Page 28 of The Coach

“Yeah, well, whatever. I just… I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

The sincerity in his voice made guilt twist in my stomach. Finn had been my anchor since freshman year, the one person I could always count on, and I hated lying to him. I wanted to tell him everything, I really did. But the truth was too complicated, too dangerous to share. “I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Finn studied me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if he could peel back my words and see what I was hiding. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his chestnut locks. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But if thismystery guy breaks your heart, don’t expect me to cheer you up.”

I chuckled and pulled him into a bro-hug, the tension finally easing. “Deal.”

He punched my shoulder. “Oh fuck you, of course I’ll cheer you up.”

Both of us laughed, but after a moment, we became sober again. “Seriously, dude. I’m here for you. You know that.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling at him for real this time. “I know. Look, how about we go to the movies tomorrow? Just the two of us. I'll even let you pick out the movie.”

Finn snickered. “That’s because you know I have better taste in movies than you. But okay. You got yourself a bro-date.”

We fist-bumped to seal the deal, but that got me thinking. I loved what Blake and I had, but we could never go out on a date here. Never be out in public together, as a couple. Were we even a couple? Or was I just a casual fling, a temporary distraction from the boredom of small-town life? My soul yearned for answers, but I didn’t dare to ask him.

Not yet, anyway.

18. Blake

I had to do it, I told myself as I waited for Mandy to join me in the mess hall. I needed some outside perspective, and shewasa professional. I thought about what I should say, how to phrase the truth the right way. It was scary opening up to someone. And even scarier to face your own suppressed desires. But I decided to suck it up and finally be honest. No more hiding. No more walls.

Mandy and I had been eating together a lot lately, keeping each other company. Rumors flew around that we were dating—rumors that neither of us minded enough to shut down. But the truth was, since I had begun hooking up with Tyler, Mandy and I hadn’t spent much time together outside of campus. I guess that after ourfailed date she needed some space before things returned to normal, and I was more than happy to give it to her.

Mandy arrived five minutes later, unapologetic as always, her smile faltering the second she saw my face. “Uh-oh. You’ve got The Look,” she said, holding her tray in front of her as a shield.

I raised an eyebrow. “What look?”

“The serious look. The ‘we need to talk’ look.” She placed her food on the table, sliding into the chair across from me. “You’re not good at hiding it. If we were dating, this would be the break-up look.”

She wasn’t wrong. Mandy had an unnerving ability to see right through me, a skill no doubt sharpened by years of teaching psychology. It was one of the things that had drawn me to her—a woman who wasn’t afraid to call me out, to demand realness instead of forced platitudes. But now, under her scrutiny, I felt exposed in a way that was almost unbearable.

I cleared my throat, folding my hands on the table. “You’re right. I need to talk to you. And… it is serious.”

Her eyes softened, then she lowered her gaze to her food. “Let me guess—you’ve finally found someone. You don’t know how to deal with these feelings. You’ve been holding back. Am I close?”

I nodded, grateful she’d started the conversation. “Pretty much. But it’s more than that.”

She studied me for a long moment, her lips quirking in a small, almost fond smile. “So, who is she? Someone I know?”

I looked around us, concerned someone might overhear the conversation. But the mess hall was nearly empty, and no one was close enough to overhear. “Er, that’s the thing. I—I was wondering… Do you ever hear of cases where someone switched their, um, sexual orientation later in life?”

“Sure, these things are not fixed like…” She looked up at me, the sentence trailing off into silence. Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a perfect O before she covered it with her hands. “Blake,” she said through her fingers, “are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I, er, I think so. Yeah.”

“Oh my God.” I expected her to be shocked, maybe even a bit hurt or disgusted. But I didn’t expect her to squeal like a teenage girl. “That’swonderful!”

A couple of heads turned our way, drawn by the sudden excitement. “Keep your voice down. People will start thinking I proposed to you.”

“So you’re—” She leaned in and whispered, “You think you’re bisexual?”

“I don’t know what the hell I am,” I said. “That’s why I needed to talk to you. I figured you’ll know more than me.”

“Okay.” She turned serious, a therapist replacing a friend. “As I said, it’s not uncommon for people to question their preferences even as they reach maturity—”

“If I hear the words ‘mid-life crisis,’ I’ll throw this salad at you.”

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