I can’t hold back any longer. “Holy shit, they kicked you out?”
He tilts his head, maintaining a far cheerier tone than what I think the content of what he’s saying calls for. “I don’t know if I’d call it being kicked out when I knew it would happen. The moment I could get a job, I did, and I started savingup money to get my own place. It was a small town, and this fabulous older woman who ran the motel must have felt sorry for me because she gave me a really great rate on a room. By the time my birthday actually rolled around, I’d already moved most of my stuff there.” He shrugs.
He doesn’t seem too upset about it, and I’m glad he’s willing to share all of this with me, but every word out of his mouth feels like another coal being added to the flames of my anger. I’ve never really understood the whole “blood boiling” expression until right now as I picture a teenage Adrian abandoned by the very people that are supposed to love him the most.
“Fuck, Adrian. I’m so sorry that happened to you. And neglect is still abuse. No wonder you’re so strong and independent now. You were forced to be that way far too young.”
His cheeks get a little red in reaction to my observation, but he continues just as confidently. “It was fine. I’d never fit in there anyway, and it’s not like I wanted to stay in Arkansas. I was destined for bigger and better things than anyone in that homophobic town could even imagine,” he teases, sitting up a little straighter and shaking his shoulders. “I decided a long time ago that I could let the bad things eat away at me, risk them turning me into someone bitter and full of hate, or I could choose to focus on the things I actually have some control over and work toward what makes me happy. I choose to be happy.”
As if I needed more reasons to admire him. “Wow. Adrian, that’s a really amazing way to look at things.”
“I am pretty amazing,” he agrees, and I know he’s still joking, but I’m not. “Luckily I have a summer birthday, so I only lived in the motel for about a month. I had already gotten scholarships for school, so I worked my ass off earning as much money as I could before my dorm opened up. Then after college, I followed Beck and Jordan to Chicago and never looked back.”
He makes it sound so simple, but I’m happy that he’s finally shared more of his story with me tonight. I see how hard he works, how great he is at problem solving, and the way he lights up when people praise his efforts. Knowing how hard he had to fight to earn the life he has now, and that he’s remained so positive, is truly inspiring.
I try to follow his example as I consider my response. It's obvious he’s trying to keep things light, so I do my very best to hold back my anger at how he was treated. “Well, I’m really glad that you ended up here. Let me know if you ever need me to look up anyone in Arkansas though. It sounds like there are a few people there I’d like to teach a lesson to.”
He snorts a laugh, and his cheeks darken even more as he holds my gaze, both of us smiling. I want to tell him how much I mean that statement. That I’m grateful not just that he ended up in Chicago, but that he ended up right here with me. That I’d gladly defend him against any and everyone who’s ever caused him even a moment of pain.
But the words are stuck in my throat.
It isn’t the time.
I’ll keep waiting until I have my own place for those kinds of confessions. I have a feeling that, once the flood gates open, I’ll never be able to stop telling him how truly amazing I think he is. How happy I am to have him in my life.
Just a few more months of this. It’ll be fine.
When I’m alone in my room, unable to fall asleep as I picture what would have happened if I did make a move, I give in for what feels like the hundredth time, imagining that it’s his hands on my aching cock instead of my own. I come quickly, not bothering to draw things out as I chase my release, and after I’ve cleaned up and gotten back in bed, I work up the courage to order a few sex toys that claim to be good forbeginners.
If things ever do work out with Adrian, I don’t want to mess things up because I’m inexperienced. I also don’t want to promise anything I can’t follow through with or won’t enjoy, so probably better to figure that out on my own than in the moment with him if I’m ever that lucky.
20
ADRIAN
What the actual fuck am I doing here?
I mean, seriously, who flies to a different state to meet their platonic friend’s parents?
Apparently me. That’s who. Because I’m an idiot who’s far too into my straight roommate, and every time he suggests something, I jump on it. Especially when it’s a little outside of normal friendship boundaries.
Logically, I know he could never care about me the way I do him. We’ve become close as roommates, but it’s a temporary situation. But why be rational about being just friends when I can obsess over those requests and pretend he wants me to be more?
His parents probably mentioned they’d like to meet the person he’s living with in passing—this is definitely something that could have happened over a video call—and yet, here I am, after rearranging my whole work week so that I could fly to Minnesota, about to meet them in person.
And Hudson isn’t even here.
He’s downstairs somewhere, getting ready for the game, while I wait in this dimmed box by myself, nervously shoving M&M’s into my mouth with absolutely zero sense of self-control.
Seriously, why am I so nervous?
Obviously, I want them to like me. I know how much Hudson’s parents mean to him, but it shouldn’t really matter if they don’t. Hudson and I are just friends. This should not feel as high stakes as meeting a romantic partner’s parents would be.
But that delusional part of my brain that’s convinced Hudson is the perfect man for me must be in charge, because that’s exactly what this feels like. The nerves dancing in my stomach right now don’t seem to be calming with the chocolate like I’d hoped—which is honestly tragic because usually chocolate fixes everything—so I have no idea what to do as I sit here waiting. By myself.
I flew in with the team late last night, and I have a room at the same hotel they’re staying at. Hudson got to see his parents briefly this morning, and he invited me to join him at their house, but I really do have a lot to get done this week with the Winter Classic coming up, so I worked from my room at the hotel while he visited them.
“Adrian, is that you, sweetie?” a woman asks, completely startling me even though I’ve literally been sitting here just waiting for them to arrive. I jump out of my seat and turn to face the couple that just entered the room. The man who must be Hudson’s dad is using an electric wheelchair, and I’m assuming his mom is the woman at his side.
