Page 69 of Huge Games

As I pull up outside the house, the scent of home cooking wafts through my window, making my stomach growl in reply. Someone’s cooking up something good. If the last meal I had at Travis’s is anything to go by, it’s probably his mom.

It feels weird to approach Travis’s front door. We’re not friends in the true sense, just men who have come together because of a shared appreciation of a woman. But over the past couple of weeks, he’s proved himself to be a good man, and that’s rare as fuck.

I knock on the door, glancing down at my beat-up sneakers and ratty faded black joggers. I’m not exactly dressed for visiting. A woman with short blonde hair, and stunning blue eyes opens the door and stares at me curiously. She looks so much like Gabriella; it’s uncanny.

"Hi, I’m Elias. I’m here to see Travis. Is he here?"

"He is." She sounds wary, and I get it. He’s gone through a lot today, and she doesn’t know me from Adam. "Travis." She yells his name and ushers me inside.

Travis appears at the top of the stairs, looking bleak. "Hey, man."

I tip my head in greeting. "You got a minute?"

He nods and waves me up. I take off my shoes, remembering my manners even though I wasn’t raised with many. My sock has a hole in the toe, which Travis’s mom spots with her eagle eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but I feel her pity or maybe her question. Why is his mom not taking care of him?

This is why I don’t hang out with other people’s families.

The hallway is lined with pictures of Gabriella, Travis, and their mom over the years. I avoid looking at them in too much detail, not wanting to see the happy smilesbecause it’s a reminder of how few photos I have of my childhood, and even fewer when I’m cracking anything other than a grimace.

Travis is standing in the hallway at the top of the stairs, his shoulders curled forward, and his head held lower than usual. He shuffles into a room that I guess must be his and slumps onto his big bed, resting back against the dark wood headboard. There’s a chair in the corner that I sit on because standing would make this whole thing feel pressured.

"What’s going on, Travis?" I eye the open suitcase next to him on the bed. His attention drifts there, too.

"I have to go," he says.

"Celine said that’s what you thought."

"If I don’t go and it’s my kid…" He trails off and shudders.

"Is she that crazy? "

He nods, and I crack my knuckles, first on one hand and then the other. I grew up with crazy, except it was my dad. My mom’s a little on the edge, too, mostly because of my father’s behavior.

"What are the chances it’s yours?"

His eyelids lower and stay closed for a few seconds before he opens them. Frustrated, he scores lines into his hair with his fingers. "We fucked for three months. I used condoms the whole time. "

"Any breaks or tears? "

He shakes his head.

"Did you leave the condoms in the bathroom at her place?"

Travis blinks fast. "No. I always wrap and flush. My mom taught me that when I was a teen."

"Clever mom."

He nods.

"So, next to no chance."

"There’s always a chance."

I blow out a tense breath, knowing that he speaks the truth. No sex comes without risk. It’s why dudes need to choose their partners carefully, even if they’re only intending to share one night. My own actions with Celine were risky, but I don’t regret a thing.

I wish I had words that would help Travis. He’s stuck in a situation where there’s no winning. A situation I’d never want to find myself in.

"When can you get a paternity test?"

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