Page 2

Chapter 2

The one where Jeff's past collides with his future.

It's nearly dark when we finally pull up to my parents' house. I park in the long driveway and step out, stretching my legs with a groan.

"Dude, this drive sucks," I complain, kicking at the gravel.

"It wasn’t that bad," Lucy says, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, because you weren’t the one driving," I shoot back.

Lucy laughs. "Oh, like that makes such a difference."

"Uh, yeah, it does."

I grab her bag from the trunk just as the front door swings open.

"Jeffrey!"

Mom’s standing there, wrapped in a ridiculously oversized lounge robe, flinging the door wide open. It’s endearing and kind of embarrassing all at once. She hurries down the steps and plants a wet kiss on my cheek. I can’t help but grin; I love her anyway.

"Hey, Mom," I say, hugging her before turning around. "This is Lucy."

Lucy gets the same enthusiastic hug and kiss, and the surprised look on her face makes me chuckle. She flips me off playfully behind Mom’s back.

"Lucy! Oh, I’ve heard so much about you. We’re so glad to have you here!" Mom gushes, grabbing our bags and leading us inside.

I find it funny that my parents are letting Lucy stay overnight in my room. They never let me have a girl over before, but Jamie was always an exception. Guess they’re pretty oblivious. They know about Lucy’s sexuality and seem pretty cool with it.

Later, Lucy comes out of the shower in her pajamas, looking different without her usual makeup. Still hot, though.

"Quit staring at me like that; it’s gross," she snaps.

I laugh. "Come on, now’s our chance to get hot and heavy in my parents’ house."

She grimaces and gags. "Ew, no. Not interested. Like, at all. Keep that disgusting thing in your pants."

"Wow, disgusting, huh?" I tease.

"Yeah, fucking gross, Jeff. I bet you never once thought it was gross when you made out with Jamie. I bet you never thought it was disgusting."

I drop the shirt I’m trying to put on, my hands suddenly feeling useless. "What the heck, Lucy?!" I bend down to pick it up again. "Stop bringing that up!"

Lucy’s smirking, far too pleased with herself. "I’m just saying... I bet you didn’t think it was gross."

I sigh, sitting down on the bed next to her. "So, if one day you meet a guy who, for some reason, really connects with you—both physically and psychologically, and you’re just drawn to him like crazy—but you still think all other guys are gross... What does that mean?"

Lucy rolls her eyes. "I see where this is going."

"No, seriously," I insist. "I’m asking what you would do in that situation. What does that mean?"

She gets more serious, locking eyes with me. "That would probably mean I’m bi, dude. Just because you’re bi doesn’t mean you’re attracted to everyone , Jeff. You probably just have different standards for guys or something. I mean, God, you’re kind of a manwhore with women. It’s ridiculous."

I fall silent. Her words gnaw at me, making me feel sick.

"You okay?" Lucy’s voice softens. "Jeff?"

I bury my face in my hands, and she moves closer, rubbing my back. "Aw, my poor baby, it’s okay," she coos.

"Cut it out," I say, shoving her away. She laughs softly.

"You’re fine, Jeff. Chill. I know this kind of sucks right now," she says, squeezing my hand. "You’ll be okay. It’s really not a big deal."

"Yeah, it’s kind of a big deal." My chest aches, a mix of denial, anger, and shame swirling inside me. Mostly shame. What would people think of me?

"It is a big deal right now. Later, it won’t matter as much."

She starts setting up my old PS3. I haven’t touched that thing in over four years. I’m surprised it even still works. Wow, I haven’t seen that TV light up like this in ages.

"It’s weird how everyone makes such a big deal about who you like to fuck," she says suddenly, smirking at me.

I laugh, feeling a bit lighter. I toss a pillow at her. She blocks it effortlessly and laughs, flipping me off.

I roll my eyes. "Thanks," I say, and I mean it. "Seriously. But I don’t want to talk about this anymore."

I grab the second controller.

"Yeah, yeah..." She waves her hand dismissively as she plugs hers in. I laugh again.

"Anyway," she continues, "you should be pretty stoked. Didn’t you say Tiffany was different?"

I blush. "Yeah... I might ask her to move in with me. I’m moving out of the dorms next month, and it seems like perfect timing."

"Aw, look at you, all grown up..." she teases.

"I’m about to kick your ass at Street Fighter. Just you wait."

"Wow..." She scowls playfully. "Fuck you."

