Page 70

Crew

K ota was practically still clinging onto me when we walked in, with both her arms wrapped around one of mine as if she was about to climb me like a tree.

The aroma of burnt toast and eggs hit my nose, making my stomach growl. Memories rushed back to Kota accusing me of breakfast being “my favorite meal of the day.”

I couldn’t really deny it honestly. I fucking loved breakfast food.

Lane’s chilling blue eyes slid over to us while he stood at the stove, flipping scrambled eggs around. An array of colors was taking up the kitchen island, all different kinds of chopped up fruit— strawberries, kiwi, bananas, mango.

How the fuck did Lane manage to make an entire breakfast buffet in the last ten minutes since I chased Kota out of the house?

Kota threw her arms around me again, and I nuzzled my face into the crook of her neck, rocking us back and forth as I hugged her.

She squealed when she pulled away, running off towards her room. “I gotta go call my mom!”

Lane stared at me with a crease in his brows, looking disgusted but not surprised as his gaze raked over me. “Why are you naked?”

I swallowed, throwing a lazy thumb towards the girl’s hallway. “We’re dating now.”

I guess that wasn’t as hard to say aloud as I thought it would be.

I’m in a relationship. I’m committed to someone.

Kota and I are dating.

I repeated the thoughts over and over to myself, becoming oddly comfortable with it much quicker than I would’ve expected myself to.

“Okay,” Lane said blankly. “That doesn’t explain why you’re fucking naked.”

Arms held out to the side, I looked down at myself. “I have boxers on.”

The indifference in his voice lingered. “Alright. We’ll just act like it’s not fucking weird.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking a step closer to get a better look at everything he was making. “What are you doing anyway?”

“Bringing breakfast to Bridget in bed.”

Well, that’s a tongue twister.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that’s what you do for your girlfriend ,” he said scornfully, giving a teasing grin afterwards. “You should probably take notes.”

Shit. I felt so oblivious. I was probably going to be the worst boyfriend ever.

Lane was good at this stuff. He’d never had an official girlfriend before Bridget, but he’d dated around. Plus, he was a natural gentleman. It was practically coded into his DNA.

I, on the other hand, didn’t have a single clue as to what all the boyfriend rules were. Was I supposed to be making her breakfast right now? Would it count if I stole some of Lane’s food and brought it to her in a gourmet fashion on a silver platter?

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “Whatever.”

“So,” Lane glanced at me suspiciously out of the corner of his eye, giving a light click with his tongue, “I see Kota’s already telling her mom. Are you gonna tell your parents?”

“Ah, I don’t know,” I cringed. “They’re both gonna wanna meet her.”

Lane shrugged. “Your mom’s already met her,” he pointed out.

That was true, however, she met Kota as my roommate, not as my girlfriend. Not that it was a huge difference, but at the same time, it sort of was a huge difference. I’d never brought a girl home. Point, blank, period.

“You want my opinion?” Lane said, tossing eggs onto a plate.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I think you should nip all this in the ass once and for all.”

“What do you mean?”

When he looked back at me, he threw a hand up, shielding his view. “Can you please go put fucking clothes on? I don’t wanna have this conversation while you’re standing there naked.”

I scoffed. “Ugh, fine.” Returning with a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats on, I leaned against the island, arms crossed while I waited for whatever explanation Lane had to give.

“Thank you,” he sighed when he saw me. “Anyway, what I was saying was that I think it’s time for you to say something to your parents. You’re an adult now. You have the right to stand up for yourself and to tell them when shit is bothering you.”

“And what am I supposed to say?”

Lane looked like a chef Picasso right now, carefully orchestrating a plate of food like he was a contestant on Hell’s Kitchen. Shrugging, he said, “If they want to meet her, then tell them they can but under your conditions. Put ‘em in the same room together and make them act like adults.”

I wasn’t following. My first instinct was that I’d just heard him wrong. Speaking in fragments, I tried wrapping my mind around it all. “You. Want me. To throw my parents. In the same room?”

