Page 16 of Depths of Desire
“I don’t think…it matters,” I said.
“Sure it does,” Lennox said. “It always matters if someone can understand what you’re going through.”
Lennox played on a team of dedicated guys. Three of those guys were dating other guys. Besides, however good he was at his brutish sport, I didn’t imagine it was so tough to go through. The kind of fiery, testosterone-driven, and nearly violent action they performed on ice required only half as much struggle as achieving perfection in grace.
Then again, the only gay guys I knew were passing hookups, and I barely recalled their names, just like they barely remembered me.
“So, you are?” I asked, hating myself for letting a note of excitement touch my voice.
Lennox lifted his eyebrows as he nodded. “Not that tabloids write about it.”
My muscles tightened. “They will. Get big enough and they absolutely will.”
“Must have sucked,” Lennox said. It was a simplistic statement, not worth being called an assumption when it clearly stated the obvious, yet I felt the tug of warmth drag me closer to Lennox. Not literally. I didn’t lean forward. I only felt like my heartbeat was a little louder, and my soul thrust an inch closer to his.
I nodded. “I knew it was happening. The fucker who wrote it had the nerve to email me questions. ‘Oliver Hayworth declined to immediately comment on this story.’” I barked a bitter laugh. “I got a day’s head start, just enough to simmer and think if I should beat the headlines or not. In the end, I called my family and told them. Didn’t want them finding out like that.”
Lennox leaned in, eyes widening. “And?”
“And what?”
“How did that go?” Lennox asked, clearly resisting the urge to add a “Duh” at the end.
I shrugged with one shoulder. It wasn’t worth the effort of lifting both.
“You’re visiting them now,” Lennox said.
I was visiting Lena. Mom and Dad? I wasn’t sure so much. But I didn’t tell Lennox anything else about it. I just nodded and threaded my fingers together on my stomach. “You’re not out.”
Lennox cast his gaze to the window. It was getting dark outside. We should have gotten to our homes by now had the storm not caught us on the road. The snowflakes came in heaps, melting on the windows with the radiating heat of the cabin. Streetlamps glowed warmly, brightening the snowflakes. “No. Not really,” Lennox said. “I’m not sure yet.”
“You’re not sure you’re gay?” I asked, failing to keep the incredulity out of my voice.
Lennox shot me a confused, distracted look. “What? No. I’m as gay as they come. Never questioned it. I just don’t know how that fits in with my life.”
My silence was an agreement. I had no idea how the two worked together. I didn’t think it mattered, but maybe I was the crazy one. The story that broke just before the Olympic Games had split the internet. On one hand, my rare and irregular social media updates got an overwhelming amount of support, the tabloid in question was slammed for their unethical coverage, and the guy who wrote the story lost all credibility. On the other hand, my messages were flooded with an even mix of hate and dick pics. Besides, no amount of hate the tabloid got affected anything. They feasted on bad press because it got their name into the collective consciousness.
And my parents pretended none of it had ever happened.
Lennox had that look again. The one where he wondered if he should say what was on his mind. “I remember you from high school.”
“Small town,” I said. Everyone remembered everyone else. Lennox and I had never shared classes or crossed paths that much.
“You were such an amazing swimmer,” Lennox said. “No wonder you went all the way to Paris.”
And returned with silver, not gold, I thought.
Lennox’s compliment hung between us longer than it should have.
I didn’t know what to say. Thank you sounded too small. Too polite. He wasn’t just making conversation. I could feel it. There was weight behind it, like he meant more than the words he’d chosen.
I nodded slowly, trying not to fidget, though my legs were already buzzing with energy I couldn’t explain away. “I worked hard.”
“You still do,” he said.
He wasn’t looking at me now. His eyes were on the fire again. The flames played shadows across his face, softening it, making him look even nicer somehow. Kinder.
I studied him while he wasn’t watching. His posture had relaxed again. One arm rested along the back of the couch. His legs were long as they stretched out toward the fire. He had this openness to him, like someone who didn’t know how to hide and wouldn’t even try.
