Page 51 of Our Hearts to Break

My dad beat me home.

I park behind his Maserati in the circular driveway and turn off the ignition. For a moment, I sit there and stare at Nate. He doesn’t speak or blink.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

“Me too.”

“I don’t want people to hate me for who I am.”

“You got me,” Nate says softly, placing his hand on my thigh. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hate hiding. This sucks. I just… I want to feel like me and still play the sport I love.”

“You can’t change the minds of others. Whatever you decide, I will be there for you. If you want to tell people about us, I’m okay with that. Or you can keep us a secret forever. I don’t care as long as we’re together.”

I close the distance and kiss him. It’s a quick peck. “Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for… being you.”

Nate palms my head and steals another kiss. “If you ever decide to come out, I want to marry the shit out of you.”

I laugh. “Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah. We’d have the dopest wedding.”

Until now, I hadn’t realized Nate was this committed to me and would consider marriage.

My heart fills with so much joy that my chest aches. “I would say yes if you asked me. I’m just throwing it out there in case that day comes.”

Nate smiles, and even in the dark, I can tell it reaches his golden-brown eyes. “We should go inside before our parents come out here.”

After Nate grabs the bags, we climb the grand staircase, shocked to find Spencer waiting for us on the top step. Nate stops, and I put my hand on his shoulder.

Spencer stands, a highball glass in hand, and gestures for us to follow him to the sitting room. “We need to talk.”

“Not now, Dad.” Nate slings his bag over his shoulder and rolls my suitcase along the wooden floor. “I have a good buzz going on… and I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”

“I just want to talk, Nate.”

He pauses at the nickname his dad never uses, even when he knows calling him Nathaniel pisses him off. “You have one minute, old man.”

ChapterEighteen

NATE

I glareat the man who gave me life, teeth gritted. He sits in an oversized armchair by the fireplace, and even with the fire crackling, my skin flushes with heat.

“You wanted to talk,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around River, his back to my chest. “So say something.”

My dad glances at the placement of my hand on River’s inner thigh. He gulps when he takes in the sight of a grown man on my lap. River is almost as big as me, his massive frame taking up more than half the chair.

“How long have you been…” My dad’s voice trails off, and he takes a sip from the highball glass. “Gay?”

“Does it matter?”

He shakes his head. “All of the scandals with women… the sex tapes. I assumed you were going through a phase and would settle down with a nice girl after your college party days.”

“The girls were distractions,” I tell him. “My therapist is helping me see those women were stand-ins for Veronica. A way for me to work out my trauma. It helped me to regain the power I lost with her.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. We never speak about the past. And when we do, he does his best to steer the conversation in another direction.

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