Page 24

It was so frustrating.

Zach thought he’d get used to pretending that everything was fine and normal.

He’d been doing it for weeks, for fucking months at this point, but sitting across from Gavin, both of them acting like they hadn’t talked to each other last night like that .

Ignoring the way the air crackled between them.

Evading even the slightest mention of the two times—the two times—they’d almost kissed.

But he wasn’t used to it.

He leaned back in their booth in Jimmy’s—they had a fucking booth now, one they sat in multiple times a week, sharing breakfasts and lunches and dinners and even occasionally a late night snack—and stared at Gavin opposite him.

Gavin didn’t look at him, just kept his eyes pinned to his egg white omelet, and Zach wanted to deny it, even to himself, but he fucking craved Gavin’s gaze.

Wanted to know, without a single doubt, that he was as affected by this crackling tension as Zach was .

“Good eggs?” It was a stupid question. Gavin always got the same breakfast order and ate it like it was going out of style. Today wasn’t an exception.

Gavin glanced up, and Zach felt a thrill when their eyes met, finally .

He must’ve felt it too, because Gavin flushed a little, high on his cheekbones.

“Yeah,” Gavin said. “Yours good?” He gestured towards Zach’s plate. He’d been pushing his corned beef hash around not because it wasn’t good, but because he was getting really fucking tired of not talking about this.

Zach nodded.

Hayes would tell him to keep being patient, and he could be patient, but he also needed something.

A tiny sliver of hope, to make the waiting easier.

“So . . .uh . . .about what we talked about last night . . .” Zach trailed off. Their phone call last night hadn’t been that different than a dozen or so other phone calls, which really, that said it all, didn’t it?

“Hmm?”

Zach swore that Gavin’s flush was deepening.

And okay, he’d been kind of obsessed with how soft and earnest and serious Gavin had sounded, how into it Gavin had been, even during a throwaway convo that wasn’t all that much different than so many of their others. But to know Gavin was equally into it?

Was it any wonder Zach was losing his fucking mind?

“I mean, it was nice, you know?” Zach didn’t know how to say, it was better than nice; it was everything.

And it hadn’t been anything special. That was why he was so fucking stuck on this.

“Yeah,” Gavin agreed. But then his eyes dropped back down to his stupid egg whites.

Zach wanted to scream.

Hayes would still tell him to be patient, but it was way too easy to just push that voice aside.

“It was more than nice,” Zach said. Hating how silly he sounded.

You can do this. Break through the polite fucking platitudes.

“Every time we talk, like that, I think, it can’t feel any better, but it does.

” He dropped his voice lower. Trying to find that intimacy they effortlessly built every night.

“Every time we talk, I don’t want to hang up. ”

That got his attention—in a major way. Gavin glanced up, looking shocked and astonished, like he actually thought he and Zach could keep going like this forever, edging around it, but never fucking talking about it.

Well, Zach was done with that. He was cutting through the bullshit.

“I don’t know—”

“Don’t say you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Zach said in a low voice. “You know. It’s okay. I feel it too. I felt it in Michigan, and two weeks ago, when we walked through the quad, and every fucking night, on the phone.”

Gavin’s mouth opened and then he snapped it shut again.

Zach knew he was begging with his eyes for Gavin to say something. But he didn’t, so Zach kept talking—like once the self-imposed dam was gone, he couldn’t stop himself .

“I didn’t think you might feel the same. Like it was really fucking crazy to even imagine it, but then you told me you liked guys, and I could just feel it when you looked at me. And then the other night, in the quad—”

Gavin interrupted him. “Me being bisexual doesn’t mean I like you, Zach. Like that, anyway.”

Zach couldn’t believe it. Well, he could , that was the whole fucking problem. This was the same idiot who’d leaned into him once and then twice and pulled away both times.

Well, Zach wasn’t going to let him be idiotic. “So you wanting to kiss me twice , was just . . .what exactly?”

Gavin’s fork clattered to his plate. “Not what you think,” he muttered.

“Bullshit,” Zach said. “I saw the way you looked at me yesterday. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from me when we were at the gym. I’m not stupid. I know when a guy is attracted to me.”

“It’s . . .” Gavin sighed, deeply. “Maybe it’s a little bit like that, Zach, but that doesn’t matter.”

Zach wanted to do a fist pump of joy. But he didn’t, because it wasn’t like Gavin seemed to want this. Instead he seemed to still really be fighting against it. It was the worst time to remember Hayes saying, his big widower freakout , but maybe this was what this was, still.

