“Thanks, Mom,” he said and turned away, before he did something embarrassing, like cry at nineteen because his mom had said she was proud of him.
Ten months ago
It shouldn’t have surprised Lane that his mom would expect that Lane would be here, and be part of this.
It made sense, Lane supposed. It was a family thing, and though he’d hardly acted like he was part of this family—not in a real way, not in a way that mattered—over the last few years, she still fiercely clung to the idea that she could fold him in. And then add on top of that that he was also a professional football player, it was totally justified that Delia had assumed he’d show at Trevor’s draft day party.
“I’m so excited you’re here,” she said, tucking into his side. “You’resofar away now.”
He was, because yes, Toronto was pretty far away from Arizona. Not as far as hecouldbe, but pretty fucking close to it. Still, he could come home more often. He chose not to, always had a good excuse so she didn’t think it was about them. Abouther. But he still had to wonder if she, deep down, thought otherwise.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s good to be back.” Even though it wasn’t, really.
He’d kept waiting, over time, for the attraction to Trevor to fade. To come back home and see him and be like,okay, yeah, no, I’m over it now.
But it had never happened.
“I’m so excited for Trevor.” Delia beamed. “This is such an unbelievable night. I can’t believe you’re both going to be players in the NFL.”
The moment he stepped through the doorway of his mom and Tom’s house, it was like the clock turned back and no matter what he’d done, who he’d fucked or had fuck him, how much time and space he’d taken, Trevor still appealed the same way he had in high school.
“Yeah,” Lane said. Did not make a joke about how Trevor could’ve done it last year, but instead he’d chosen to get his degree like the perfect,goodson that he was. He’d made the mistake of arguing with Trevor about it over text,once, and he’d alternatively wanted to fly out to Oregon, where Trevor had gone to school, and wring his neck and kiss him until he came back to reality.
Spoiler alert: Lane hadn’t done either thing.Smartly.
“Do you have any idea what team is going to take him?” she asked him.
Despite him playing in the NFL for three years, she still didn’t quite seem to get that he didn’t know every single thing each team was doing or planning.
“No idea,” Lane said, shrugging. He only knew who hedidn’twant to draft him. The Thunder and the Buffalo Bills. But he was pretty sure with him on the roster, there was no way the Thunder would draft Trevor.
Maybe Trevor would still end up close-ish, in Buffalo. But Lane really hoped not.
“God, I hope if he goes far away, at least you’ll be close. Can watch out for him, some,” she said, giving him one last hug before moving away to greet more people at the door.
Lane resumed his litany of internal prayers that the Cardinals or one of the California teams or even the Seahawks took Trevor. Let him be close to home.He’dlike that.
Did Lane resent that? How much time he’d ended up missing with his family, with hismom, because he couldn’t get a handle on this shit? Absolutely.
No question, it was unfair but Lane had tried to make his peace with it. To acknowledge that yes, it sucked hard, but this was just the way it was, now.
He’d built a new life, all the way out in Toronto, on the East Coast. He had friends, teammates, guys he hooked up with regularly.
But again, it all fucking evaporated the moment he showed back up at home.
The moment he walked in the door and Trevor was there—he’d grown one more inch, filled out a little, face gotten impossibly prettier, eyes kinder and sweeter—and it was like every other time.
Didn’t matter what Lane did. Who he fucked. It was always that same flare of recognition and heat at the base of his stomach. The beat in his blood that criedmore, more, more,even if he told himself thatmorewas never coming.
And Trevor turned to him like every single time, expression open and affectionate, looking for something—hopingfor something—that Lane was never going to be able to give.
The walls started to close in on him again, the guilt and shame choking him. Why couldn’t helet goof this? Why did he let it control him? Control his relationship with his family?
Lane breathed in and out and skirted around the people in the house, making a beeline for the back door and the patio. It was going to be hot out there—even May in Arizona wasn’t a joke—but he needed some air. Somespace.
He’d only been outside for less than a minute, when he heard a rustling behind him.
“Lane, there you are,” Tom said as he stepped out onto the patio, shutting the door behind him.
