Page 71 of Breaking the Ice
Hayes would probably tell him it would majorly suck. But then not having Gavin in his life would definitely suck worse.
“It’s okay.” Zach took a deep breath. “It’s . . .I’m glad we talked about it.”
Gavin didn’t look like he necessarily agreed, but this had to be better than going around, torn between wild hope and heart-racing anticipation.
“Me too,” Gavin said, and Zach was pretty sure that was the only lie Gavin had told him during the whole conversation.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Hayes said, the next time Zach picked up his call.
It wasn’t the first time Hayes had called in the last two weeks—not by a long shot—but itwasthe first time Zach felt like he could relay the bare minimum of the conversation without breaking down and crying or throwing something or letting anger and frustration overwhelm him.
It was so much easier not to talk about it. So much easier not to think about it.
To just exist day-to-day—classes and practices and games. Taking one day at a time, putting one foot in front of the other.
It didn’t feel good but Zach also didn’t want to give Gavin the satisfaction of seeing how much his rejection had fucking sucked, so he tried to pretend to the world—and to himself—that everything was fine.
But he couldn’t pretend to Hayes.
“Yeah, I have,” Zach admitted. He stretched out, back stiff after sitting at his desk for hours, working on a paper for his advanced psychology class.
“You gonna tell me why?”
“I told you last week, when you texted me if you’d done something to piss me off, the answer was no. It wasn’t about you. Not everything is about you. God, Monty.” He could hear how grumpy he sounded.
“You fucking idiot,” Hayes said, “I’m not worried aboutthat. I’m worried about you. You’re not usually this quiet. For a second I thought you might have fallen into bed with Gavin and just hadn’t come up for air.”
Zach choked a little. Tried very hard not to imagine what that might’ve been like—if his conversation with Gavin in the diner had gone in the opposite direction.
He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t quite force the word out of his suddenly uncooperative throat.
“Oh shit. Shit.”
He didn’t even have to say it. Hayes got it anyway.
“Yeah,” Zach breathed out unsteadily. “I was really fucking stupid. The way you told me not to be.”
“Zachy, I’m so fucking sorry,” Hayes said.
“It’s . . .it’s fine,” Zach said. He wasfine.
“It’s okay if it’s not. Ifyou’renot,” Hayes pointed out.
“He said—it wasn’tme. That he . . .well, that hewould. But that he’s never dating again.”
Hayes was quiet for a long moment. “Is that better, or worse?”
Zach made a frustrated noise. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, okay?”
“Well, hecouldchange his mind—”
“Don’t do that,” Zach interrupted him, frustration leaking into his voice and making it harsher than he’d intended.
“Don’t do what?”
“Give me fucking hope. You said it, back at the beginning of this whole thing. He was going to have his big widower freakout.” Zach took a deep breath. “But you were wrong, it’s not a freakout. Freakout implies that it’s got a beginning, a middle, and an end. And I don’t think it will.”
“Shit. I didn’t want to be right,” Hayes said earnestly.
