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“My boy,” I whisper, so spent I could pass out right here and now.

Only problem is, now that I am sated, my body remembers how starved I am. For the sake of my grumbling stomach, I force myself to stay awake.

Reluctantly, I peel my body from Tommy’s and find a familiar mess coating both our bodies. I check his face, and he’ssmiling crookedly at me, like he’s admiring something new about me. It flusters me, and I look away.

“Can I ask you something?” I whisper, turning onto my back beside him.

His head turns so he can keep his gaze glued to my face. “Of course.”

“Do you think I’m weird?”

Tommy laughs suddenly, turning enough to press his face into my neck. He kisses my pulse and says, “You’re a total weird-o, Rowan Hughes, and I love it.”

30

Rowan

Ihate Thanksgiving and always have. Are there any foster kids who like Thanksgiving? It took until my tween years to decide holidays weren’t for people like me—people with no family, no real friends, and no purpose for living outside of a daily routine of school and soccer.

Now, I still hate holidays, but I sort of have a family, my best friend says he wants to marry me one day, and I’ve got more reasons to live than I ever did before. Reasons to be thankful…

It’s backwards maybe, but when a dude in a black robe at the Sacramento Court House granted the no-contact order againstthat womanwithout even a hearing, I’ve felt more thankful than ever knowing my birth mom has to stay the fuck away from me, or else. There’s no forgiveness in my heart for her, only resentment, and everyone I’ve talked to about it says that’s okay, which is basically Tommy, Matt, and Xia. I’ve been thinking, though, and after the NCAA tournament, win or lose, I’m going to try going back to therapy. It did fuck all when I was a teenager, but I’m not a kid anymore. I actually want to get on with my life now. I want to enjoy life. Not just soccer and porn, butlife.

Unfortunately, life is chock-full of anxieties, even when everything is going pretty well. Got the restraining order, lost my virginity, I'm about to graduate a semester early, and myteam is still undefeated. But it’s Thanksgiving, which is a huge deal for Matt and Xia, and they somehow convinced me to invite Tommy and his whole fucking family over for the party.

Now I’m pacing, stress-sweating in the backyard, because the warmth inside is too much to bear. Too much heat, too many people, too many ways this could all blow up. It’s not Erica or Tommy’s adorable nephew that I’m worried about. It’s his mother. I’m clearly not good with mothers as it is, but from everything Tommy has told me, his mom is a great woman so long as she thinks Tommy is straight, which means she needs to think I’m straight too.

Even when I was lying to everyone about being straight, people still thought I was gay!

This is a mistake.

I hate this.

There are so many people here that they’ve filtered into the yard, so now I can’t even pace by myself. Xia’s got more relatives than I’ve got teammates, and it seems like they all showed up, and Matt’s side is a bunch of macho, country dudes from Redding wearing camo ball caps with their dress shirts. I barely know any of them, and whenever I get caught up in their small talk, they treat me like I’m Matt and Xia’s charity case.

Even if Matt and Xia are my family, their families are not my families, and nothing makes me feel like more of a foster kid than extended family members constantly asking me how long I’m planning on sticking around.

At least now I have a bona fide answer for them. Leaving in a few months, to the city of whatever MLS team wants me. I’ll be gone like a final gust of winter wind, and I won’t miss this place at all. Except Matt, Xia, the kids and…Tommy.

When I get drafted, what am I gonna do aboutTommy?

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot, but I keep pushing it away, turning it into something I’ll worry about later as if later will never come. But the draft is next month, then we’ve got until February to figure it out. February isn’t much time, but it might be enough for Tommy to smarten up and move on, find someone better who’s not so fucking weird. Just because I’m the first dude to touch his dick doesn’t mean I’m going to be the only one.

Don’t think about that.

Don’t think about that.

Don’t think about that.

“Rowan!” Xia’s half sticking out of the open back door, hollering to me over the sounds of her cousins’ kids running around in the driveway. “Tommy’s here!”

Shit.

I’ve been so busy pacing and mentally freaking out that I forgot to check my phone for his “on my way” text.

“Where’s your sweater?” Xia asks, tugging on my t-shirt to stop me on my way into the house.

“Too hot.”