“Seems like it matters from where I’m sitting,” Zach insisted.

“Zach.” Gavin said it so gently, but the letdown was coming. Suddenly, Zach could feel it and he wanted to run away before Gavin could actually do it. “We can’t do this. We can be co-workers. You can be my assistant coach. I can be your mentor. We can be friends, even, but we can’t be more. ”

Zach swallowed hard. “Because I’m your assistant coach?” He’d go quit tomorrow if that was the case, but he had a feeling that wasn’t it, at all.

“There’s so many reasons why but sure, let’s start with that. Then add in you’re too young for me—you were my player , for God’s sake. Then I just . . .I can’t do that again. I won’t ever date again.” Gavin cleared his throat and picked up his fork. “I hope you understand that.”

He did. And he didn’t.

“I . . .” Zach swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“It’s not you, it’s me?”

Zach rolled his eyes. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Maybe it’s supposed to make me feel better,” Gavin said so gently, like he thought Zach might actually break. And the worst thing was he might .

Hayes had told him not to push. And he’d pushed and look what had fucking happened.

“But, what about in the future . . .” Zach trailed off.

It wasn’t hard to see the finality in Gavin’s expression, and after he’d witnessed it, it was nearly impossible to keep going.

“No,” Gavin said.

“But you said you didn’t want to coach again and look what happened there.” Zach knew he was pushing too hard, but then he’d done that too, with the job, and that had turned out. Gavin had actually been happy he’d pushed right into his space, not letting him rot away in the wilds of Michigan.

Maybe this would turn out the same way .

But Gavin just shook his head, his expression tentative, like he was incredibly worried how Zach might react.

For a second, Zach wanted to tell him he was right. That he was going to stomp out of Jimmy’s and throw a hissy fit and quit in a fit of disgruntled rage.

It sucked. It hurt . But at the same time, Zach got it. He’d seen Gavin and Noelle together. He knew how deeply Gavin had loved her.

He didn’t want to remember that or understand why Gavin might convince himself he could never date again. But he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m sorry, Zach,” Gavin said. “I wish—sometimes I wish it could be different. But it can’t.”

Zach swallowed down a whole bunch of bitter disappointment. Maybe having Gavin as a friend and a mentor would be enough. Especially if he knew there was no chance. If he truly believed there wasn’t any hope.

Hayes would probably tell him it would majorly suck. But then not having Gavin in his life would definitely suck worse.

“It’s okay.” Zach took a deep breath. “It’s . . .I’m glad we talked about it.”

Gavin didn’t look like he necessarily agreed, but this had to be better than going around, torn between wild hope and heart-racing anticipation.

“Me too,” Gavin said, and Zach was pretty sure that was the only lie Gavin had told him during the whole conversation.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Hayes said, the next time Zach picked up his call.

It wasn’t the first time Hayes had called in the last two weeks—not by a long shot—but it was the first time Zach felt like he could relay the bare minimum of the conversation without breaking down and crying or throwing something or letting anger and frustration overwhelm him.

It was so much easier not to talk about it. So much easier not to think about it.

To just exist day-to-day—classes and practices and games. Taking one day at a time, putting one foot in front of the other.

It didn’t feel good but Zach also didn’t want to give Gavin the satisfaction of seeing how much his rejection had fucking sucked, so he tried to pretend to the world—and to himself—that everything was fine.

But he couldn’t pretend to Hayes.

“Yeah, I have,” Zach admitted. He stretched out, back stiff after sitting at his desk for hours, working on a paper for his advanced psychology class.

“You gonna tell me why?”

“I told you last week, when you texted me if you’d done something to piss me off, the answer was no. It wasn’t about you. Not everything is about you. God, Monty.” He could hear how grumpy he sounded.

“You fucking idiot,” Hayes said, “I’m not worried about that . I’m worried about you. You’re not usually this quiet. For a second I thought you might have fallen into bed with Gavin and just hadn’t come up for air. ”

Zach choked a little. Tried very hard not to imagine what that might’ve been like—if his conversation with Gavin in the diner had gone in the opposite direction.

He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t quite force the word out of his suddenly uncooperative throat.

“Oh shit. Shit.”

He didn’t even have to say it. Hayes got it anyway.

“Yeah,” Zach breathed out unsteadily. “I was really fucking stupid. The way you told me not to be.”

“Zachy, I’m so fucking sorry,” Hayes said.