“You came?” His eyes are red, and so are his cheeks. It’s clear that Bryson’s been crying.
I nod and sit next to him. “Of course I came. I was worried about you.”
I place my hand on the back of his neck, stroke his hair there. I wait for him to talk some more. There’s no rush. I just want him to know that I’m here for him.
“You’re the first person I’ve told about the affair other than Dustin.” Bryson shakes his head. “My dad cheated on my mom. That’s why they divorced.” He looks at me then, and I see how much he’s hurting over this. It breaks my heart. “I caught them once, you know. Sophomore year, when he was still married to Mom. I needed to ask him something, so I went to his office and I saw them. He spotted me before I could run away. He chased me down, and instead of trying to explain or make excuses, he told me not to tell Mom. I wasn’t sure what to do. So I kept quiet, kept it a secret even though I knew it would destroy Mom. Even though I knew it would rip my family apart. The secret almost killed me. For one whole year he made sure I kept his secret. Mom caught him at the start of junior year. If I’d had to keep his secret any longer, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
“I understand,” I say. “I know what it’s like to carry a secret that could rip up the world you’re used to.”
It’s unfair that Bryson’s dad asked him to carry such a burden. He was meant to protect Bryson, not the other way around.
I reach out and cup Bryson’s cheek. He leans into my touch and closes his eyes.
“She’s pregnant. He says he wants us all to be a family again. But it feels like he’s replacing us now. Replacing me with a new son.” Bryson’s eyes open. “I know he’s my dad, but I kind of hate him. I hate him for all the nights he made Mom cry alone in her bedroom when she thought I was sleeping. I hate him for destroying a perfectly good family. For being so selfish. But I also feel guilty because a part of me loves him. He’s my dad, after all. And I miss him.”
There is no right or wrong in this situation. And all I can offer Bryson is my shoulder. The chance for him to break down without judgment. I pull Bryson’s head to my shoulder. It isn’t much, but maybe, just maybe, it’s what he needs.
He breaks then. Whoever says that boys don’t cry—or shouldn’t cry—needs to walk off a very short pier into a shark-infested ocean. As Bryson cries, I slowly rub circles on his back. We stay like this as the sun shifts and Bryson’s heart empties. After a while, he sags against me. I maneuver us so that we’re lying down and his head is resting in the crook of my arm. I close my eyes to the sun and hold him close.
“Thank you for coming,” Bryson says. “After Dustin, you were the only person I wanted to see. I wasn’t sure you’d pick up if I called. Dustin didn’t.”
“Well, from now on you can always call me,” I say. “I’ll always try to pick up.”
I’m not sure how long we lie there. Just two boys forgetting the world.
22
“I have an idea,” Bryson says eventually.
He gets up, and I sit up, too. The sea breeze rustles my hair. I follow Bryson as he walks to his Jeep. He stops at the trunk and opens it. Clothes and other sports equipment lie scattered there. He digs for a while before finding what he’s looking for.
A basketball.
“Let’s play.”
Staring at the basketball under Bryson’s arm, I realize just how long it’s been since Dad and I last played. With me being distracted by senior year, time has passed so fast and both of us have just been too busy with our own lives.
Bryson throws me the ball and I catch it. It’s so well used that most of the lettering has disappeared from the surface of the rubber.
“Will this make you feel better?”
Bryson nods. “Yes.”
Of course playing sports is how Bryson Keller cheers up.
We head toward the basketball court and I throw the ball back to him. He catches it. Bryson starts to spin the ball on his finger.
“First person to get to ten points wins,” he says.
“And the winner gets one wish,” I say. “Deal?”
Bryson laughs. “Fine. Deal. I should warn you, I’ve been told I’m a sore loser.”
“Me too,” I say. “I’ve never been a fan of losing. My parents have even placed a board game embargo in our household.”
“Cute.”
