Page 69 of The Way We Swing Back

“Not a big deal, as long as you don’t do it again,” I said. I made myself ask it. “Are you gay, dude?”

Jake went silent again. He wiped snot out of his nose with his forearm, the cold getting to his body more than he’d said it would. A tear started to roll down his face.

I thought again about Tanner and how he’d handle this. He’d lay on his sword to save a friend. Every single time.

“Can I tell you a story?”

He nodded, still quiet, but his tears started to flow more easily.

I hesitated, but the threat of mutually assured destruction if he ever repeated my words made this easier. “I fell in love with a guy once. At the time, I didn’t realize it, but that’s what it was.” I took a breath, my chest blasting the heat of a fastball.

“Tanner,” he said, finding his voice.

Was I that easy to read? I searched for a tell—was he just guessing, or did he know? I couldn’t read his face and didn’t want to give myself away by stalling any longer.

“Doesn’t matter who it was,” I said. “What matters is no matter how scared and alone you think you are right now, there are people out there who feel exactly like you. You’re a cool dude. You saw how everyone treats Tanner. It might not be easy, but you can like who you want.”

Jake nodded.

I put my left hand on his shoulder and softly spun his head so he was looking at me again. “We are friends, no matter what. But do not try to kiss me again. Got it, Jacob?” I said.

Jake smiled. “Don’t call me that.”

We walked back toward his house in silence, the crispness of the air beating against my face. When I saw the entrance to the park, Jake stopped us, his body still turned away from me.

“I’m not gay, by the way,” he said.

Huh?

He continued. “I like girls, too.”

“Cool, dude.”

“Cool.”

I dropped off Jake and headed back home. He didn’t feel worse than he had before we’d talked. I’d told him it was okay to be gay. I hadn’t lied. And I hadn’t run.

I only needed to figure out how to believe my own words.

Chapter 30

The mailbox groaned when I opened it, like it resented being touched this early in the afternoon. Usually, it was empty. Or full of things that had nothing to do with me.

But today, as the stack of mail slid forward, one envelope stuck out from the rest—crisp, thick, and very yellow.

Central Missouri University.

My full legal name.

The Quinns’ address.

The combination of my name and their address hit nearly as hard as the university seal, even though I’d filled out every application with that info. My chest tightened, but not with panic. It felt more like someone had quietly lit a candle under my ribs, and I didn’t know where to put it. Or how to put it out. I ran my thumb across the address again. Seeing it typed there—seeing myself tethered to their life on paper—felt weird and good and terrifying in a way I didn’t have words for. It was somehow distracting from the more important things. Like what the contents of this envelope said.

Before I could decide whether to open it right there on the porch, the door banged open.

Gavin filled the doorway; he hadn’t stopped growing in the last year. Between puberty and working out, he was nearly unrecognizable—broad shoulders, arms the size of Zach’s, and his chin now at the top of my head. But his expression? The same goofy smile since I’d met him.

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning forward so far I couldn’t stop him from seeing.