Page 81 of The Revenge Game

I’ve gotten so good at deflecting her worry that it’s become second nature.

Is that why we’re not closer now? All those years of keeping her at arm’s length created a distance I don’t know how to bridge.

“I didn’t sleep very well last night,” I say.

“Are you still trying to decide what to do next?”

“Yeah, I’m exploring some different prospects,” I say. “Just trying to work everything out.”

“Well, you could always come home for a while.” There’s a note of hope in her voice. “We miss you. And you’re not coming for Christmas…”

“Mom…”

“I know, I know.” She sighs, the sound making me feel like I’m ten years old again. “I just worry about you being so far away. Do you know how much longer you’re planning to stay in London?”

The question hits like a sucker punch.

“I’m not sure,” I say finally. “I’m still figuring things out.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, there’s a knock at my door. My heart immediately starts racing.

“Sorry, Mom, someone’s at the door. I need to go.”

“Okay, honey. Call again soon?”

“Sure.” I end the call, my hand shaking slightly as I set down my phone.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

I close my eyes. Because, of course, Justin would come to check on me when I didn’t reply to his message.

I take a deep breath and open my door.

“Hey.” Justin’s wearing jeans and a faded Houston Texans T-shirt that somehow makes him look younger and more vulnerable than his usual polished self.

I swallow to get some moisture back into my mouth.

“Hey,” I manage.

“Can we talk?”

I nod. With my heart thudding in my ears, I open the door wider and step back, letting him into my carefully curated fake life.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply to you,” I say as he hovers uncertainly in my living room. It feels strange seeing him look unsure. Justin usually occupies any space with easy confidence.

“That’s okay. I don’t want to intrude, but I figure I owe you an explanation. For what happened last night.” Justin runs a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled.

“You don’t owe me anything,” I say quickly.

“Yeah, I actually do.” He meets my eyes. “I’ve tried to deny this part of me. I’ve spent so long playing the straight jock, the man’s man, living a lie.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and something in my chest cracks with it.

“I’ve never told anyone I’m attracted to guys. I’ve never had the courage to live authentically,” he continues. “But since I’ve met you… You make me want to try. I really, really like you.”

Oh, holy bananas.

Actually, the bananas aren’t just holy right now. They’ve been designated sacred by the pope, blessed by every religious leader on the planet, and probably qualify for their own holiday.