I bounce the ball toward him, and he returns it. I dribble around him. I’m so focused on the ball that I don’t think much about Bryson’s presence at my back. I fake right but turn left. I jump and shoot. The ball circles the rim before going in.
“Not bad, Sheridan,” Bryson says. “You have some skills.”
What few skills I do have pale in comparison to Bryson’s. Soon he’s up 3–1. When I manage to win the ball away from him, I waste no time in shooting. The ball bounces off the backboard and I hold my breath as I watch it finally slide through the net.
Adrenaline courses through my veins. As we play we forget everything. We become just two boys on a court, each one trying to best the other. Each of us trying to win.
The sound of the ball bouncing on the asphalt becomes a mirror to my own pounding heart. I lose myself to the rhythm, and soon we are 8–9, with me in the lead. I can taste victory. It’s so close.
Bryson delivers a jump shot, effectively squaring us up. He catches the ball on the rebound. His hair is damp with sweat and his skin is red from exertion. Yet somehow he still manages to look good.
“I’m impressed,” he says.
“I’m more than just a pretty face,” I say.
Bryson bounces the ball between his legs and smiles. “There’s the Kai Sheridan I’ve come to know.” He dribbles the ball around me, teasing me. “The Kai Sheridan I’m falling for.”
By the time I look up, the ball has already left his hands. I turn and watch it swish through the net.
And just like that the game is over.
I’ve lost.
I turn back to Bryson.
The grin on his face is wild and uninhibited. It is the smile of a victor. He throws his hands in the air and begins a victory dance that consists of a lot of hip thrusting and fist pumping.
Watching Bryson Keller like this, I wonder if maybe I’ve won.
“That’s cheating,” I say, resting my hands on my knees. A stitch flickers in my side, a clear signal of just how unfit I am. “You distracted me on purpose.”
Bryson laughs. He mirrors my pose now. Sweaty and out of breath, we stand and stare at one another.
“That was fun,” Bryson says. We head back to the Jeep. “Here.” He holds out a bottle of water. It’s a little warm but it goes down smoothly. I sigh with satisfaction.
Bryson drinks his own bottle, and when he’s done, he takes both of our empty bottles over to the trash can at the edge of the parking lot. I watch as he bends to take off his shoes. Bryson pulls off his socks, too. He wiggles his toes and gives me a wink before stepping onto the beach.
I bend and remove my own shoes, then follow Bryson onto the sand as he walks toward the water. We come to a stop at the water’s edge and watch as the ocean ebbs and flows.
Bryson takes a step into the water and laughs. The sound—pure, undiluted joy—warms me. He runs deeper into the water and I chase him. I splash water at him, but he easily avoids it. Not willing to let him get away, I continue my assault. Bryson shrieks when the water hits its mark.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Bryson says with a laugh. He holds up his pruned hands in surrender. “I give up.”
With my chest heaving and a smile spread across my face, I bask in this feeling. Normally I would be nervous about the way my wet shirt clings to my body, but with Bryson I’m not ashamed. Closing my eyes, I hold my face up toward the sun.
“Thank you for today.” Bryson’s voice makes me open my eyes. H
e’s closer than he was before. Standing next to me. We both smile.
“You’re welcome.” I leave the water behind and sit down on the sand, warm in the afternoon sun. Bryson joins me a short while later.
“So, when do you want to use your wish?” I ask.
“I just got it and you want me to spend it? I consider it an investment.” Bryson looks around us. “Besides, I think I have everything I want right now.”
“For someone who had to be dared to date, you really are romantic.”
Bryson sighs. “I know I said I didn’t date because of me not wanting to put in the time and effort, but the real reason was my dad. I was scared I’d be like him. I’d hate to hurt someone I supposedly loved. You know, he blamed my mom for the affair. Said that he was unhappy and that’s why he cheated.” Bryson blinks back tears. “If he was so unhappy, why didn’t he just leave? Why did he have to hurt us all with his lies? It’s one of the things I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive him for.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s the only thing I can say. I move closer to him so that our shoulders touch. We sit like that in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts but just happy to have the other there.
