Page 88 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

“And that being gay is perfectly natural.” I suck in some air, hating that my body thinks it’s in the last minutes of a tied game. “Or bisexual.”

Dad is silent.

My hands shake. The phone slips in my suddenly sweaty fingers.

“Is it though?” Dad asks.

I consider how long I’ve yearned to not have the feelings I have. The effort seems silly now. Because even when we lay on the cold sand, the cold wind above us hardly a consolation for not having a blanket, my time with Cal was nicer than any intimate moments I’ve had with any other person. And why is that bad?

I jut out my jaw. “Same-sex attraction is perfectly natural. It can’t be wished away. And it shouldn’t be.”

This is where I could tell him everything. This is where I confess who I am. This is where...

“Let’s not get political, son,” Dad says. “I gotta go. Glad you’re okay. Why don’t you call Holberg and see if he’ll take you back early.”

And then, before I can say another word, he ends the call.

I stare at my phone.

Fuck.

I go to Cal’s profile picture on Facebook and click on it. His profile is filled with people commenting about how they misshim, how they hope he’s okay, how they’re so glad the news is reporting he’s been found.

I click away.

Of course, they love him.

If I’m honest...

I squash that thought away.

My emotions don’t matter. Cal knows where my apartment is.

I don’t deserve Cal. I was lucky I got to know him, however briefly.

Maybe Dad was right about something though.

I pick up my phone, fight away the sudden panic, and call Coach.

“Larvik?” Coach’s voice is bemused.

“I, uh, wanted to let you know I’m back in Boston. I know I’m still on leave. There might have been articles about me missing.”

A heavy sigh sounds on the other end of the line. Will Coach tell me they found someone else?

“I read those reports,” Coach says finally. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Thank you.” My voice is gruffer than I would like.

Discomfort drums against my chest, and maybe I shouldn’t ask the question I’m about to. “I know I’m still on leave. Can I come train with the Blizzards? I, uh, promise I won’t be any trouble. I’ve, uh, really thought about my actions, and I feel terrible.”

Coach is silent.

Shit.

I pressed for too much. I asked for what I shouldn’t.

“I suppose there wasn’t a lot of exercise equipment on the island,” Coach says.