Page 18 of Breaking the Ice

“It’s still new. I haven’t even talked to the kid, yet.”

Hayes didn’t say anything. He seemed annoyed, but then he’d been the one who brought it up in the first place.

It was definitely time to change the subject. It had been time to change the subject before it ever came up in the first place.

“I almost kissed Gavin—or he almost kissed me.”

Hayes froze, halfway to reaching for his can of beer on the side of the pool. “Seriously?Seriously?”

“I mean, yeah. Pretty sure. It didn’t happen, but it might’ve, if I’d grown a pair and actually gone for it before he panicked.”

Hayes took a long drink of his beer and shot Zach a look. “Okay. Rewind. Tell me the whole fucking story, okay?” Heshook his head. “I can’t fucking believe you didn’tleadwith that.”

Zach did. From the moment he’d gotten out of the car, to the invite to the porch, to the house, to dinner and the beers they’d drunk.

“And in the morning,” Zach finished, finally, “he was really weird. Could barely look me in the eye. Practically shoved me out of the house and into my car. On my way out told me he didn’t want the job.”

“Ouch,” Hayes said.

Zach had been telling himself since it happened that it hadn’t sucked. But it kind of had, actually.

He’d gotten used to nice Gavin until cold shoulder Gavin had unexpectedly shown up.

“Yeah,” Zach said morosely. “It was probably the first and the last and theonlychance I’d ever get. I should’ve just gone for it.”

Hayes floated closer. Slung an arm around Zach’s shoulders. Hayes was an inch shorter than him and built a little smaller, but it felt good to have his best friend pull him in and comfort him. “Listen, no. You shouldn’t have.”

“Really?”

Hayes nodded. “Really. Imagine if you’d actually kissed him and he’d kissed you back? How insane would his freakout have been?”

“But I would’veknownthen. What it felt like.” Zach knew he was whining.

“And what, you think you’d have been better off? No. No, you wouldn’t have been. Take it from someone who thought, once, that something was better than nothing. It’s not. It’s . . .”Zach could hear the pain in Hayes’ voice. But he kept going anyway. “It’s not better. It’s worse. ’Cause you know what it’s like, and you can’t forget it, even if you never get it again.”

Zach didn’t know what to say to that. He just hung onto Hayes harder. Hugged him tighter. “God, man, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Hayes’ voice had gotten lighter, but it sounded so forced. “I’m glad I learned for both of us. Maybe after this you’ll be able to move on.”

For half a second, he nearly considered asking Hayes if that had ever helped him, but he didn’t. Because the answer was obvious.

“Well, I don’t have much of a choice. Why would I see him again? He’s not taking the job.”

“Imagine if he did though?” Hayes was smiling now, like he was contemplating what an utter clusterfuck that would make of Zach’s life.

“Let’s not,” Zach muttered.

“I’m just saying—the guy probably thought he was straight. How old is he again? Fifty?”

Zach made a scoffing noise. “He’s almost forty. Unlike—”

Hayes interrupted him before he could say it. “So he went his firstalmostforty years thinking he was straight, and then he lost his wife, and the grief fucked him up so bad, he moved into the middle of fucking nowhere and quit the job he loved. Then his ex-player shows up, all grown up, and reminds him he’s not dead, yet.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Zach argued, even though he couldsee it.

“I think it wasexactlylike that,” Hayes retorted. “It’s kind of amazing he didn’t have a meltdown in front of you.”

And suddenly, Zach was worried.