Chapter 36
"Trey? C'mon, man. Open up. You've been in there for over an hour."
Roland's muted voice fills the silence. The two, burning tears that escaped my eyes earlier have dried. Now they're nothing more than invisible streaks of pain. I can feel them stretching across my skin every time I open my mouth. They're a mocking reminder of the happy couple of the hour.
I trudge to the door and flip open the lock. I cradle the handle in my palm before taking a deep breath and tugging it open. Roland stands at the threshold, his arm raised above his head and leaning casually against the doorframe. His brows are pinched in concern, but the rest of his face is devoid of emotion.
I nod for him to come inside and flop back into bed. He closes the door behind him, and I half expect him to take a seat at the end of my bed. But he doesn't. Instead he keeps his distance and stuffs his hands in his jean pockets.
"I would ask what this was about," he says after a stretch of silence. "But based off of the message thread that was opened in my phone...I think I have a fairly good idea."
"Yea," I mumble. "Sorry about that. I shouldn't have texted him. I shouldn't have read it in the first place."
The apology is so drowned in my own bitterness that it's hard to tell that I'm being sincere. Roland nods in acknowledgement.
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
Roland glances around my room. His dark eyes dance over my unkempt closet and across my floor which is scattered in piles of clothes. His silent tour pauses at the hamper where my clothes from last night were kicked in its general direction earlier this morning.
He squints at it, and my stomach knots wondering if Bennett left an article of clothing behind. I follow his gaze and see Bennett's belt snaking around the side of the hamper. It's black leather and not unlike the ones I have hanging up in my closet, but the signature belt buckle gives it away. It's large, gaudy, and has 'DJ Silver' written in bold letters. How did I not notice it this morning?
Roland's jaw tightens and he takes a slow breath before focusing his attention on me again. The hurt in his expression is palpable, but a silent understanding passes between us. Without having to ask more, he recognizes the reason behind my hurt. He knows the reason behind my reaction to Weston's text.
"You'd think being gay would make all of this less complicated," Roland says, weakly waving towards my hamper. "But it doesn't."
Sleeping with Bennett was something I wanted. Having him touch me, kiss me, want me...
Hell, if he hadn't left this morning, I would have been willing to have the same talk with him that he had with Weston. But it meant nothing to him. Fuck, it meant less than nothing. Our night together literally sent him running back to his pseudo-ex. Was it really that bad for him?
"It's not complicated," I respond dryly. "Bennett's just a dick."
Either that or I'm terrible in bed.
Roland rubs at the back of his neck and huffs. "Shit, Trey. I don't know how to respond to that."
His earlier emotions are still prominent in his expression, but there's an edge of jealously that's weaving itself into his tapestry of pain. I start regretting this entire conversation and grit out an apology. Roland shakes his head.
"Don't apologize. He was an idiot if he had you in his grasp and let you go."
My stomach tightens. I'm still getting used to the fact that not only is my best friend gay, but he's also interested in me. The obvious statement of flirtation catches me off guard. I drop my gaze and pick at the frayed end of my comforter which still smells of sweat and Bennett's cologne.
"I told you I'm here for you, Trey," Roland says quietly. "And I will be. I know you're into Bennett. It sucks. But I'll deal with it. In the meantime, just know that any time you see my pain or anger, it's not directed at you. It'll just take time."
As if coming out of a deep thought, he clears his throat and the sudden intensity of the conversation shifts back to Bennett.
"So - how can I help with the Bennett issue?" he asks, and the best friend I have known for years resurfaces.
I push out a resigned breath of frustration and run my hands over my face. The faint scent of Bennett tortures my mind, reminding me of all the intimate details of our night together. I remember his every touch, his every kiss, his every delicious whisper that was so seductive it made me ache. Weston's text flashes in the middle of all of the memories, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
As much as I hate to admit it, somewhere in the past few months, I've developed feelings for Bennett. And now that I have, I want nothing more than to get rid of them.
"I'm done dealing with his bullshit," I mutter. "Help me forget him."
Roland offers up an understanding smile. He holds out a hand and nods towards the kitchen. "Done. Now let's get some food. There's one helluva casserole waiting to be eaten, along with a frantic roommate who's too afraid to try it because she thinks you have food poisoning."
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Roland and I manage to find our way into a new, daily routine. We trade-off picking each other up for swim practices, spend our days at his apartment, and spend the evenings at mine. Most of the time he just sticks around long enough to cook dinner for Jordan and me, but some weekends he stays well into the night as the three of us enjoy a few drinks around a crackling bonfire.
Somewhere along the way, time starts to speed up. I think less about Bennett, and find myself focusing more on my friends and the happiness right in front of me. Each time I get a call that's not from Bennett, it hurts less and less. Each time a memory of him resurfaces, the pain of why he left without saying goodbye after our night together becomes less significant. The sadness ebbs. It eases.
Even though Roland doesn't utter Bennett's name a single time, he somehow manages to help. And before I realize it, almost a full month has passed.
But as much as I try to make my feelings for Bennett go away completely...they don't.
I stare at the calendar taped haphazardly to the front of the refrigerator and count the weeks for a fourth time before sighing. This is the last weekend before Bennett rejoins the team. He'll be at practice on Monday. I haven't heard from him since...
Unwanted thoughts of his naked body, poised and taut above mine, drift into my mind. My skin tingles remembering the way his lips teased every inch of my skin. I grit and push it all aside, tearing my focus from the calendar and yanking the refrigerator door open.
That's done now. I'm done with him.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Jordan reaches around me and grabs her half-eaten pear from the fridge. She leans against the counter and takes a bite, staring up at me expectantly. Unlike when I first moved in, there's not an ounce of nerves or shyness about her. Somehow in the past month I managed to find a way to win over her friendship just as she managed to win over mine.
