I tried to keep my expression neutral, even though something warm flickered in my chest at the suggestion. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
“Cool.” He grabbed his wallet and keys from the counter. “See you later.”
The door clicked shut behind him and I sat frozen on the couch, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway. I counted to sixty in my head, then stood and moved to the window, watching until I saw him emerge from the building and head toward his car. Only when he’d pulled out of the parking lot, did I allow myself to move.
I immediately went to his desk and flipped open his laptop. The screen pulled up instantly, and I was happy to see that there was no lock on it. Flipping it shut, I tucked it under my arm with the charging cord and headed toward the door.
The repair shop was only a ten-minute drive, tucked into a strip mall between a dry cleaner and a Vietnamese restaurant. I’d looked it up last night after James had gone to bed, scrolling through reviews on my phone until I found one with good ratings and same-day service.
The bell above the door chimed as I walked in, and a kid who couldn’t have been more than twenty looked up from behind the counter. His name tag read “Brayden”, and he had the kind of acne that made me grateful I’d gotten through my teens.
“Can I help you?” he asked, sitting his phone down on the desk.
I placed the laptop on the counter between us. “Yeah. I tripped over my laptop cord the other night and I think I broke the charging port. I need it fixed as soon as possible.”
Brayden pulled the laptop toward him and tipped it on its side, examining the charge port. “Ouch. You really did a number on that.”
“Yeah,” I said, hanging my head. “Had too much to drink and didn’t see it.”
He nodded, like he’d heard that story a thousand times before. “It looks like there’s a couple frayed wires, so I’ll have to replace the port. It’ll take me about an hour.”
“How much?”
“For this model?” He tapped something into the computer beside him. “Three-fifty.”
I winced but pulled out my wallet. It was more than I’d hoped, but less than I’d feared. And it was my fault the damn thing was broken in the first place. The least I could do was fix it for James.
“Mind if I hang out here while you’re working on it? I won’t bother you.”
Brayden glanced at the clock on the wall. “No problem. We’re pretty slow today. Let me just get your information.”
I filled out the paperwork, using my cell number instead of James’s, and paid with my credit card. Brayden handed me a receipt and promised to call if I decided to get out and walk around.
Brayden took the laptop and headed to the back. Meanwhile, I found a chair out front, an uncomfortable relic that looked like it had been salvaged from an office in the eighties. As soon as I sat down, I pulled out my phone and opened the browser, staring at the search bar for a long moment before typing.
How do you know if you’re attracted to men
My finger hovered over the search button. This was stupid. This was so fucking stupid. I deleted it and typed again.
Am I gay quiz
Even worse. I groaned and shoved my phone back in my pocket. This wasn’t something I could Google my way out of. But I also couldn’t keep pretending that what I’d been feeling lately was normal brotherly affection or gratitude or whatever the hell I’d been trying to convince myself it was.
The truth was that I’d been watching James differently ever since that day in the coffee shop. The way he’d kissed Trevor, quick and possessive and unapologetic, had done something new to me. I…wantedthat. And then at dinner with our parents, when my dad had gone after him, I’d felt this surge of protectiveness that went way beyond what I should have felt for a stepbrother I’d barely tolerated for years.
I picked up my phone again, and this time searched for something more specific.
LGBTQ resources near me
A list of results popped up. Support groups, counseling services, community centers. I clicked on one at random and started reading, my heart hammering in my chest. The website talked about sexual orientation being a spectrum, about compulsory heterosexuality, and about internalized homophobia.
That last one hit a little too close to home.
I’d spent so much of my life being exactly what my father wanted me to be. The son who played sports and dated girls and never questioned anything. And when James had come out, I’d reacted the way I thought I was supposed to—with disgust and anger and mockery. Because that’s what guys like me did, right?
Except I wasn’t disgusted anymore. And the anger had faded into something else entirely.
I scrolled through the website until I found a phone number for a helpline. My thumb hovered over it. One call. That’s all it would take. Just one conversation with someone who might be able to help me figure out what the hell was going on in my head.
