Jacks’s eyes were bright, his expression caught between tenderness and something fragile.
“Oh, shit. I’m not saying . . . I didn’t mean . . . I’m not trying to propose or anything crazy.”
Jacks burst out laughing. There was humor but something else, too, something tentative and curious I couldn’t name.
“Good, ’cause I need a proper courting before I put on a dress for any man.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. The image of football player Jacks in a wedding gown popped into my head, and my laughter only grew. When we both settled again, my mind wouldn’t let my mouth stop moving.
“I think that’s when I knew,” I said. “I didn’t know what to do about it then. I was terrified. But I knew I couldn’t pretend anymore, not to myself.”
Jacks was quiet for a moment. “What happened next? After Erik’s speech?”
“I went outside and stood in the cold for a while. Tyler followed me out.” I smiled. “He didn’t push. He said, ‘Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.’ I think he knows or suspects, at least.”
“Tyler sounds like a good friend.”
“The best.” I picked at the label on my beer. “Ialmost told him in Calgary. I was so close, but I wasn’t ready. I needed to figure out what I was feeling before I could explain it to someone else. And shit, what would I even tell him? What do I call this? What am I now? I don’t even know the words for whatever I feel anymore.”
“Terms are words. They’re easy. Understanding the feelings are a lot more complicated. Have you figured out what you’re feeling?”
The question was gentle and patient. There was no pressure, only curiosity and an empathetic gaze. He’d walked this road. He knew my struggles, my doubts and fears. He knew what speakingthosewords, whatever they were, would mean.
He knew how they changed everything.
“Some of it,” I admitted. “I know I like you. That part’s not confusing. It never was. The rest—what it means, what I call myself, how it fits with everything I thought I knew about who I am or who I want to become—that’s still a mess.”
“And that’s okay. There’s no schedule you have to follow. Take things when you’re ready.”
“Is it? Is it really okay? Because I feel like you deserve someone who has their shit together, someone who knows who they are and what they want and isn’t going to have a panic attack every time someone calls this a date.”
“Skyler.” His voice was firm but kind. He scooted closer and took one of my hands in both of his, wrapping it in the best possible warmth. “You kissed me yesterday, voluntarily and without being asked. You were trembling like a leaf, which, by the way, was the most endearing thing I’ve ever experienced, and you’re figuring things out, and that’s okay. Not everyone gets a neat little origin story.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Get a neat little origin story . . . for figuring out you were gay.”
He huffed a laugh. “God, no. I was a messy seventeen-year-old, starting linebacker, and Florida football royalty. I spent two years convincing myself I was only ‘supportive of my gay friends’ before I finally admitted I was one of them.”
I almost choked on my beer. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. I once told my best friend that I thought Ryan Reynolds was ‘objectively good-looking’ and then spent three weeks panicking about it.”
“Ryan Reynoldsisobjectively good-looking.”
“See? That’s what I said, but straight guys don’t spend forty-five minutes analyzing Ryan Reynolds’s jawline while pretending to do homework.”
I was laughing again, the kind that loosened everything and made the world feel manageableagain. Jacks was laughing, too, and the sounds mingling in my apartment felt like the most natural, most beautiful thing in the world.
That’s when the doorbell rang.
Chapter 23
Jacks
The doorbell rang, and Skyler launched off the couch like he’d been electrocuted.
