’t really know how it works if I google this stuff, and the last thing I need is my mom or stepdad to see it. Or anyone at school.
“I don’t think I’m straight either.”
