“August, I used to be like you,” said Harrison. “The thought of therapy made my skin crawl, and there was so much guilt clouding my judgment that I pushed everyone away because I didn’t feel like I deserved to be saved. I spent five years weighing the pros and cons of joining my brother, but during those years, Arlo came into my life, and I ended up finding Jett.”
August closed his eyes and kept his breathing steady so as not to betray how close to crying he was.
“Did I still need help after we got together? Fuck yeah. But shit was easier because I had the support of him and Arlo—and everyone else that slowly trickled into my life. What you’re going through isn’t going to be fixed even if Quinn says he loves you tomorrow, but if having him close makes the day more bearable, then take what you can—whatever he’s willing to offer for now. Niko is with you, and he’s a great kid, so listen to him and don’t be afraid to lean on him. Let shit happen naturally, stop overthinking things, and who knows, maybe it will fall into place for you like it did for me.”
Getting a pep talk from the Sunburst’s assistant coach hadn’t been on August’s bucket list, but there he was, sitting on his bed and fighting back tears like a big baby.
“Harrison is smart, so follow his advice,” said Jett. “We should talk every week to make sure you’re doing okay, and next time, maybe we can work on some things to help with your memory. We have tons of suggestions to try out, but shit got heavy today, so let’s stop here.”
Jeez, Jett really was a ray of sunshine. August could practically feel the warmth seeping out of his phone.
“We’ll see each other next week, so let’s hang out and get lunch—”
“Next week?” August didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. “For what?”
“Uh, the All-Stars Game?” Jett said, sounding confused. “I’m pretty damn sure you got an invite. Neeks did, too.”
Fuck—he had forgotten all about that damn blip on his schedule. Between mental breakdowns, photoshoots, charity events, and volunteering, it had slipped August’s mind.
“Right—I guess I’ll see you then,” said August. “I probably won’t win anything, but whatever.”
“All-Star games are nothing to get worked up over,” said Jett. “Wait until the Olympics come back around, andallof us are on the same team. It will be chaos.”
Chaos indeed, but the thought stirred something in August because who wouldn’t want to go to the Olympics when they had all of this Canadian talent? Playing with his friends would be the highlight of his career.
“I’m down for the Olympics,” said August. “I feel bad because we would end up wiping the floor with the other countries, but it would be fun.”
Jett hummed—and then began snickering. “All of us should dye our hair and go full rainbow squad.”
“Nope.” There was a tussle on the other end, and then Harrison’s voice was louder. “Before he concocts any more stupid plans, we’re going to hang up and find something productive to do.”
August didn’t want to stick around to hear Jett’s undoubtably raunchy suggestions, so he said a quick goodbye, thanking them before he hung up.
His head was hurting enough to be bothersome, so August got comfortable on the bed again and closed his eyes. Rolling Jett’s words around helped distract him from the pain, but it didn’t do anything to settle his anxiety.
Having Quinn again was difficult to comprehend because August didn’t feel like he hadlosthim. How fucked up did a brain have to be to completely erase someone from memory?
He wanted to say it was impossible, but then he realized that his brain had erasedthat Augustfrom memory, too.
“I like guys,” August said softly, ignoring the rush of fear the admission brought, like he was scared his father would pop out of the shadows and attack him. “I like guys, and it’s okay.”
And itwasokay because his father was an evil, delusional bastard who had been forcing his family to live in a Hell that he created and ruled over like a god.
“I—”
A deep breath. A pause before the jump.
“I’m still in love with Quinn Harlow.”
Chapter 21
Quinn
“Are you guys having fun?”
Quinn gasped and spun away from the fridge, brandishing the bottle of wine he was about take to his room. He saw Eren’s startled face staring back at him, hands raised like he was prepared to defend himself if Quinn started swinging.
“Motherfucker,” he breathed, lowering the bottle and pressing a hand to his chest. “Eren, it’s almost midnight, the lights are off, and you have practice early tomorrow. What are you still doing awake?”
