Page 21 of You, Again
“It wasn’t just a kiss.”
Nolan raised a single brow. “What was it?”
“There were other…parts involved,” I said awkwardly. “Your hands and…my dick. And for the record, I’m talking about when we were teenagers, not the other day.”
He didn’t say anything for a long minute. “I remember. Did that…mess you up or something?”
“What? No, I—” I sucked in another deep breath and scratched my head. “Okay, yeah. It did…a little.”
“And that’s why you stayed away? You were afraid I’d out you or blab about a one-time drunken experiment when we were sixteen and seventeen?”
“We weren’t drunk,” I corrected. “And no, I didn’t think you’d say anything, but I—”
“Hey.” Nolan moved from the door and came to stand in front of me. His gaze was serious and steady…like him. “We were teenagers, Vin. Yes, my feelings got hurt, but I grew up and I got over it, and I dealt with my own shit. Coming out was no party, and I spent too much time in my head for years. That’s on me, not you. But if this is something you need to hear, listen up…one night with a guy doesn’t make you gay or even bi. You’re just…you. And even that silly kiss at the diner is just…not a big deal.”
“Then…why are you pissed at me?” I demanded.
He pursed his lips. “I don’t think this a good time or place to hash out the past or—”
“It’s a great time. Let’s go, Moore. Give it to me.”
A heavy silence fell between us.
“Okay. Fine. I’m mad that you weren’t there for him,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “You got a taste of the sweet life, experienced some fame and fortune, playing the game our dad taught you to play, and you never once showed up for him.”
“Your dad? I came home for the funeral. I—”
“No, dumbass. Ronnie.” Nolan leveled me with a harsh stare and continued. “Where were you when he tore his ACL, got addicted to painkillers, cut from the team at Michigan, and spent six months in rehab? Where were you when his wife OD’d and left him with a newborn to raise on his own? You never even fucking met Jasmine. And you haven’t seen Mary-Kate since Dad’s funeral…seven fucking years ago.”
“I know, but—”
“Yeah, I get it. You’re important. But I also think you’re a selfish prick, Vinnie. I think you love the spotlight and the accolades, and I think it must feel really fucking good to come home a hero. But if you ask me, a real hero comes around for the hard parts too. At the very least, they give more than a passing ‘Everything cool, man?’” He swiped his hand through his hair and sighed. “And nowIfeel like an asshole. But you asked, so…there you go. That’s why I’m pissed at you, and that’s why I don’t trust you. I’m glad you’re here now. The whole fucking town is happy to have the great Kimbo in our midst. But if history has taught me anything, I expect you to lose interest well before summer is up. And who knows when we’ll see you next?”
Holy crap.
I hadn’t been prepared for a thorough beatdown. I felt as though I’d been punched in the gut and knocked out by an uppercut to the jaw. The cartoon version of me currently had tweeting birds and twinkling stars circling my head.
I gaped at him, unsure if I should defend myself or keep my mouth shut.
Nolan exhaled. He hooked his thumb toward the door and opened it, seemingly out of words.
“Wait. I don’t know what to say to all that.” I held my hands open in surrender. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck, Vin, you don’t get it. You don’t owemean apology. You probably owe Ronnie one, but he’ll brush it off. What you can do is be honest. Stay or go. Help him or don’t. I hate seeing him accept less than he deserves. Especially from people he loves.” He flattened his hand over the doorjamb. “As for me and you…the past is the past. That night didn’t mean anything. It was teenage hormones gone wild. I know that. All we have is now, and my biggest immediate concern is for my family. I want my brother to succeed, I want his daughter to grow up knowing she’s well loved, and I want my mom to be happy. That’s it. You’re an old friend, and if you can play any part in that…awesome.”
“Uh. Okay.”
“Great. So…see you Sunday?”
I gulped and bit the inside of my cheek. “Yeah. Sunday.”
Nolan gave me a thumbs-up and walked away while I stared at the chipped gray paint on the back of the door, rattled to the core.
It wasn’t that he’d said anything I didn’t know. It was that he had no idea that everything I’d done or hadn’t done over the past nineteen years was directly related to that night.
That night.
That night was a turning point.