After an hour, it’s clear she’s won most of our games. She jumps up and does this ridiculous dance, even rubbing her butt in my face at one point before I flip her off and head to brush my teeth.

I set up the floor with extra sheets while she takes the bed. I’m such a fucking gentleman.

When I’m sure Lucy’s asleep, I quietly pull out my phone. She gasps once, and I almost drop it. What the hell...? She snores?

I listen closer, trying not to laugh. Yep, she does. I make a mental note to tease her about it later.

I scroll through my contacts. Jamie’s name is still there. I hesitate before tapping on it, careful not to accidentally call him. My thumb hovers over the screen, and I swallow hard as I open our message thread.

Jamie : I miss you.

The last text from Jamie blazes on my screen in the dark, a bright ghost that refuses to fade. It’s dated almost two years ago, and it’s like a punch in the gut every time I see it. I never responded. God, I feel like such an asshole. Jamie was my best friend, and I ghosted him. Completely.

But we agreed to this, didn’t we? It was supposed to be mutual—a clean break. We both knew that whatever we had couldn’t follow me out of Nevada. I had to move on, get a fresh start out of state, and pretending we could stay friends was a fantasy. Too complicated. Too much history. The kind of tangled mess you just have to cut free. So I decided to say goodbye and forget everything that happened. Just rip off the Band-Aid.

Except then he texted me.

And I panicked.

When that message came through, it was like a trapdoor opening under me. I remember staring at it, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. I had no idea what to say. I’d spent months trying to forget Nevada, trying to erase every bit of it from my mind. And there was Jamie, popping back up like he’d never left my head. The message came out of nowhere, shattering my resolve. So, I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I shut down the app, shoved my phone in my pocket, and told myself I’d figure it out later.

But then a day passed. Then a week. Too much time slipped by, and it felt too awkward to reply. I’d crossed the line from hesitation into silence, and after that, it was easier to just keep ignoring it. Guilt piled on top of embarrassment, and soon, that thread was buried under dozens of other conversations. I convinced myself it was better this way. Out of sight, out of mind.

I haven’t thought about that text in ages, but now it’s staring at me again, like an old wound I never let heal. My thumb brushes the edge of the screen, and I accidentally scroll up—right to the top of our conversation.

My breath catches. There it is. The very first message.

I remember exactly when I sent it.

Jeff: dude i got the new game i told you about…

Jamie: sweet

Jeff: come over to my place after school. i'll drive us

My phone’s got texts saved all the way back to senior year. It’s like a digital time capsule of our friendship, stretching back to when I first got my car—a beat-up old thing, but it was ours. We spent so many nights in that car, parked out by the lake or down some dirt road, making out like we didn’t have a care in the world.

I scroll through the messages, looking for something more than our usual banter. It’s mostly the typical stuff; guy talk, short and stupid exchanges, and a few pointless arguments over things like who ate the Oreos we brought to practice. Spoiler: it was me. I ate the Oreos. Jamie never let me live it down.

Mixed in are a few memes, random photos, and then—oh God—the blurry dick pic Jamie sent during history class. I can still feel the heat crawling up my neck when I remember it. That was Jamie in a nutshell, though: zero shame, all confidence. He thought it was hilarious, sending it right in the middle of Mrs. Perez’s lecture. I, on the other hand, nearly had a heart attack. Mrs. Perez had walked right up to my desk, asking what was so funny. I’d had to sweet-talk my way out of handing over my phone. If she’d seen that picture, she would’ve needed therapy.

I laugh under my breath, feeling a pang of nostalgia that’s sharper than I expected.

Jamie was such a pain in the ass. But as I keep scrolling, something makes me pause. My finger hovers over the screen, and I squint at the text that pops up. It’s not like the others—it’s different.

Something that doesn’t fit with the carefree, joking vibe of the rest of the thread.

Jeff: You're being fucking dumb, quit texting me about it.

Jamie: i hate you jeff

Jamie: i can't believe you hooked up with someone already

Jamie: it's been less than 24 hours since you broke up with priscilla

Jamie: i mean what the fuck jeff?????

