Page 10

As I stood under the tepid spray, my mind wandered to Thierry and when my self-hatred began.

The answer was simple. The year I turned fourteen.

I thought I was cooler than all the other kids.

Thought as long as I had hockey, I had everything I needed.

Then he kissed me. Following that, I tried out for football because hockey was a whim when it came to going pro or playing in college.

Most of those spots were taken up by kids who played in league programs and all that bullshit.

Like Thierry had done once I quit. If we were best friends forever, he was supposed to follow me, right?

Hockey was for people with money or foreign last names.

Not kids from the Holler.

Yet, instead of quitting, Thierry kept going.

He continued to play. He advanced so far beyond even what I thought we were capable of.

Then the resentment sat in. Crazy thing was, he hadn’t brought up that night.

Ever. The realization paralyzed me. I was jealous of him because he got more attention than I had, and it was like that night never mattered to him.

Like he forgot or whatever. So, we went in different directions.

Guess I’d been more butthurt about the situation, than he was.

Why he seemed less fazed about the kiss, was a whole other assortment of problems I didn’t want to open. So, I moved on. Tried to forget.

Trying out for football had been a fluke.

I never thought I’d be the starting quarterback for the high school team or be recruited to Georgia.

I’d spent more time trying to prove something to Thierry—like I didn’t need him, or he didn’t affect me—I’d been blind to everything around me.

My damn stubborn pride stood in the way, and I let my chances of being something more—someone important—slip through my fingers too.

(Guess I was more like my father than I realized.) Back then, I came up with so many excuses to explain away my behavior, but none of it mattered now.

Yet even that wasn’t the truth. It was so much easier to tell myself that Thierry caused our problems, and did nothing to repair our friendship, so I could continue down the path of destruction I’d been on.

I self-sabotaged everything I touched, including my relationship with Cherie.

Why? Because I never saw myself happy in anything I did.

Blaming my grandparents, father, and those church ladies for my actions, eased the guilt in my mind.

Doing so allowed me to continue to point the finger at everyone, instead of myself.

Including Thierry.

Because he left me.

No. That wasn’t true, either. None of my bullshit had anything to do with being kissed by my best friend at fourteen. It had everything to do with grief and anger and being left behind with a dad who seemingly had one foot in the grave with my mom after her death.

Instantly, I regretted all those times Thierry tried to reach out to me, but I stepped back.

Looking at the situation from a thirty-five-year old’s perspective, I cut off our friendship like it hadn’t meant a damn thing to me.

All because I couldn’t process the emotions from that night and thought it best if we weren’t friends anymore.

It was easy back then to blame the rumors of Thierry being gay and not wanting to be called the same foul names he’d been, especially since I was straight.

What happened between us—the kiss—he hadn’t done anything wrong.

I hated myself for being so shallow. Rather than help Thierry, I hurt him.

I was sure of it. We’d been best friends, and I left him to suffer.

On his own.

The same as my dad had done to me.

Wasn’t I the asshole.

Because as much as I hated the fact my father drowned his sorrows, never thinking of me while on his path of destruction, I’d done the same to Thierry after that night in his basement.

I wallowed in a different way. Overcompensated.

I tried to prove I didn’t need him, or he didn’t matter to me.

I went on a walkabout and never thought twice about him.

Or his feelings. Or how scared he must have been that night.

Damn you, Wes. Why the fuck did you have to mess with my head?

Thierry and me, we should’ve been able to talk through our feelings and at least not been so awkward around each other. I should have recognized he felt so comfortable with me, he expressed himself and his feelings without hesitation. I was his safe person, and I blew it.

Guilt or sadness, I wasn’t sure which, maybe both, tore through me.

I couldn’t say I wasted all those years I’d been away from home.

I met some interesting people. Learned from some of the best in the business and had experiences I knew I’d never have had I stayed in Murfreesboro.

So, in a way, I was glad I took off for parts unknown.

The person I became was forged in those encounters.

Still... Leaving drove the wedge deeper between Thierry and me.

Once I was finished cleaning up, I shut off the shower then grabbed my towel to dry off.

Dwelling on the past didn’t solve anything.

Wes was right, I should be happy Thierry was home.

I could at least apologize for being a dick to him and ask him all the questions I’d had since that night.

We might never be close, like we once were, but fixing some of the damage was better than doing nothing.

I stepped out of the bathroom and climbed into my bed. Picking up the remote, I turned on the television. Since I had the sports package for streaming, I decided I’d check out some of Thierry’s most recent games and figure out what the hell happened to him on the ice.

That was a start, right? Wanting to understand the man he’d become, so it didn’t feel like we were strangers anymore.

I snorted. Probably not. All I was doing was assuaging my guilty conscience for not feeling bad about ditching someone who’d once been my best friend.

Wasn’t like I was watching the games to help him after his injury.

I was still a fucked-up person.