"Monday's practice," I answer honestly.
She nods slowly. "You got timed trials?"
I run a hand through my hair before swiping up a beer and closing the fridge door.
"No."
Jordan frowns and tilts her head to the side. "Is Sir Jack Ass going to be there?"
I snort at her question. Even though Jordan still hasn't been brought up to speed on my sexuality, she knows that something happened between Bennett and me. Granted, she has no idea what it is and probably thinks it's just a bad 'bro fight.' Regardless, she's the ever-loyal friend and has since referred to him as Sir Jack Ass.
"Bingo," I mutter and gulp down a few sips of beer.
Jordan scoffs and takes another huge bite of her pear. "Just ignore him. Does Roland know he'll be back on Monday?"
I shrug. "Doesn't matter."
"Well, I'll tell him anyway. At least that way he can prepare himself for being a human buffer between the two of you."
Jordan states it as a matter-of-fact. I've gone almost four weeks without needing a 'human buffer' between Bennett and me. Then again, a human buffer isn't exactly needed when the two of us have had zero contact.
My roommate takes a final bite of pear and tosses it into the trash. I frown as she starts walking out of the kitchen, noticing that her morning basketball shorts and t-shirt have been replaced with a flowing skirt and matching top.
"Hey," I shout after her and follow her into the living room. "You look semi-fashionable. Is Hell freezing over?"
Jordan flips me off and picks up her phone at the end of the table. "One of my friends is hosting a Hawaiian themed party at her place tonight. It's right next to the lake, so it's supposed to be huge."
"You have other friends?" I clutch at my heart and stagger back.
My sarcastic comment earns me nothing more than a droll stare. "Well she's invited me to parties before. I just haven't gone."
"And who is this 'she'?"
Jordan glances at her phone, but not before I notice the hint of a blush rising to her cheeks. "Her name is Lana. She's been in a few of my classes this summer."
Interesting. I smirk and cross my arms over my chest. "So what makes this party so special?"
"Nothing," she answers defensively.
She purses her lips and then tosses her phone on the couch, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
"I don't know, ok? I just keep turning her down every time she asks to hang out or to meet her at a party. And if I keep saying no, she'll eventually stop asking. And I..."
Her voice trails off. The confidence that Roland and I have tried so hard to instill in her the past month starts cracking under the pressure of being in a social situation. Or perhaps it's cracking under the pressure of being around this 'Lana' who – from the sounds of it – has caught my roommate's attention.
"I get it," I say after a beat of silence. I take a seat next to her on the couch and slide my arm around her shoulders. "And when exactly was I going to get an invite to this party?"
"Right before you made that snide comment about my fashion sense."
I choke down a laugh and her glare intensifies. The living room light hits her face at an angle that I realize she's wearing makeup too. Her eyes are painted to match her dress, and her lashes are dark and long. Instead of teasing her a second time, I roll my eyes and place a sloppy kiss on her forehead. She cringes and scoffs under her breath before wiping it off with the back of her hand.
"Oh c'mon," I mutter. "You know you want me there."
"Only because I don't want Roland to be bored. Well, that and I need a ride."
Roland already knows about this party?
The patio door to our apartment slides open, and our conversation is interrupted as Roland's tall frame moves into the living room with an armful of groceries. Speak of the devil. When he gets into the kitchen and sets the bags on the counter, the loud thunk catches me by surprise.
"What the hell did you buy?"
Jordan pops up from the couch and sashays her way into the kitchen. It's not a particularly graceful sight, but the flowy skirt helps her case.
"Oh! Thank you, thank you!" she hums to Roland.
He smiles down at her and moves aside to let her pull the mysterious purchases from the bag. I see the sleek top of a wine bottle before he blocks my view again.
"What'd you get her?" I ask, nodding towards the kitchen.
Roland plops down beside me. He takes off his sunglasses and folds his hands behind his head. His white shirt tightens around his torso. The movement shows off the solid five pounds of muscle he's managed to gain back over the month. A faint tan stretches across his temple, no doubt thanks to his goggles from so many outdoor practices the past two weeks.
"Drinks for tonight. She wanted a few glasses of wine before we went over there."
I thrum my fingers against my knee. "And why again was I left out of the loop on all this?"
Roland laughs. "Trey, she's nervous. And you're not exactly the easiest guy to talk to – especially when it comes to romance or the emotional department."
I can't argue there. I was dumped by the first woman I ever loved, realized I was into dudes, and then was rejected by the first man I've ever had feelings for all in the span of a few months. That doesn't exactly equate to romantic stability.
I grunt in agreement and Roland glances over his shoulder before leaning into me and lowering his voice.
"She told me about the party yesterday. It's going to be quite the summer bash."
I quirk my brow at the nervousness in his voice. The three of us have gone to a party or two the past few weeks. One of them was definitely considered a 'summer bash.' Why is he bringing this up to me now? Roland sighs and his shoulders sag.
"Bennett's going to be there."
I don't know what I was expecting to feel hearing his name again. After all the improvement I've been making, a part of me actually believed I'd feel nothing. But instead hearing his name has the opposite effect. Half a dozen emotions flood my nervous system, and with them, a familiar sensation of warmth spreads throughout my body. My cheeks burn. My stomach burns. My fingertips burn.
"How do you know?" I ask after a beat of silence.
"I texted a few guys from the team," Roland answers. "Jordan said there'd be a DJ there, so I sent out a few texts to find out. Erik was the one to finally confirm it."
Anger wins out over the others, and my heated gaze flickers up to my best friend. "I see."
Roland grimaces. "Trey – listen, we don't have to go. Jordan will understand. We can tell her – "
"No." I cut him off mid-sentence. "We're going."