Right before he’d left for football orientation, his mom and the doctor had tied the knot in a small civil ceremony, attended only by Lane and Trevor.
Lane had seen it coming, but it had still stung. He’d tried so fucking hard to be happy for them, happy forher, but it felt like everyone was forging ahead on this new merged life, with no thought to how Lane felt about it.
Maybe that was fair, because Lane hadn’tbeenhere for it.
Wouldn’t be, if he had anything to say about it. He’d only been home a few days, and he was already ready to leave. Run the fuck away.
“Hey, sweetie,” Delia said, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “You want some eggs? Toast?”
Lane raised his eyes. Seeing her in this kitchen was weird too. Expensive and spacious, with its granite countertops and pristine cabinets. Shiny white tile everywhere. It was what she deserved; he’d never believed any different. But it still stupidly hurt.
Logically it didn’t make sense. Why did it matterhowit happened? Just that it happened at all? But Lane couldn’t shake the deep-seated feelings of inadequacy. Of failure.
“Oh, Trev, you’re up too,” Delia chirped and of course Trevor came into the kitchen and gave her a big hug and a smile, like she was actuallyhismother too, now. “I’ll make you both some breakfast, how about that?”
Trevor smiled at her, big and warm, and then turned to Lane.
And then there wasthat.
Lane had been so sure that after a great freshman year—full of all the footballandthe no-strings sex he’d wanted—he wouldn’t feel this way about Trevor still.
He was just a guy he’d thought was hot while he was lifting weights. There was no reason for him to bury himself so deeply underneath Lane’s skin.
But he’d come home three days ago, taken one look at Trevor sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, shirtless and laughing, and had to swallow down a whole litany of swear words, each one worse than the last.
It was so fucking unfair. Like Trevor was a splinter he couldn’t seem to extract.
“Hey,” Trevor said, approaching the table like he belonged.
And frankly, he fucking did. Lane was the interloper here.
They’d spent the last eight months playing happy family while Lane was in California, trying to forget it was happening at all.
He settled down in the seat next to Lane. Nudged Lane’s knee with his own. “How’s it going, man?”
How was it going? Lane wanted to fling himself out a window, and he couldn’t tell a goddamn soul.
“Fine,” Lane said shortly.
“Trevor’s got official workouts starting in a few weeks, but he’s free before then. I know he’s going to the gym every day. Maybe you could tag along.”
Tag along, like Lane was the younger one, the guy who didn’t quite fit in. And maybe he didn’t, anymore.
“Oh yeah,” Trevor said, lighting up in a way that made Lane a little nauseated. “I’m sure all the guys would love to see you. You’re a fucking legend, bro.”
Fuckingbro.
He certainly didn’t feel like he fit into this house.
Sure, his mom had made sure he had his own room, next to Trevor’s of course, and she’d scrupulously made sure it was full of his own stuff and nothing else. Not like a lot of his friends’ parents, who had already started to convert their rooms into dens or exercise rooms or storage.
There was none of that here.
Even the doctor—no, he’d told him a million times to call himTomand Lane had to start doing it even in his head or he’d never think of him any other way—had gone out of his way to try to bond with Lane. Make sure he knew he was welcome here.
Everyone was trying so goddamn hard, and all Lane felt like doing was snarling at them that it wasn’t going to work. That it couldneverwork.
He didn’t belong here.
