Chapter 15
I skip down the steps, and a ball of anxiety settles in the pit of my stomach when my eyes sweep across the entryway. It's Roland. He's standing just inside the front door, his hand stuffed into the pockets of his light jacket. Dan, Weston, and the other two guys from outside are back to gaming, but Bennett's nowhere to be seen.
I shoot a fleeting glance to the living room, reassuring myself that they're not paying attention before turning my gaze to my best friend. Roland's pinched expression softens when he sees me. His shoulders relax, and a small smile even manages to slip across his lips.
As much as I hate to admit, it's good to see him smile....hell, it's just good to see him. He runs a nervous hand through his hair and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Then he juts a thumb towards the door and shrugs.
"I, ah, texted you," he says hesitantly. "And I'm sorry – for showing up without calling. But when I didn't hear anything, I thought I'd just drop off your kitchen stuff myself."
Ah, the kitchenware.
"Roland!"
Bennett's overly joyous voice slices through the tension between us before I have a chance to respond. He offers a beer to Roland – an offer which is declined with an icy grunt of decline. Bennett shrugs and cracks the can open, draining a few gulps of alcohol before wiping away the remnants with the back of his hand.
He glances between the two of us and smirks. "I didn't come at a bad time, did I?"
Roland's nostrils flare, and the tension in his shoulders returns. Why is it that whenever I'm around the two of them, I'm ten steps behind what they're thinking? It's like the both of them are having a silent conversation – one which I'm not even allowed to see the cue cards.
"I forgot a few things at the apartment," I say after a moment of silence. "Roland is just dropping 'em off."
Bennett nods and takes a step closer to me. He throws an arm around my shoulders, playfully hugging me towards his chest. Instead of pushing him away, I find myself closing my eyes and inhaling his scent – a perfect mix between cologne and chlorine. The heat from his torso permeates through my clothes, and the sound of his voice vibrates along his chest.
"Well, since you're not sticking around, why don't you just drop them on the front porch?"
"I'd like to talk to Trey," Roland argues brusquely.
Bennett laughs and reaches out to lightly punch Roland on the arm. "Trey's a little busy right now. We've got a gaming tournament going on. You understand."
Roland's eyes dance over Bennett's face for a thoughtful moment before pursing his lips. It's clear he wants to say something, but whatever it is he keeps to himself. For now. His reaction is enough to stir my defensive nerve endings into action. Roland might still be on my shit list, but witnessing him being picked on never sits well with me.
"I'm done gaming for the night," I argue, nudging away Bennett's touch.
He opens his mouth to say something but quickly clamps his lips shut. A myriad of shouts erupt from the living room. Dan slams his controller onto the coffee table, flipping off Weston while shouting profanities across the room. Weston and his teammate, on the other hand, ignore him completely. They exchange a fist bump, laughing at Dan's reaction with little remorse.
"Have fun moving your shit," Bennett says quietly, redirecting my attention back to him. "I'd offer to help, but I don't want to."
He claps me on the shoulder, a little too hard to be friendly, before shooting Roland a glare and walking away. Only when he's out of earshot does Roland relax enough to open the door. His deep, brown eyes collide with mine and he lowers his voice to a whisper.
"Shall we?"
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It doesn't take long to load the boxes into my storage unit down the street. Then again, I don't have much to begin with. My parents both offered a dozen and one times to take me furniture shopping, but at the time I was so focused on Annie that I didn't have time for anything else.
Eh, I can't blame her for that one.
As much as I love my folks, I've never been a big fan of shopping. Even if she wasn't in the picture, the outcome would have been the same.
I tug down the collapsible, metal door and lock it at the bottom. Roland waits for me by his car, leaning against the trunk with his legs crossed at the ankles. The luminescent street light emphasizes the contours of his face with soft shadows. His cheekbones are more pronounced than they were a week ago, and the bags under his eyes weigh heavily beneath his tired expression.
"Thanks for packing up my shit," I say, clearing my throat of guilt.
"No problem."
Instead of walking to the passenger side of the car, I join him at the trunk, leaning against it and staring out at the darkened lot.
