Page 50 of Blitz
“I’m sorry,” I said on one last sob.
“Youneverhave to be sorry with me. You don’t deserve any of this shit, not Pastor Cole, not your secrets, none of it.”
Her words cracked something open inside me again. “You don’t know what I deserve.”
“Youdeservelove.”
I sat in silence, staring out at nothing. “This isn’t fair to you or Tom,” I muttered. “I’m just—damaged. I don’t even know who I am outside of all this shit in my head. You should back away before I drag you down with me.”
“Nope,” she said, firm and soft. “You’ve got me now, Trick. For life. We’ll figure it out together.”
We talked until I could breathe, but when the call ended, it was three in the morning, and I wasn’t ready to go home. Hell, I didn’t know what Iwasready for. Somehow, I ended up in front of Noah and Brody’s place. I hadn’t meant to go there. My hands had taken me. Maybe my heart had, too.
I pulled off the road, engine cooling with slow metallic clicks, and leaned my forehead against the wheel.
“Now what?” I whispered.
A knock on the window scared the shit out of me. I jerked upright, heart pounding, and peered out into the dark, where a flashlight beam cut through the shadows—then another tap, gentler this time.
“Trick?” Noah called through the window, sporting a worried expression, his breath visible in the night air. He tucked the flashlight under his arm and rapped again on the glass. “Are you okay?” he asked as I rolled the window down a crack.
I swallowed hard. “What are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same. Our security service notified us that someone was loitering outside.”
“Jesus, Gunny, call the cops next time. I could have been anyone.”
“Nah, Brody recognized your car.”
“He did?”
Noah huffed. “Of course he did; that man knows cars, but that’s unimportant. Look, I’ve opened the gate—come on, drive in. Coffee’s on.”
When I entered their property, Brody was waiting in pajama pants and a hoodie with Gunny’s number on the back, quietly closing the gate behind me. He gave a sleepy wave, then disappeared inside to give us space. I parked next to the Ferrari and climbed out, hugging my arms around myself. “I’m sorry to be here at…” I glanced at my watch. “Jesus, it’s the middle of the fucking night.”
“It’s all good,” Noah said, leading the way to the porch. We stepped into the warmth of the house, the scent of coffee already threading through the air. Noah handed me a mug without a word and gestured toward the couch.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly as we sat. “I mean, I saw the photos, and all the crap that they’re saying, which is just bullshit, Trick, okay? Having a friend doesn’t make you gay; photos don’t prove you’re gay.”
I didn’t answer right away. The coffee warmed my hands, but the tightness in my chest hadn’t eased. He threw me his stupid big smile all tousled with his stupid blond curls and his Mr. Nice Guy awesomeness, and everything tumbled out of me in a flash.
“I’m gay, Noah. And I’m in a relationship with Tom Fulkowski.”
Noah stared at me, eyes wide, then gave me a sharp nod. “Okay then.”
My throat closed. I sipped the coffee. Let the silence settle. Noah didn’t push. He sat beside me, quiet and steady, and for the first time in hours, I didn’t feel like I was falling.
“I don’t know what to do next.”
Did I stay quiet and hope the noise faded, or did I step into the fire and own it all? Did I contact my lawyer, call the team management, did I come out, did I fix this, or did I keep driving until I was well away from my life? Every option felt like a gamble I wasn’t ready to take. But I couldn’t sit in this limbo forever without losing even more of myself.
Noah leaned back, watching me carefully over the rim of his mug. “Are you coming out? Or do you want to deflect? What can we do to help?”
I stared into the coffee as if it held the answers. “Nothing. Unless you know a therapist who can fix my head.” Without missing a beat, Noah tugged his phone closer. Seconds later, my cell vibrated on the table.
“Louisa Mathers,” he said. “She’s amazing. Brody talked to her.”
I didn’t ask what Brody had talked to her about. “I’ll call her in the morning,” I muttered, voice rough.
