I looked at Dr. Paulson at the end of the room.
He was fine. He was perfectly fine.
He was not Nathan.
I climbed up on the bench.
"I have a boyfriend," I said again. Louder.
Jenkins paused his story briefly and then resumed it.
"I'm in a relationship," I said. "A serious one. I, Wesley Alexander Morrison, who you may know from such events as previous games this season, have a significant other. A partner. A lov—"
"Cross finally manned up, huh," Knox said, without looking up from his food.
The room kept going.
“I never said—"
“No, but we know," Jenkins said, still mid-story to Searcy, who was nodding along.
"Since when?" I asked.
"Toronto," several people said, at slightly different times, in the tone of people confirming a meeting time.
"I didn't know," Searcy said.
"Shocker," Knox muttered.
"I knew since the breakfast," Foster said, to his phone. "You weren't eating your eggs."
"That's—" I stopped. "How is that—"
Foster shrugged. "It was very obvious.”
I looked at Dylan.
Dylan was still taping his stick.
"Dylan," I said.
"Don't," Dylan said.
"Did you know, too?"
"I said don't."
"Dylan."
"Everyone knew, Wes," Dylan said. To the stick tape. "It was not subtle."
"Knox," I said. "When did you know?"
"Toronto," Knox said.
"And you didn't say anything?"
"You didn't ask."
