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The crowd roars on the TV, a sharp contrast to the silence settling over me. Dad and Xavier’s parents lean forward, eyes glued to the screen, every muscle tensed in anticipation of the next play. I try a smile, nodding along to a comment about the quarterback’s last move. It feels like I’m mouthing words to a song I no longer remember the tune to.
“Great catch, wasn’t it?” Xavier’s mom says, her enthusiasm bubbling over.
“Amazing,” I agree, but the word is hollow, empty. The tension with Levi festers, a wound that refuses to heal. I sense Xavier’s gaze on me, questioning, but I can’t meet his eyes. Not now.
“Refill?” I ask, my voice too bright, as I stand abruptly, snatching up empty snack bowls. It’s an excuse to escape, to breathe. I head to the kitchen, the clinking of the bowls a small distraction from the cacophony in my mind.
Inside the quiet sanctuary of the kitchen, I lean against the counter, closing my eyes.
Should I tell Xavier? My heart races at the thought.
Grayson and Conrad are part of me, a secret kept in shadows—but this…this would be dragging them into the light.
Dad would be disappointed. He sees Xavier as the perfect match, the safe choice. Revealing the truth feels like stepping off a cliff. The fall could break more than just me—it could shatter the delicate balance we’ve all been tiptoeing around.
I open my eyes, focusing on the patterns of the countertop. There’s safety in the known, in the unspoken. But lies, even by omission, fester. They grow roots.
“Need a hand?” Xavier’s voice comes from behind me, soft yet somehow intrusive.
“No, all good.” I force my hands to steady, placing snacks into the bowls. I turn, offering him a practiced smile. “Let’s get back to the game.”
“Sure,” he says, but he searches my face, looking for a hint, a clue. I wonder if he sees the cracks in my facade, the silent scream behind my eyes.
“Ready?” I ask, before he can probe further.
“Always,” he replies, and there’s a warmth to his voice that I wish I could feel.
We walk back into the living room together, the noise of the crowd welcoming us back, a reminder that life goes on, regardless of the turmoil within.
I settle on the couch, the leather cool beneath my bare thighs. There’s a dip in the cushion where Xavier sits. I ease into it, every nerve firing with the need to bolt. I stay put, though. Stay silent.
“Great game, huh?” Xavier says, his voice slicing through the thunderous cheers from the TV.
“Intense,” I manage, my gaze flickering to the screen. Players dart and weave, a blur of motion that mirrors the chaos in my head.
Dad whoops, slapping his knee, lost in the thrill of the game. Xavier’s parents chime in with their own jubilant shouts. I try to mimic their enthusiasm, clapping along, but my hands feel numb, disconnected.
Xavier leans in, his shoulder brushing mine. “You okay? You seem…off.”
My heart stammers.
Tell him. Don’t tell him.
The words tangle like thread too tightly wound. “Just tired,” I say instead, swallowing back the truth with the bitterness of deceit.
“Let me know if you need anything.” His eyes are kind, trusting. It twists something inside me.
“Thanks,” I whisper, and turn back to the game.
The room pulses with each play, yet I’m adrift in the midst of it all.
Levi’s words echo, a haunting refrain. He doesn’t understand. Can’t understand what it’s like to juggle hearts, to balance on this precarious edge.
Xavier’s laugh, rich and carefree, breaks through my reverie. I force a smile, nodding along to something I didn’t catch.
My mind races back to Grayson’s touch, Conrad’s kiss.
The memory sears, sweet and sharp.
