Damn. I hoped they had forgotten. “I could have taken them.” They would have eventually handed my ass to me, but I would have given them some bruises as payback. Two versus one are bad odds.
“Not the point,” says Logan.
“Since you mentioned it.” Chris takes his baseball cap off and holds it over his heart.
“I’m going to take this moment and remind everyone of the following—I won.”
“I won tonight. So we’re even again.”
Chris shoves his hat back on. “Doesn’t
count.”
He’s right. It doesn’t. The only dares we keep track of are the ones we give to one another. “Enjoy the brief taste of victory. I’ll be winning next time.”
We lapse into silence, which is fine. Our silences are never uncomfortable. Unlike girls, guys don’t have to talk. Every now and then, HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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we hear laughter or shouting from the party.
Every now and then, Chris and Lacy text. He likes to give her space, but doesn’t trust drunk guys near his girl.
Logan fiddles with a long branch that fell to the ground. “Dad and I headed into Lexington this morning to check out U of K.”
I hold my breath, hoping that the
conversation doesn’t turn to where I think it’s heading. Logan’s had this visit scheduled for weeks. He’s a damn genius and will have every college knocking on his door next year, including the University of Kentucky. “How’d it go?”
“I saw Mark.”
I rub the back of my head and try to ignore the nagging ache inside. “How is he?”
“Fine. He asked about you. Your mom.” He
pauses. “Your dad.”
“He’s fine. That’s it?”
“No offense, but it was weird. I’m cool that he’s your brother and that he’s made his choices, but I’m not sticking around to play head shrink over your family problems, especially when he had an audience.”
“An audience?” I echo.
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“Yeah,” says Logan. “His boyfriend, I
guess.”
The twisting pressure usually only reserved for games pummels my stomach. I pull my knees up and lower my head. “How do you
know it was his boyfriend?”
Logan’s face scrunches. “I dunno. He was
standing next to another dude.”
“It could have been a friend,” says Chris.
“Did the guy look gay?”
“Mark didn’t look gay, asswipe.” Logan
snaps. “Who would have guessed the damn
defensive lineman had it for the home team.
And sure, the other dude could’ve been
straight. But how the hell should I know?”
Listening to them discuss my gay brother’s possible gay boyfriend is just as comfortable as convincing my mom over and over again that I prefer girls and their girl parts. Nothing makes you think you might need years of therapy like having to say the word breasts in front of your mother. “Can we end this conversation?”
I consider walking back to Tim’s truck and collecting that beer. I’ve only been shit-faced drunk twice in my life. Once when Mark told the family he was gay. The second time when HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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Dad kicked him out for that announcement.
Both incidents happened in the span of three days. Lessons learned: don’t tell Dad you’re gay, and getting drunk doesn’t make anything untrue. It just makes your head hurt in the morning.
With a loud crack, Logan breaks the twig in his hand. He’s looking for courage, which means I’m going to hate the words coming out of his mouth. “Mark was all cryptic, but he said you’d know what he meant. He said he can’t come and he hoped you’d understand why.”
The muscles in my neck tighten. My brother didn’t even have the balls to tell me himself. I texted him last week. I outright defied my parents and texted him. I asked him to come home for dinner tomorrow night and he never texted back. Instead, he took the coward’s way out and used Logan.
Earlier this summer, Dad gave the
ultimatum: as long as Mark chooses guys, he’s no longer a part of our family. Mark walked out, knowing what leaving meant: leaving Mom…leaving me. He never considered trying to stay home and fight to keep our family HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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together. “He made his choice.”
Logan lowers his voice. “He misses you.”
“And he left,” I snap. I kick the back tire of the car. Angry. Angry at Dad. Angry at Mark.
Angry at me. For three days straight Mark talked. He said the same thing over and over again. He’s still Mark. My brother. Mom’s son.
He told me how he spent years confused
because he wanted to be like me. He wanted to be like Dad.
And when I asked him to stay, when I asked him to stand his ground…he left. He packed up his shit and he left, leaving me and the destruction of my family behind.
“Screw the serious talk,” says Chris. “We won today. We’ll win fall season and spring.
We’re going to graduate victorious and when we do, Ryan’s going pro.”
“Amen,” says Logan.