Jamie: god i fucking hate you sometimes

Jamie: i'm so tired of doing this

Jamie: we were gonna do this EPIC PRANK JEFF

Jamie: AND YOU FUCKED IT

Damn, Jamie was pissed…

I can still picture it—prom night, the flash of anger in his eyes. We’d spent the whole night before scheming, coming up with this elaborate prank to mess with my ex’s new boyfriend. It was classic us... laughing, plotting, staying up way too late. But then I bailed. The next day, I asked Priscilla out after class and told Jamie the plan was off. I was over it, I said. No big deal.

Except Jamie didn’t see it that way. He was furious. I never understood why. It wasn’t like we’d been planning this for months. Why did it matter so much? I swipe back to the texts, rereading his messages, trying to make sense of it.

“I’m so tired of doing this.”

What the hell did he mean by that?

I turn off my phone, letting the screen go black. The air mattress under me feels like a torture device, every lump digging into my back. Why the hell did I let Lucy take the bed? To hell with chivalry.

I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling. It feels wrong somehow, like the room’s not mine anymore. Everything looks smaller, shabbier, like I’m seeing it through a different lens. Maybe I’m the one who’s changed. Have I grown up? I feel so damn small lying here on the floor, like a kid in a grown-up’s body.

I’m not the same stupid jock from high school. I’m trying to make something of myself now. But it’s like the past is still clinging to me, holding me back. This room, this ceiling—it feels like a time capsule. It’s hard to believe I used to lie in this exact spot, dreaming about getting out of this town.

But then there’s what Lucy said earlier. The whole bi thing. I can’t deny what happened with Jamie—I’m not pretending we weren’t secretly making out half the time. But calling it bi feels like oversimplifying it, like slapping a label on something that was so much more confusing. Was it just a phase? Did it mean something deeper? The making out was good. Hell, it was better than good. But I still feel ashamed of it. I don’t know if I’m ready to accept what it all meant.

I listen for Lucy’s snoring—she sounds like she’s out cold. I roll over and turn my phone back on, pulling up my photos. I sort them oldest to newest. It’s a pretty sad collection. I got this phone right before I moved to California, and I never bothered to back up my old pictures. Now I wish I had.

There’s a shot of Jamie’s family cat, Rex, sprawled out on the kitchen counter like he owned the place. Another of Jamie with his tongue out, grinning like an idiot, pointing proudly at a wobbly Jenga tower. Blurry photos of the football field where it’s impossible to tell what’s even happening. It’s like looking through someone else’s memories.

And then I find it, a photo that stops me cold.

Jamie, sitting in his car, smiling that goofy smile of his. His blonde hair is catching the sunlight, making him look almost golden. The next photo is a close-up of him flipping me off, his middle finger front and center. The one after that? An even closer shot of his eyeball, all wide-eyed and ridiculous.

These pictures were from right after that awkward talk about me moving away. We’d agreed to end things, to cut off our friendship completely and just move on. It was supposed to be a clean break. Three days later, I was gone.

I turn off the phone again, the screen going dark as the heaviness settles in my chest.

What was the point of scrolling through all that? It doesn’t feel like I’ve changed at all. Four years have passed, and I still feel like the same confused, scared kid lying on this floor, trying to figure out who the hell he is. It’s like the past few years have been nothing but a weird, blurry dream.

I swipe back to the first photo—the one where he’s smiling, looking so happy, so carefree. My chest tightens, and I realize I’m barely breathing. I feel this ache deep inside, the kind of longing I’ve been trying to ignore for years. God, why does looking at him like this make me feel so… raw? I can’t just write it off as nostalgia. It’s more than that.

It’s this wave of warmth that crashes over me, mixed with this bitter edge of loss. Jamie’s smile always did that to me—made me feel like I was the only person in the world who could make him look like that. It’s a smile that’s so full of joy, like he’s seeing something that makes him genuinely happy. And I know, deep down, I want to be the reason for that smile. I want more than friendship from him, even if I can’t admit it to anyone, not even to myself.

The thought alone makes my hands shake. It’s like a live wire buzzing under my skin, this realization that maybe I’ve wanted him all along. More than just a friend. More than just a secret, stolen kiss in the dark. My heart races faster, and I can feel the heat rising to my face, embarrassment and something else I can’t name twisting together in my chest.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push the feeling down, bury it where it can’t hurt me. But when I open them again, there’s Jamie, still smiling up at me from the screen. Like he knows. Like he’s waiting for me to figure it out.

I turn off the phone, tossing it aside as if it’s burned me. My chest feels tight, like I’m being crushed from the inside out. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the rush of emotions. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

I was supposed to leave all this behind.