I held my breath as he spoke. Closed my eyes. Felt each and every word in my soul. It was the closest Anson had come to admitting who he was since we’d started speaking. Something that, if I was correct, he’d never said to anyone.
“My mom…she’s great. I’m her pride and joy—well, me and Elias both—but there’s always been something special between us. She has all these dreams for me to marry a nice girl and have a bunch of babies she can spoil. I grew up spending every Sunday in church. My mama still does. God wasn’t there when my brother got hurt or when we couldn’t put food on the table, but I know that according to them, he doesn’t want me to be gay. There is no other stuff, West. There can’t be. I’m not like you. I can’t… I can’t just think fuck it about everything. You don’t need people. I do.”
I opened my mouth, almost said something I’d never admitted—I need people—but I didn’t. Couldn’t. “You’re right. I’m glad you called me, and I’m sorry I’m a dick.”
“You’re not a dick.”
“No, I am. You just don’t know me well enough yet. Ask anyone.”
For the first time since he called, Anson gave me a real laugh. I felt proud that I was the cause.
“Weston, baby, you coming back in?” I flinched at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’d approached me, and somehow I hadn’t heard him. He called me baby all the time—called everyone baby. It didn’t mean anything, but I felt…almost guilty. Like I shouldn’t allow it. “Shit. I didn’t realize you were still on the phone.”
“It’s okay,” I told Brandon. “Sorry. I’m almost done. I’m just helping a friend with something.”
“I’ll meet you back inside,” Brandon said just as Anson spoke too.
“I didn’t know you were busy…that you were out with someone.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you in a minute,” I replied to Brandon.
Anson said, “No. It’s fine. Fuck. I’ll let you go.”
“No, An—dy.” I changed what I was going to say when I realized I was about to call him by his name.
He hung up, and Brandon frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be.” I shook my head. “It was just a friend. He’s going through some stuff. Come on, let’s go back inside.”
I stood and took his hand, but I didn’t stop thinking about Anson all night. When I could slip away again, I sent him a text: You okay?
He didn’t respond that night. When I woke up in the morning, there was still nothing.
Chapter Nine
Anson
It was fucked up that I was so shaken about Weston being out with someone the other night. It was none of my business. We weren’t anything. Hell, we’d seen each other once in our lives, and that was all it would ever be—all it could ever be—but I’d been jealous. Jealous he could be out with a guy when I never had been, never would be. That he was braver than I was, that he didn’t need people to like him the way I did. I’d always been like that—Darren gave me shit about it all the time. I was a people pleaser. I wanted to be the nice guy everyone liked.
But in my room at night, with the lights out and alone with my thoughts, with the truth, I knew I was jealous of the guy who had been with Weston just as much as I envied Weston himself. There was something about him I liked, that I connected with. It had started that first night and had grown in the weeks we’d been talking.
That truth kept me from texting, kept me from answering his calls or messages over the past week. Talking with Weston was dangerous. It made me want things I didn’t have it in me to reach out and grab, things that could cause me to lose everything else.
It had been stupid to keep talking to him as long as I had. No good would come of it.
I hit my home gym for an extra workout. I’d been working myself like crazy—football practice and then exercising at home. My legs were weak as shit when I finished, but I still went straight for the shower to get ready. I was meeting Elias at Mom’s.
I’d bought Mom a house. It had been one of the first things I’d done when I started to make money. I wanted her to have nice things, the nicest. God, she’d worked so hard to do her best by us when we were kids. She’d worked two jobs, killing herself trying to make money, but she always found a way to make time for us too. It didn’t matter what we needed or how it affected her; she worked her ass off to make it happen.
Mom had never remarried after losing my dad. Hell, as far as I knew, she hadn’t ever even dated. I’d never had the courage to ask her why. I’d always wished she had someone; she deserved it. While Mom had friends and kept herself busy with church, volunteering, and work—she still worked, even though she didn’t have to—I hated that she was alone.