Another shrug. “Maybe it’ll help.”

“ Or we’ll be sitting in a courtroom listening to a murder trial in six months.”

Lane was bent over the island, inspecting every inch of the plate to make sure nothing was out of place. He glanced up at me only as he spoke. “Nothing will get out of hand if you don’t let it.”

My hands flew up over my face, clawing at it. “Ugh, I don’t know.”

“I finally stood up to my mom after all these years and it hasn’t been long obviously, but I think things are slowly getting better.”

Lane’s rocky relationship with his mom went back to the age of fifteen. Shortly after we first met, he’d confided in me about his cruel and neglectful mother, and I did the same, explaining my own experiences and trauma that had to do with my parents. It was a big turning point in our friendship, drawing us closer right off the bat. I didn’t feel very comfortable talking about my parents with many people, but I knew Lane understood me. He could listen with nothing but support and love, no judgement at all.

I was proud of him for finally saying all the things he needed to say to his mom. It hadn’t even been a whole week, but I could already tell he seemed freer. He even brought his mom up the other day before our final conference game, which was something he never used to do. He used to avoid talking about her at all.

Rubbing my hand along the light stubble on my chin, I sighed. “Alright. I guess I’ll... tell them,” was all I agreed to for the moment.

He poured a glass of OJ, holding it in one hand while grabbing the plate in his other. “And just know,” he said, taking a few steps towards the girl’s hall and cocking his head that way, “if you don’t put an end to all this shit with your parents, then you’re subjecting her to it now.”

Fuck.

When Lane disappeared, I retreated to my room, typing out identical texts to my parents.

I didn’t want to pull Kota into all this. She’d been through enough; she didn’t need my family bullshit added to the mix.

Me: I have a girlfriend

Mom: Oh my goodness!! This is so exciting!! What’s her name? I want to meet her!

Me: You’ve already met her

Mom: Is it Kota?

Damn, how’d she know? Was it that obvious? My fingernails were down to the edge of my fingertips, but I shoved them in my mouth anyway, biting away my anxiety.

Before I could even respond, my dad finally answered.

Dad: Wow, Nick! That’s great. You should bring her over for dinner. We want to meet her.

The saddest part was that they were both insisting on meeting her right away, which wouldn’t have been a problem if I didn’t know in the back of my mind that part of the motive had to do with meeting her before the other.

I answered my mom first.

Me: Yes

Mom: Oh! I like her. She seems to have a little sass to her, which I think you need.

Rolled my eyes at that one.

Mom: I want to get to know her better though. And I haven’t seen you guys together yet! Do you want to do dinner soon?

Once again, I typed out an identical text, biting the bullet. It was hard to gather the courage to do this for myself but doing it for Kota was much easier. It was like some secondary force from deep within me that compelled me to speak up, to protect her from the chaos of my past.

I changed the wording of the text to fit the person, swapping “Mom” or “Dad” out where necessary, then read it back to myself three times.

You can meet her, but Mom/Dad wants to meet her too. You guys have been fighting over me for my whole life, and you’re not going to do that to Kota too. If you want to come out to dinner with us this week, that’s fine but Mom/Dad may also be there, and I expect you guys to be cordial.

Thumb hovering over the send button, I paused, staring at it. My mind was swirling like a whirlpool, but I couldn’t keep running from my problems. I’d spent half my life doing so and it was exhausting. I was sick of being emotionally drained every time I spent time with my parents.

Guess I was overcoming two fears today, I thought to myself, hitting the send button.

A strange sense of relief washed over me, almost like it was washing all the hurt out of my body. The air was clear and tasted sweet as it entered my lungs, and I sat on the edge of my bed, relishing in the feeling as I waited for my phone to buzz once again.

Mom: Okay. I will come to dinner.

Dad: Alright, Nick. If that’s what you want.

Holy shit, I did it.

I wanted to give myself a big old pat on the back and throw myself a party for finally speaking up.

Until I realized what I’d just signed myself up for.

And what I signed Kota up for.

Maybe I just fucked up.