"I'm not here to try and earn your forgiveness," Roland whispers after what feels like an eternity of silence. "Because that'll take a lot longer than a five minute conversation in a storage lot."
I grunt.
He sighs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "No matter what the reason is behind what happened, it was wrong, Trey. I was wrong."
He hesitates a moment before pushing himself off the trunk. The sound of his light footsteps ricochet against the small storage units, each step scraping against the rubble of pavement beneath his feet. He comes to stand in front of me, running his hands through his hair with pursed lips. His eyes are pleading. The anger I expect to feel doesn't return with as much fervor as what I felt in the bleachers all those days ago.
Instead I feel guilty.
"I'm not in love with her, Trey," Roland says, and I can hear the smallest tremor in his voice. "I've never slept with her, fucked her, kissed her....hell, I've never even checked her out."
I snort. "Right. So when I heard you two talking – "
"You heard us right, Trey," Roland says over me. "You did. But you came at the worst time possible and misunderstood everything. Annie and me...we're not together."
Hearing my ex's name on his lips sends a temporary wave of anger through me. The whole incident is one I've tried to block out of my thoughts on a daily basis. Having him bring it up now isn't helping his case. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my quivering temper.
"Even if I want to believe that's true," I say through gritted teeth. "Why wait all this time, huh?"
Roland shakes his head and kicks away a loose piece of pavement. "I wanted to. Believe me, I did. But I knew when I did, you'd be wary and I'd end up having to tell you the irrefutable fact to prove I'm not and haven't been with Annie."
I raise a brow and squint. "Which is...?"
Roland grimaces and stares down at his feet. The buzzing of the florescent lights swarms above us. A few minutes ago, the sound was barely noticeable. Now it's loud enough to put a nest of bees to shame.
He lets out a pained laugh and sighs. "I'm gay, bud."
The sentence sits stagnant in the space between us. I blink at him a few times, replaying his words and wondering if I heard him correctly. Roland is...gay? No, that can't be right. This is the guy who went to countless strip clubs with me after Annie dumped me. He's the guy who was always my wing-man for parties.
He can't be.
I shake my head, refusing to believe his words. "No you're not," I say firmly. "You can't be."
Roland sighs, and this time there's a sadness in his voice that wasn't there before. "I am, Trey. Some days I wish I wasn't. But that doesn't change who I am or the gender that I'm attracted to."
His words sound distant as all of our memories together play through my mind in fast forward. Roland never had a girlfriend. Hell, I've never even seen him with a woman before. Now that I think about it, even when we went to those strip clubs, more often than not I'd find him at the bar, reading his paper under the dim light of the club.
"Y-you can't be gay, though," I say, shaking my head and not knowing what else to say. "You would have told me sooner."
Roland reaches out to touch me on the shoulder and I flinch. He searches my face, his dark eyes attempting to gauge my reaction. "I wanted to. Hundreds of times, in fact. But I didn't know how you'd take it."
I swallow hard and step away from his touch. Then I fervently shake my head back and forth. "I don't believe it."
"Trey – "
"Prove it!" I shout angrily.
He has to be joking. Maybe this is his fucked up, convoluted way of making excuses for what happened between him and Annie. This isn't the type of thing you spring on your best friend years after knowing them.
Roland's shoulders tense, and he looks up at me from under a hooded gaze. Then he lets out a small, soft laugh. "You want me to prove it? Fine."
The question is whispered, and I swallow hard when he shakes his head and takes a step towards me. His scent engulfs me the closer he gets. He uses a gentler cologne than Bennett's, the smell a combination of sandalwood and peppermint.
My chest squeezes painfully as I try to control my breathing. What's happening right now? What's happening to me? To us? Roland slides his hand around my waist and leans against me. Even with our clothes on, I can feel the start of a boner forming beneath his jeans. The realization makes me panic.
I want to tell him to stop. He doesn't need to show me anything. But when I stare into his eyes, I notice an emotion lurking in their depths that I realize I've seen before. Desire.
And before I have a chance to say anymore more, Roland closes the distance between us. He presses his soft lips against mine, capturing me in a kiss that I know will change our relationship forever.