Bryson eventually breaks the silence. “What are you thinking about?” He lifts his finger and taps at my forehead. “Your forehead is all wrinkled.”
“Just deciding not to worry about tomorrow when I have today right in front of me.”
“Damn, Sheridan. Are you writing a book?”
I laugh. “This all feels like a dream to me, you know?”
He turns to look at me. My words hang between us heavy like rain clouds just waiting to burst. His face is serious, and his eyes never leave mine. He’s silent for a heartbeat. Then he reaches across and pinches me.
“Ouch!” I rub the back of my hand. “What was that for?”
“To remind you that it’s real.”
* * *
• • •
It’s evening. The sky is stained the colors of sunset. Food boxes lie at our feet. We got drive-through burgers and returned to the beach. I pick up a fry and chew.
Sitting with Bryson watching the sun go down is one of the most romantic things I’ve ever done in my life. The thought has me smiling.
“What?” Bryson asks when he catches me.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.” He pokes at my ribs with his finger. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
“Just”—I shrug—“this is kind of romantic.”
Bryson sprawls across the sand and rests his head in my lap. “It is.”
I reach out and trace his features. This time I’m brave enough to do so. I move my finger across his thick brows and down his straight nose. I hover above his lips, where just last night my own were. Our eyes lock, and electricity sparks between us.
Bryson reaches for my outstretched hand and pulls me forward. He brings our faces together. His lips find mine again. I moan into his mouth as he deepens the kiss.
We stay connected until we’re both out of breath. I pull back slightly and hover there, our faces mere inches apart.
“I’m really glad you said yes,” I admit.
“And I’m really glad you asked me out in the first place.” Bryson smiles. “When I think back to how you were at the start of this week, I can’t believe it.”
“Why?”
“You’re so open now. So confident.”
“Not really,” I say. “I’m just comfortable with you. And because of that I’m able to be more myself than before.”
“Well, I’m glad I got to see this side of you,” Bryson says. “I’m all for it, as long as you never stop blushing. I’d be too sad if that were to stop.”
“Just for you, I won’t.”
We fall into a comfortable silence. Bryson closes his eyes and starts to hum a song by the Graces. I eat the rest of my fries and listen to not only the sound of the ocean, but also my boyfriend’s incredibly bad humming.
“Are we dating?” I ask.
Bryson stops humming and his eyes open. “What?”
“Uh…we haven’t really spoken about it.”
“I didn’t think we needed to,” Bryson says. “I figured I lost the dare when I kissed you.”
“So today was our first day as a couple?”
“Yes.” Bryson sits up and looks at me. “You, Kai Sheridan, are my boyfriend for real.”
I lean in and kiss him. Bryson laughs against my lips, and I try to catch that sound with my mouth. By the time we pull apart, I am breathless and perfectly content.
“We should go home,” I say, now that the sun has set completely.
Bryson stands and offers me his hand. I let him pull me up and dust the sand from my clothes. We clean up our makeshift picnic. I’m the first to head back to the parking lot. There’s a third car in the parking lot now. Someone climbs out from the car.
It’s Dustin.
23
“What do you think you’re doing?” Dustin demands. He’s looking at me. No, correction: he’s glaring at me.
“Dustin?” Bryson asks when he comes to stand next to me. “What are you doing here?”
“You called me.”
“Earlier, yeah,” Bryson says. “I texted you to tell you I was fine. Kai came.”
“I was out with Brittany,” Dustin says. “It’s why I didn’t hear your calls.”
“It’s no problem, D. I figured you were just busy.” Bryson smiles. He walks over to the trash can and throws away the burger boxes. Bryson’s phone rings then. “Hey, Mom, you home?…Oh, tomorrow?…Yeah, I saw Dad.” Bryson moves farther away from us to continue his conversation with his mother.
