The Understatement of the Year (37 page)

His hands slid up to his forehead, revealing his eyes. “You don’t?”

I shook my head, which had just begun to throb.

With a look of utter exasperation, he sat up. “Because I
love
you, you stupid fuck. And I always have. It’s not always so convenient, loving you. But when you climb out of that thick blond head of yours for a few minutes, you’re a hell of a lot of fun. And you’re loyal, too, in that tortured way of yours.”

It was a crazy ass speech. And not even a little bit romantic. But even so, my eyes welled.

“Aw hell, G!” Rikker slid back down and put his head on my chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say that right.”

“You said it fine.” I palmed my eyes, wiping the tears out and praying there wouldn’t be more.

“I know you don’t believe me. But I think that everything is going to get easier for you.”

“Are you giving me an
It Gets Better
speech?”

He kissed my chin. “Sort of. Yes, actually. Because I know how you don’t want to change the way people look at you. And that’s not crazy. But you’ve only got one year left in the locker room, right? One year left to be the D-squad enforcer, and to beat on your chest and mow down the enemy. And then you’re moving on to grad school or a job or whatever. College is great, but there isn’t any privacy. After this, it just gets easier.”

“What if it doesn’t?” I asked in a small voice.

“It
has
to, G. You told your parents. Every time you move a person into the truth column, breathing gets a little easier, right?”

“I guess.”

“Did you talk to Hartley tonight?” Rikker asked suddenly.

“Sure.”

“He knows.”

I stopped breathing. “How?”

Rik shrugged. “The hospital. He went back there into your room and tried to calm you down. But you just kept asking him where I was. And… I can’t explain it. I just saw the moment he figured it out. And then when your mom showed up she made a big deal about how we played hockey together in eighth grade.”

“Ugh.” I felt a little sick just picturing that.

Rikker picked up his head to look at me. “No, G.
Not
ugh. You need to stop thinking that way, for your own sanity. I mean, Hartley is good to
me
. And also to you. He knows, and just doesn’t care.”

“He
is
good to you. And he isn’t just phoning it in.” But I was just so conditioned to hold on to my secret, I couldn’t even conceive of a day when I didn’t care who knew.

“That’s right. He’s a guy who doesn’t care who you get naked with. He doesn’t give a damn what people think. That’s a real man right there. And a real
friend
. You don’t have to wonder how he’d treat you if he knew. Because you already have the answer.”

I closed my eyes, exhausted. “It’s just so hard for me to get there.”

“I know,” Rikker said. “The thing is, each new person who learns the truth lets you breathe a little easier. And then the one after that is a little easier. And so on.”

It almost sounded possible. You know. For someone who wasn’t me.

We stopped talking for a little while. Rikker eased himself back into the bed. He rolled toward me, and I rolled away, so that he was spooning me. And it felt ridiculously good.

“There’s one thing I wish you could do for me,” he said eventually.

“What’s that?”

“Say the word.”

“What word?”

Rikker sighed. “The big scary g-word.”

Oh
. “Why do you want me to?”

“I’m
gay
, Graham. Or queer, if you like that word better. Whatever. I’m attracted to guys. You won’t say that out loud, will you? I’ll bet you didn’t even say the word to your mother when you told her. Did you?”

“No,” I told the pillow. He was right. I’d only said that Rikker was
not just my friend
.

“It’s like… you want to be able to tell people you’re straight, for some reason. Like gay isn’t good enough for you. Like it’s second class. Which makes
me
second class.”

I rolled over to face him. “There’s nothing second class about you. I think more highly of you than anyone I know.”

“Do you really? Then tell me the truth about you. I’m really fucking patient about the way you hide from the people who don’t matter so much. But at least you could be honest with the guy in your bed.”

“I’m gay,” I whispered.

Rikker grinned. “Fuck.
Finally
.”

“I don’t know why that makes you so happy.”

He tightened his arms around me. “Because someday, when you find that easier to say, it will make you happy, too. And I want that for you, G. I want you to be happy.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you were happy, too.”

“Big of you.”

I snuggled into his body. We’d had a little bit of a fight there, and it had left me feeling clingy. “You’ll really let me fuck you some time? I didn’t know you liked that.”

“Well…” he hesitated, studying my ceiling. “I’m not opposed to it as a concept. It’s just that I never enjoyed it as much as you seem to.”

I picked my head up to look at him. “What — you can’t come like that?”

“Not even close. But I’ll still do that for you. Fair’s fair.”

Wow. My heart was
full
. Even so, I had a question. “Who’ve you done that with?” We hadn’t really had this conversation before, and I was desperately curious.

“Only Skippy. He said I couldn’t call myself queer if I didn’t give bottoming a try. We never got the hang of it, though. So we went back to what worked best.”

“I like a challenge.”

He smiled at me. “Just don’t be mad if I don’t see fireworks, or whatever.”

“Okay,” I laughed. “But I hope you do. Because… damn. Seriously. If you haven’t had your prostate pounded, you haven’t lived.”

“Now there’s a slogan.”

“I’m going to make bumper stickers.” I made myself comfortable again. Or, I tried to. My head was still spinning with needy thoughts. “Rikker?” I whispered, in case he was sleeping.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still in love with Skippy?” After I asked the question, I regretted it. Did I really want to know?

“No,” he said slowly. “We had our thing, and that’s over now. But I’ll always love him. He was really important to me.”

“I understand,” I said quickly.

