Page 120 of These Secret Years

I’m nervous to leave Monday, and the last time I had to part with Knight, I remember being a total headcase about it, crying and wanting him so much it twisted my insides into a series of complicated knots that have yet to unwind themselves. If anything, I love him more now. I want him more now. He still hasn’t followed my advice and gotten a girlfriend, but his excuses are valid. He’s busy. He’s focused. He wants straight As. In his down time, he’s been teaching himself via hundreds of YouTube videos how to flip houses, which I can guarantee will come up with his mom this summer.

I won’t even be surprised if I get to the dilapidated lake house in August—which seems like a thousand years from now—to find it fully renovated and on the market. He’s sketched out plans for it and everything. It’s something he does during the Health and Fitness lecture, and probably during his other classes, too, even though I know he’s listening. He’s drawing interior and exterior blueprints, and it’s hard not to recognize the place with its steep drop-off to the lake.

Yes, even Knight can admit that football isn’t a year-round game, and I guess if he’s gonna go ahead and be celibate forever, he needs a good hobby.

Just the thought of Knight going for the rest of his life without sex or a romantic relationship gives me a headache and a heartache. But at least he knows what he wants and how to get it. I’m still trapped in a mistake I made when I was sixteen with no more of a clue how to get out of it now than I had back then.

I’m not sure I want to go to this party. There’s no way to know who else from the team will be there. Will it only be the starters? If not, Braden Cope or Tyler Norway could be there. Both guys who have visited my room with relative frequency over the past year. Would it make them question who the fuck I know on the football team and why I’m there? Would they be nervous seeing me? Afraid I’d share their secret with someone and ruin their lives?

I’m only known in small circles at this massive school—fine arts, of course, and the gay-leaning men who know about Chelsea’s “services.” Oh, and half the starting offensive line for the best college football team in America including the star quarterback who never dates. No, my presence at the party wouldn’t look suspicious at all.

All that plus the fact that I’m bordering on desperate for something more than a passing conversation from said quarterback. Something to hold on to over the next few weeks because the memory of the last time we had sex and kissed is fading more than I want it to, dissolving into all the days I’ve spent as his friend, all the conversations we’ve had and competitive bickering over just about everything we attempt to do together. Even the fact that I can now run faster than he can on the treadmill sparks his competitive streak. He’s so annoyed by it even though he’s packing on muscle like it’s as easy as getting dressed.

But I can’t kiss him before I leave, can I? I can’t let him hold me or grope me or get off with me. I can’t whisper things in his ear like I’ll miss you, don’t forget to call me, or ask whether he still thinks about me like I think about him even though I know he does. I know it like I know the shape of the music he makes when he smiles in the sunshine.

Our house is shutting down for the night. The last few men have been entertained, paid their hostesses, and are being shown the door. Harrison is checking the rooms. I’m in the kitchen refilling my water when there’s a knock on the back door.

I startle, wondering if some idiot got stuck in the backyard, and how drunk they are.

Chelsea is cleaning the half-drunk Solo cups off the counter and stares at the door with me. She calls out for Harrison.

He comes in grumbling, having heard the knock, too. “It’s three in the morning. What the hell is wrong with these losers?”

Because of where I’m standing, I get the first glimpse of the man outside before Harrison even has the door all the way open. I recognize Knight immediately and say quickly, “Oh, I’ve got this. He’s a friend of mine.”

Chelsea cranes her neck even as I’m already at the door, bumping Harrison out of the way and keeping the door mostly closed. “Are you sure?” she calls after me. “Who is it?”

Here it would be great if Knight had a name less like Knight and more like Ethan, but I’m not going to lie about it to Chelsea, or she’ll just follow me outside. “It’s Knight.” I glance up at his face and we lock gazes. “He’s drunk,” I add, even though he clearly isn’t.

He rolls his eyes, but I’ve said enough, so I step outside with him and shut the door behind me. “What are you doing here?” I whisper as I walk him backward off the stoop and into the yard toward the fire pit where there are only embers left.

“Wanna go on a walk through the woods?”

“Seriously?”

“You weren’t at the party.”

“Yeah, well, I had my reasons.”

“So…is that a yes?”

He looks so good. His longer, wavy hair is so perfect on him. His scruffy jawline and full lips beneath those dark, beautiful eyes make him the most attractive man I’ve ever seen or could ever imagine seeing. I love everything about his face. The small dimple, the freckles on his tanned, olive skin. I didn’t even know skin like that could freckle. They’re faint, though. You have to look really close. And if there’s anything I’m really good at besides music it’s looking at Knight Winters really closely.

“I can’t,” I say. “I shouldn’t.”

“I really want to talk to you before you go.”

Because I want the exact same thing, I find the offer impossible to refuse. “Why the woods?”

“Why not the woods?”

I sigh in defeat. My resistance is useless. “Fine. Let me grab my jacket.”

He doesn’t appear to have planned anything more than a talk. As I walk around his truck and peek into the truck bed, none of the comforts of spring are there. It’s only a strapped-down Yeti and a pair of muddy boots. No blankets or pillows. No bluetooth speaker.

And he doesn’t take me to the spot we went to in Spring either. He parks at the back of our old dorm parking lot on campus. Before we set off toward the woods, he leans into the back of the truck, opens the Yeti, pulls out two blankets and hands one to me.

“Where are we going?”