Later that evening, after Hollister, Maclain, and I scarfed down a couple of large pizzas we’d had delivered, Hollister floated an idea to us. “Hey, Donovan, your birthday’s coming up. Let’s invite a few people, have a small party.”
“Yeah?” I looked around our shitty apartment, but at least we had the room for it. “What about Coach’s warning today?”
“Seriously?” Maclain scoffed from his perch on the coach. “You always gotta—”
“What the fuck is your problem, Maclain?” I bit out, balling a fist. “Why you always busting my balls lately?”
“Maybe because you’re a little too perfect for my taste,” he said through clenched teeth. “Perfect team captain, perfect family, perfect fucking hair, perfect everything.”
I punched a finger in his direction. “You don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about. I have plenty of—”
“Enough, you two,” Hollister said, glaring at us. “This is the exact reason we need a party. To blow off some steam.”
“Fine,” I grumbled, avoiding looking at Maclain and his sour ass.
“Cool,” Hollister said, then answered a call from Dawn while Maclain strode to his room and barely avoided slamming the door. What in the hell?
In bed that night, I pulled out my phone and considered texting Kellan—maybe something about the party or the games we had left. Or about Maclain’s shitty mood. With more perspective, I realized that him mentioning my perfect family in his rant might’ve meant something significant. Like maybe he’d gotten into it with his father again or something. Christ, way to take it out on me.
I chickened out on texting Kellan, and instead started thinking about stuff from my childhood. Not teddy bears or sugar cookies, though. More like the fact that I became obsessed with certain major-league players when I was a kid and insisted on collecting their memorabilia and finding out anything I could about them. Ricky certainly helped with stats and never acted like my questions were strange. Damn, he was a good brother. I also remembered being fascinated with the players’ looks—eyes, hair, body—and admiring them, a lot.
Had that been my first clue and I’d overlooked it?
See, far from perfect, Maclain.
What else could help explain why I’d felt so out of sorts about the whole hetero dating thing when everyone around me was going strong? Maybe it just took me longer to figure myself out, and that made me feel strange, like I was still some stupid teenager surrounded by experienced adults.
I pulled out my laptop and casually clicked around before finally getting the nerve to type my exact question into the search engine. Why does it take some longer than others to realize they’re gay?
Countless websites popped up, making my head spin. I sat back and started reading. The discussions I found in some of the chat rooms astounded me. There were so many out there just like me, and even older. My conclusion by the time I’d shut my laptop was that I definitely wasn’t alone, and everyone’s process was different.
Still, the idea of my parents walking in on me and discovering my search history terrified me, though rationally I knew they’d be stunned but would eventually accept it. As usual, I didn’t want to add anything more to their plate.
Okay, that was a decent enough excuse. But I also needed more time to sit with the idea of being gay. Because holy crap, I’m gay as fuck. I mean, logically, I knew that. I’d known it every time I looked at Kellan, but it was one thing to know something and another to start embracing it, to put that truth into action or to at least know that was something I was working on doing.
But it also felt like this deep itch under my skin. The urge to get out there and explore all these new sensations and feelings. My body and my brain felt lined up for the first time ever, almost like my bones were finally getting settled in my skin. There was a rightness to it.
Sort of like the rightness of having Kellan in my arms the other night. Fuck.
I lifted my cell again and went for it. What are you up to?
Just studying.
Sorry to bother you.
No sweat. Good practice today.
Thanks, I think we’re ready for the Spartans.
Yeah, their batting average and RBIs have been shameful lately.
Good to know, but we also can’t be overconfident.
You? Overconfident?
I smiled so hard my teeth hurt. What can I say? I’m gifted.
You wish.
I sank under my sheets and sighed, my stomach feeling all wobbly. Know what else I wish?
What?
That I had a teddy bear.
When he didn’t respond, I thought I’d pushed it too far, this flirting thing I was doing.
Was that what I was doing? Fuck.
I was pretty shitty at it, obviously.
Then suddenly he posted a huge teddy bear gif in our thread. I laughed.
That’ll have to do. Good night, Crawford.