Page 65 of The Boyfriend Zone

"I saw a lot of myself in what you did," he continued. "And not in a good way."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry decades of regret. "I never told you the whole story about my injury. Senior year, the one that ended my career."

"You separated your shoulder," I supplied, familiar with the bare outline. "Three games before the championship."

"What I never told you was that it started as a sprain. Six weeks earlier." He met my eyes directly. "I hid it, played through it, made it worse with every practice, every game. By the time I couldn't hide it anymore, the damage was done. Not just to my shoulder, but to my chances of going pro."

The revelation landed like a body check I hadn't braced for. All these years, I'd been following in his footsteps more closely than either of us had realized.

"I pushed you so hard because I didn't want you to make the same mistakes I did," he continued, irony coloring his voice. "And somehow, I pushed you right into one."

We sat in silence for a moment. Finally, he spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

"This Lucas. Does he care about you? Not just as a story, but as a person?"

The question was so unexpected, so unlike him, that I answered without hesitation. "Yes. More than I probably deserve, given how I treated him at first."

My father nodded, seeming to accept this at face value. "And you... I thought you liked women." It wasn't quite a question, more a statement of confusion.

"I do," I said simply. "And men. Some men. Lucas, specifically." Saying it aloud, to my father of all people, felt simultaneously terrifying and freeing. "I'm bisexual, Dad."

He processed this for a moment, his expression thoughtful rather than angry. "Your happiness is what matters, Sean," he said finally. "I haven't always been good at showing that, I know. But if this Lucas makes you happy, if he keeps you honest—about injuries or anything else—then that's a good thing."

It wasn't a Hallmark-worthy declaration of unconditional acceptance. But from my father, it was monumental—an acknowledgment of my autonomy, my right to make choices he might not have made, to be someone he might not have expected.

Relief flooded through me. I hadn't realized until that moment just how badly I'd wanted some form of acceptance from him, how much his opinion still mattered despite all my efforts to become my own person.

The rest of dinner passed with lighter conversation. He asked about my classes, my plans for after graduation. I told him about the graduate program in sports management I was considering, and to my surprise, he seemed genuinely interested. He even asked me to thank Lucas for the article, saying it had given him perspective he hadn't expected.

When we parted outside the restaurant, there was an awkward moment where neither of us seemed to know how to say goodbye. Then, to my complete shock, he stepped forward and gave me a one-armed hug—something he hadn't done since I was a child.

"Take care of that shoulder," he muttered gruffly as he stepped back. In our family language, it was as good as saying he cared about me, not just my athletic potential.

"I will," I promised. "Thanks, Dad. For listening. For understanding."

He nodded once, his expression softening just slightly. "We'll talk soon. Keep me updated on your recovery. And Sean?" he added as he turned to go. "I'm proud of the man you're becoming. Different from what I expected, maybe, but good."

With that, he headed toward his rental car, leaving me standing on the sidewalk feeling like the ground had shifted beneath my feet—not in the destabilizing way I'd feared, but like pieces that had been out of alignment were finally settling into place.

I pulled out my phone, typing a quick message to Lucas:Dinner over. Need to see you. Meet me at the fountain in 20?

His reply was almost immediate:On my way. Everything okay?

Better than okay. I'll explain when I see you. -S

The walk back to campus gave me time to process everything that had happened. By the time I reached the fountain—our unofficial meeting spot near the center of campus—Lucas was already waiting, his face a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"How did it go?" he asked as soon as I was within earshot.

Instead of answering immediately, I pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly for a long moment before stepping back to meet his gaze.

"I told him about us," I said simply. "And he was okay with it. More than okay, actually."

Lucas's eyes widened. "Really? Wow, Sean, that's amazing!"

"I know," I laughed, still hardly believing it myself. "He even asked me to thank you for your article. Said it gave him perspective."

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