Rikker put his hand on my hip, his fingers stroking my skin absently. “See, Skippy had a vision for life as a gay man even when he was only seventeen. He was like… ‘Look at all the fun we’re going to have! We have to go snowboarding. We have to go dancing. We’re going to Montreal this weekend, even though we don’t speak the language.’” Rikker laughed to himself.

“Sounds pretty good,” I said, hoping it didn’t sound too bitter.

“It was just what I needed at the time,” he said. “But you know what? Skippy is awfully controlling. He means well, but he likes to get his own way. I’m pretty easy-going, so for a long time I was fine with it. Then, at some point, I wasn’t. But our roles were set, and I could never seem to renegotiate the balance of power in our relationship.”

“Interesting,” I said. Because it really was.

“Yeah. Sterotypes don’t always hold up, G. He was the bottom in bed. But he wanted to be in charge every other damn minute. He picked the restaurants, he made the plans. When I had an idea, there was always a reason why his was better.”

“That would get old.”

“It did, and that’s why I thought I should move on. Then when he dumped me, I was so pissed.” He chuckled again, and I felt his breath tickle my neck.

“You’ll tell me if I’m a pain, right?” I was twenty-one years old, and I’d never been in a relationship before. I didn’t know what I was doing. But tonight we’d had some tricky conversations, and I felt better for it. Not worse. Who knew?

He kissed me between the shoulder blades. “Getting along together was never the problem with you and me,” he said. “We’re both easy. It’s just the rest of the world that’s hard.”

Aint that the truth
. I tugged his arm closer to my body, stretching his hand up to my mouth, where I kissed his palm.

He gave a happy sigh. “I used to dream about sleeping with you. In Michigan, I mean. Just like this.”

My throat got tight. “Me too.”

“Yeah? I don’t mean sex. Well, I dreamed about that, too.
Plenty
. But when I got in bed every night, I wished you were there. You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah,” I choked out. I was happy that the lights were out, so that he couldn’t see my eyes shining again.

“Goodnight, G.”

“Goodnight, Rik.”

—
Rikker

After all that heavy conversation, I forgot to set the alarm on my phone.

So I woke up the next morning in Graham’s bed. The sunlight streaming in through the windows was a bit of a surprise, as was the sight of Graham’s broad shoulders.

Also, someone was knocking on the door to Graham’s room.

“Sweetie, are you up?”

Shit!
His mom was out there. I lifted my head to look down at Graham. He swallowed and stretched a little. Sleepily, Graham lifted his head off the pillow. “Need a few minutes,” he said. The fact that he wasn’t freaking out yet made me want to check his pulse.

There was a pause, and then his mother said, “I think I’ll pick up coffee and muffins.”

Graham sat up and looked at me, and I waited for the inevitable look of panic to cross his face. But it didn’t. Instead, there was just a rumpled, sweet expression that made me want to reach for his naked body. “Hey, Mom?” he called, his voice still thick from sleep. “Can you grab a cup for Rikker too?”

My heart stuttered in my chest.

“Sure. Fifteen minutes,” she said. “Twenty if the line is long.”

I said nothing, keeping still until she’d moved away from the door.

But Graham threw back the covers and got out of bed as if nothing had shifted. As if it was no big thing to basically admit that she’d caught him in bed with his boyfriend. I watched him walk, bare-assed, across the room to his towel. He tied it around his waist, unlocked the door and left the room.

It was tempting to let myself drowse, but I wouldn’t do that to Mrs. G. So I began looking around for my underwear.

A second later the door opened again. “There’s nobody in the bathroom,” Graham said. “If you want a shower…”

Holy crap
. Maybe his head injury was more serious than I thought. “Um, okay?”

“You go first.” Graham undid the towel from his own waist and threw it to me.

Fifteen minutes later I was straightening up the bed when he came back into the room after his own shower. “Nice shirt,” he smirked.

I’d stolen a plain gray tee out of his drawer. “I like it,” I said, patting the shirt. “It smells like you.”

His expression softened for a whole two seconds, maybe three. It wasn’t often that I disarmed Graham, getting a peek at the tender soul hiding under that toughened shell. He made me work for it. But last night and this morning I’d been reaping the rewards.

I was tying my shoes when Graham’s mom knocked again.

“It’s open,” Graham said.

“That’s nice,” Mrs. G’s voice came through the door. “But my hands are full.”

“Sorry,” he laughed, going for the door.

“Always be polite to the bearer of coffee,” she said, stepping over the threshold. “Hi John,” she said to me. “I made yours with a splash of milk. I hope that’s okay.”

“That is awesome,” I said, trying not to feel awkward. I took the cup she offered me from the molded paper tray. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

I took an appreciative gulp, and enjoyed the way the hot liquid felt going down. Like life itself pouring into me.

“When is practice today?” Graham asked.

“Not sure,” I said. “I’m afraid to look at my phone. Coach started getting a little nutty about the next game before we were even off the bus yesterday.”

“You’re up against Union,” Mrs. Graham said, shaking her head.

“Yeah. Could be the last road trip of the year.”

“That’s the spirit,” Graham said with a smirk.

“Hey, it’s early. I haven’t had enough coffee.” I set the cup down so I could scoop my Spanish book into my backpack. “Have a good one, G. And Mrs. G. Feel free to read the next chapter of Roman history without me.”

“Bye, John,” Graham’s mom said.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said again. Then I slipped out the door, saving us all any additional awkwardness.

When it shut behind me, I heard her voice. “I just love that boy.”

“He’s taken,” Graham replied.