Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“Go get him back.”
“Thanks, Einstein, but it’s not that simple. I can’t just buy him flowers and say I’m sorry. I’d have to do something much bigger than that and even then, I’m not sure he’d want me. I have nothing to offer. I’m a fucking college baseball player with an expiration date. I have no identity off the field. None.”
“Ah, a pity party,” Rory said, handing me a cup of coffee.
“Fuck you,” I said without heat.
Christian leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Max, I’ve been there and—”
“No, you haven’t. This is different. No one is going to out me. Sky isn’t going to say anything. He’s just going to make my life miserable for another year. He’s probably counting on me fucking this up with Phoenix, so we can get back together and everything will be like it was before his coming out meltdown. We’ll be a couple of jocks in the closet who play baseball and video games like old men waiting for time to pass.”
“Is what you want?”
“Fuck, no. I want—” I closed my eyes briefly and rubbed my scruffy jaw. “I want a real life. I’m so fucking tired of living like this. It’s so…lonely. All these people think they know me, and they don’t know me. They don’t know anything about me.”
“You know yourself,” Rory said softly. “That’s what counts.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I’m not finished,” Rory intercepted. “You’re used to getting your way. You’re used to things being easy. Life isn’t always easy, Max. It’s challenging and sometimes it’s just disappointing. But it’s a million times harder when you’re trying to play to everyone else’s expectations. Be yourself. Be honest.”
“I’d have to come out,” I whispered. “Even if I did, it doesn’t mean he’ll want me. I could lose everything.”
“Or you could win.” Christian ruffled my hair, then stood. “Come on. We’ll make breakfast. Go take a shower. You smell funny.”
“I don’t smell.” I frowned and took an obligatory whiff before following Rory and him into the kitchen.
“Yeah, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
The silly exchange was a perfect way to reestablish some semblance of normalcy. I wasn’t sure what to do first or if I was mentally prepared to cope with the fallout. But I couldn’t play it safe anymore. I had to take a chance.
* * *
I parked behind my dad’s truck in the driveway and glanced up at the two-story Spanish-style house where I grew up. The iron accents on the stucco façade were a little dated, but the yard was pristine. My parents were very house-proud. They were first-generation Mexican Americans who embodied the American dream. They came from nothing and built a modest empire of their own. They were respected members of the community who adamantly believed in hard work, grit, honesty, and integrity. And family.
I said a quick prayer to a god I didn’t check in with often enough before bounding up the path. Our seven-year-old Lab, Milly, barked wildly when I unlocked the wood and wrought-iron front door. I called out my customary, “Hi, I’m home” greeting, pausing to pet Milly and scratch her ears before making my way to the great room. I found my mom and dad sitting at the breakfast nook table reading the newspaper.
“What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?” My mom grinned and held her arms open.
I bent to hug her before patting my dad’s shoulder and pointing at the box of donuts on the breakfast nook table with mock censure.
Dad chuckled. “Have a donut. One a week won’t hurt you.”
“How about some coffee, mijo?” Mom asked.
“No, thanks. I’m fine. Have you already been to church?” Stupid question. They were dressed in their Sunday best. But even if they’d changed their clothes, I knew the routine hadn’t varied since I was a kid. No one slept in on Sundays in the Maldonado house. We were up by seven thirty, in plenty of time to get to nine o’clock mass.
Mom gave me a parental look over the rim of her coffee cup. “Of course. Have you?”
“Um, no,” I admitted, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
Dad raised one bushy brow and motioned for me to sit. “What’s wrong?”
I pulled out the chair and perched on the edge. I caught myself before I said, “Nothing.” Something was obviously wrong.
Just say it. Two words. Not so hard.
I opened my mouth and closed it. Nothing came out.
“Max? What is it, honey?” Mom knit her brow and leaned forward. Her worry undid me. I tried again, but she beat me to it. “Did something happen?”
“Uh, no. Well, sort of.” My heart and my head pounded. And my hands started shaking. Milly moved to my side and pushed her nose against my thigh as if sensing my distress. I petted her distractedly and swallowed hard. “I have something to tell you.”