“Why are you here?” Dustin asks. His voice is low and dangerous. I take a step back, putting some distance between us.
“What do you mean? Bryson called me.” I make a move toward my car, but Dustin grabs my arm. He jerks me to a stop. His grip is tight—too tight.
“Hey!” I try to pull my arm free, but he refuses to let go. Our eyes meet, and I see more than anger…maybe even hatred.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Dustin says. “It’s not okay.” Dustin tightens his grip, if that is at all possible.
“Let me go.”
“What’s going on?” Bryson asks. He runs toward us and grabs hold of Dustin’s arm, forcing him to let go.
“Are you siding with him?” Dustin spits.
“About what?” Bryson asks. “I don’t even know what’s going on. Why are you so mad?”
Dustin shoves his phone at us. I peer over Bryson’s shoulder. It takes a moment for me to see what I’m looking at. Like my brain refuses to subject me to what it knows I can’t handle. Slowly, it all comes into focus: it’s a picture of me and Bryson from earlier, and we’re kissing.
Eyes wide, I look up at Dustin.
“You took a picture?” Bryson demands.
“You better stay away from him,” Dustin says to me. His voice is low, and his eyes are cold. “If you don’t, I’ll release this.”
“And now you’re threatening us? What the hell, Dustin?” Bryson says.
“You’re mad? This isn’t right. I’ll fix this.” Dustin turns to me. “You need to stop this.”
“Stop what?” Bryson asks. “What does Kai need to stop?”
“Making you gay.” Dustin looks at his best friend. “This isn’t you. You’re like a brother to me, BK. We know everything about each other. I was there when your dad first left. You were there for me when my mom got sick. I know you, Bryson. And the Bryson Keller I know is not gay.” Dustin looks between the two of us. “You’re not a f—”
My fist moves without thought. I’ve never been in a fight before, but I’ve also never been this angry, either. And it sure as hell feels good when I’m able to stop Du
stin from using that word.
I hit him in the jaw, and he stumbles back. Dustin is hunched over. He looks up and bares his teeth.
“Being gay isn’t a disease, asshole!” I spit. “You can’t catch it. It isn’t contagious.”
Dustin’s lip is busted, but I don’t care. He spits blood and tackles me. I hit the asphalt hard and blink away stars. Bryson is quick to react. He grabs Dustin and pulls him off me. Dustin elbows Bryson in the mouth and charges me again.
I roll over to cover my face. Dustin is bigger than me, years of sports giving him muscles that I don’t have. Even so, I don’t just lie there and take it. I struggle against him, kicking and punching for all I’m worth. It doesn’t make much difference. Dustin has the upper hand.
Bryson saves me. He tackles his best friend and they roll across the asphalt. Bryson pins Dustin. Bryson doesn’t want to fight; he just wants to stop him.
I sit up and bite back my groan. I refuse to give Dustin the satisfaction of hearing how much pain I’m in, how much pain he’s caused. I’ve always been an angry crier. Tears sit unshed in my eyes, not from the pain, but from the anger that burns within me like a thousand suns.
I exhale and stand.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bryson asks Dustin.
“He hit me first but you’re mad at me?”
Maybe throwing the first punch wasn’t the smartest move, but at the time it seemed like the only thing I could do. I never want to hear that word. There isn’t ever a reason for it to be uttered, and yet people like Dustin Smith think they can just go around wielding that word like the knife it is.
“You’re not gay,” Dustin says.
“How do you know what I am?” Bryson asks, pain making his voice crack. “I’m still figuring it out.”
“I would know. I’m your best friend.”
Bryson shakes his head. “My best friend wouldn’t act like a complete homophobic asshole.” He stands. “Are you okay?” He walks over to me and studies me closely. “You might have a bruise.”
“I’m fine,” I say. I watch as Dustin climbs to his feet. He’s glaring at us, and when his eyes land on me, it’s like he’s looking at a fresh pile of dog shit.
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