“What if, hypothetically, this person values the friendship too much to risk it?”
Gerard’s player gets checked hard into the glass. “Then they need to decide what’s scarier—trying and failing or never knowing what could have been.”
The words hit harder than anything anyone has ever said to me. Because that is exactly my dilemma. Jackson’s friendship means too much to me to risk losing him. But every time he smiles, texts random GIFs in the middle of the night, or exists in my vicinity, I fall a little bit harder.
“But,” Gerard continues, stealing the puck from me in a rare display of gaming competence, “again, hypothetically, if this friend is truly a friend, then they won’t let it ruin things. Worst case, it’s awkward for a bit, but then you’ll move on.”
Except I can’t imagine moving on from Jackson. The thought of forcing myself not to stare when he does that thing where he rubs the back of his neck, of sitting through stories about his dates while nodding because I’m a supportive friend? I’d rather swallow ice that refuses to melt.
“You know, this hypothetical situation sounds complicated,” Gerard says softly.
“Hypothetically, it fucking sucks.”
Gerard abandons his controller entirely, takes his feet off the coffee table, and turns to face me again. The game continues playing, my team scoring on his undefended net, but neither of us cares.
“Can I ask you something?” His voice has surprisingly lost its usual bouncy quality.
“Shoot.”
“When did you know you were bi?”
I set down my controller and give him my full attention. “I was in middle school. I had a crush on a girl in my biology classandthe guy who sat next to her. Spent the next couple of months confused as fuck.”
“But you figured it out.”
“I did, eventually. Did some research, found out bisexuality was a thing, and then it all made sense.” I stick my finger into a hole in the couch cushion that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. I don’t even want to know why it’s there now. “It was a relief. I realized I wasn’t weird. I was just attracted to people regardless of gender.”
“That must have been scary, though. Figuring that out about yourself when you were that young.”
I think back to those early days. Hiding my browser history, testing the waters with friends to see who’d be cool about it. “It was. But it was also freeing. Once I accepted it, I could stop trying to force myself into a box that didn’t fit.”
“How doyouhandle it? The attraction to both?”
“Same way straight people handle being attracted to multiple people. You appreciate the view while staying loyal to who you’re with. Or in my case, since I don’t do relationships, I’m abundantly clear about the expectations that come from sleeping with me.”
What I don’t tell Gerard is that I’d go all in on a relationship with Jackson if he asked. I’d do the whole nine yards—anniversary dinners, meeting the family, matching Christmas sweaters, the domesticity. All of it.
His face flashes in my mind. His crooked smile, the way he drums his fingers when he’s thinking, how he always saves me the last slice of pizza without being asked. And then Gerard pulls me back to the present when he wraps me up in one of his signature bone-crushing hugs. I’m engulfed by vanilla and warmth and the kind of simple affection that reminds me that here at BSU, I have a family.
“You know, Drew,” he says into my hair, “hypothetically, anyone would be lucky to have you, even though your butt is only third-best.”
“Butter pecan, though?” I mumble into his neck. “Really?”
“I stand by it. It’s very scoopable.”
We separate, and I wipe my eyes, which are not watery at all. Gerard picks up his controller again.
“Want to play another round? I promise to try this time.”
“You weren’t trying before?”
“Sixty percent effort, max. I was distracted by all the hypotheticals.”
We restart the game, and Gerard immediately shows me that he was, in fact, holding back. His defense tightens up, his passes get crisper, and suddenly, I’m fighting for every goal.
“Tell me something, G-man. What other wisdom does the Hockey House ass council have?”
“Oh, dude, we have so many opinions. We spent an hour last week debating whether Jackson Monroe has the best butt in football or if it’s that tight end, Arthur something.”
