That thought sits heavy in my gut. I don’t want to be just like Ritter. I want to be the guy he can tell his parents about. The one who means something more.
But it’s not easy to overcome the fear of my father finding out.
“Teammates,” I say, the word tasting sour on my tongue.
I pocket my keys before following him into the house.
My stomach immediately growls from the delicious smells wafting through the house, and Zac chuckles. He leads me into the kitchen where his parents are working side-by-side to make dinner. His sister’s sitting on the bench, swinging her legs, a teenage guy standing beside her. This must be the boyfriend Zac was telling me about.
I wave to her, grinning when her face lights up.
“Mum, Dad,” Zac says. “This is Noah.” He waves in his sister’s direction. “You’ve already met Milly, and that’s her boyfriend, Jonathon.”
“How’s it going?” the teenager greets with a nod of his head.
Mrs Kincaid smiles warmly. “Hi, Noah.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, clearing my throat.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Mr Kincaid says, humour in his tone. “Isabelle likes to cook for an army.”
“Starving, sir.”
“Please, call me Adam.”
“Okay, Adam. Thanks.” I turn to Amelia and sign, “How are you?”
She grins, talking as she signs back. “I’m good. You’ve learned more sign language. I’m impressed.”
Isabelle nudges Adam, and they both smile.
All my nerves fly out the window with how friendly and inviting Zac’s family is. It’s a stark contrast to my own. His house has a warmth about it that puts me at ease, like I don’t have to hide myself.
Adam signs to Amelia, speaking aloud for my benefit, and maybe her boyfriend’s. “Can you two please set the table? Dinner is almost ready.”
She jumps off the bench and moves to a cupboard to collect a stack of plates, which she hands to her boyfriend before grabbing cutlery and following him into the dining room.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
Isabelle smiles at me again. “The cups are in that cupboard there,” she says nodding.
Once we’re all sitting around the table, Adam passes me the pot of beef stew, and I serve myself first.
“This looks great,” I say. “Thanks for having me.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” Isabelle offers.
Warmth spreads through me at her kindness.
Conversation flows freely, with Zac’s parents asking me about soccer and school. They never ask what I’m doing with their son. When they ask about my family, though, I shift in my seat. I knew the topic would come up, but I don’t know how to talk about it without making everything awkward.
“Dad’s in the oil business,” I say woodenly.
“And your mum?” Isabelle asks.
“Uh, she left when I was young. I don’t see her.”
“Oh my gosh,” she gasps, covering her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
