“Yeah,” Rolondo snaps, “I know so.” Already he’s raging, ready to attack at the smallest provocation.
Bracing my forearms on my knees, I stare at the waffle-weave pattern on the rubber floor matting. “Is this going to become a problem for us?”
He pauses, one leg in his sweats, the other out, before he continues dressing. “You gonna make it one?”
“Look, I can pretend, and that would probably make things seem easier for you.”
He snorts, shoving his feet into his shoes without tying them, like he’s racing to escape.
“But in the long run, it won’t,” I finish.
“I swear to God…” Rolondo holds up his hands and his arms shake. “If you start in on some white-boy, let’s-talk-about-our-feelings bullshit—”
“Sit down, ’Londo.”
When he grabs his bag and makes a move to go, my voice, hard and loud, echoes in the room. “Sit. Down.”
I snap my head up and catch his gaze. It’s a game of chicken but I don’t blink. ’Londo might be fast as fuck, but I’m bigger and a better tackle. I will take him down in a minute and let him know that with a look.
Scowling and muttering under his breath, Rolondo drops onto the bench next to me. “What, then?”
I almost smile at his petulant tone, only this night has officially gone to shit and I just want it all to end. My fingers lace as I sit there. “In high school, I had this friend, Jason. He played receiver. He…ah…” A lump fills my throat and I have to clear it. “Sophomore year he tried to hang himself.”
Utter silence expands between us. Until I clear my throat again.
“He couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t face his dad, his team, thinking they’d reject him because he was gay.” My hands clench. “I was his friend. I suspected. But I never asked. I didn’t want to upset him. But I knew he was troubled about something.”
Rolondo’s voice cracks when he speaks. “Why are you telling me this?”
I risk a glance, find he’s gone ashy gray. My eyes burn. It hurts thinking of Jason. “I want to be clear. Do not think for a second that I’d turn my back on you, think of you any differently. And do not even imagine that I’d tell anyone. That’s your business.”
He glances away, then nods. Once. Sharp. And I breathe a little easier. But I don’t say anything more, knowing that he’ll talk when and if he wants. We sit together for a full two minutes before he finally decides to talk. “It’s wearing on me. Hiding. Pretending to be something I’m not.”
“I feel you.”
Rolondo laughs low and without humor. “Not hardly, G. I’m a southern, black man who plays football.” He licks his lower lip in agitation. “Hell, my mama is already bugging me about when is she gonna get some grandbabies? What do you think she’d say about this?”
We both deflate a little and stare at the floor in silence.
“That guy…” I glance toward the showers where I’d found them. “You love him?”
I feel ’Londo nod but it’s abrupt as if he’s still fighting his feelings.
I want to help, but what can I tell him that won’t sound trite? He’s in a shitty position and we both know it. I pinch the bridge of my nose and think of Ivy. She’d know what to say to make it right.
“I get being afraid to take a stand, change things,” I say. “I think… No, shit, I know that I’m falling for my best friend.”
“Tell me something we all don’t know, G.” For the first time tonight, Rolondo sounds like his old self.
I fight a smile. “Yeah, well, she pretty much thinks I’m a manslut so…”
“Again, tell me something we don’t all know.”
I glare at him, and he laughs. I deserve it, though. I have been hiding behind a party-guy persona for so long, everyone in my life thinks it’s who I really am. And it doesn’t sit right with me anymore. Sure, that guy has gotten me laid countless times. But I am tired of being shallow.
Shaking my head, I lean forward and rest my arms on my knees. “It’s probably for the best. What the fuck do I know of relationships anyway?”