I wince, but Franklin is still smiling.
“That right there, that feeling, is the problem. There’s some weird stigma in the world that we have a right to someone’s affection and attraction. As if we’re owed it in return if we feel it toward someone. We don’t,” Lane says.
“I guess I’ve always had other things to think about, and understanding people hasn’t been high on my priority list,” I admit. “I’m sorry that I didn’t take the time to understand you guys, though. That’s not a good friend.”
“You still have a lot on your mind. The time you spend distracted proves that,” Norman says. “Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I’m excited for the draft. I am. So excited. It’s the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me. I want to share it with someone, but… I’m not sure I can.” Apparently, I wanted to talk about it after all.
“Someone specific,” Franklin says.
I nod. “Yeah. Sorry. Someone specific. He’d want to come. He probably would. But… I don’t think he should.”
“Question—is this someone you’re seeing or someone you want to date?” Lane asks.
“I’m seeing him.”
“Okay, then I’m going to point out that maybe not asking him to come with you might make him feel bad because of how big this is for you.”
My breath catches as alarms blare in my head. They sound strangely like Corwin’s alarm. “What?”
“Easy,” Lane says. Wulfe’s arm tightens around my shoulders. “I’m not… okay, I think you should at least have this full conversation with him. Make sure he knows you want to share this big thing with him, but tell him your concerns too, and why you’ve hesitated to ask him to join you. Okay?”
“Oh. I didn’t want him to feel obligated. He’d be risking a lot.”
“Trust me when I tell you that telling him you want to share this experience with him is going to mean the world,” Wulfe says. He shares a private smile with Lane. “We’re raised to assume that those around us know how we feel about them, but it goes a long way to remind them from time to time. Especially when it’s something that means a great deal to you.”
“Okay. I get that. I always wonder if my parents knew I loved them. Did I tell them enough? You know?” My words catch them off guard again, and five sets of eyes stare at me. I feel awkward again and shift under their watch. “Uh… they died when I was a kid,” I add. In case they didn’t know that.
“Fuck’s sake, Brevan.” Wulfe wraps me tightly in his arms.
Huh. I guess they didn’t know that. Wulfe’s arms are joined by the rest of my friends, and I’m surrounded by them in a group hug. I laugh but bask in their affection. I’m not expecting the sting of tears in my eyes.
“I obviously didn’t know you as a kid or your parents, but I’m sure they knew,” Lane says quietly.
I hope so. But I don’t want to cry today, so we’re changing the subject. “So… I should tell him I want him to go, but that he shouldn’t go.”
“You’re making it incredibly difficult not to ask a bazillion questions,” Franklin says.
“Resist,” Norman says, shoving him.
“Yes, although you should make it a discussion. Not you telling him what should happen,” Lane answers.
“Are you always going to be available for relationship questions? I think I’m going to need a mentor.”
Lane grins. “Sure, Brev. Call me, text me, send me an email—whatever.”
I sigh and get to my feet. Need to get back to my cardio.
“Are you trying to break a record or something?” Norman asks. “You’ve been running for the past several days now.”
“I’ve slowed down,” I tell him. “I can’t be slow for the game in case NFL reps are there.”
“Slowed down,” Horace repeats. “Man, to be in your mind.” He shakes his head.
“You don’t think I’ve gotten slow after taking a week off?”
“No,” Norman, Horace, and Franklin answer. Lane and Wulfe are shaking their heads.
