Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,84

each offering the same compassionate sigh, “Seriously?”

As disconnected as I feel to my body, to my soul, I somehow manage to nod.

“What?” Tatum openly questions. “What is happening? What happened?”

“Yeah,” Poppy springs to her assistance. “I don’t get it, either.”

“They found out he’s gay,” Mo callously announces, “and refused to play with him.”

Bisexual.

I wanna argue that I’m bisexual.

That there’s a difference.

That there’s a significant difference.

But I don’t.

Because right now, there’s not.

The only thing that matters is guys are what I’m attracted to.

That’s what makes me the enemy.

The Benedict Arnold of the locker room.

“Ohmygod!” Poppy squeals prior to flinging herself at me. “Fucking assholes!”

“Cheeseandrice, that’s fucking ridiculous,” Tatum echoes the thought and then the action, curling against my left side.

“No yeah. Fuck. Them.” Mo chomps and presses herself into my right.

Their tight holds threaten to pull out the tears I have been trying to keep imprisoned, but not having their overly possessive boyfriends gripe or complain about their touching is what damn near shatters the lock.

I slightly tilt my head back, shut my eyes, and give them one single squeeze in return.

Rutledge is first to clear his throat to indicate they’ve had long enough and to disperse; however, it’s actually his girlfriend that is last to do so.

Once they’ve all returned to who they belong to, I politely dismiss them all, “I’ve gotta meet my parents for dinner. I’ll…see you guys around.”

There are obvious objections to my statement.

Questions.

Counters.

My friends and their girlfriends all flash me expressions to indicate what I said was unacceptable yet, thankfully, respect my need for space.

They disperse on nods and waves and concerned glares, leaving me completely alone with Crash for the first time since his meltdown in Venom.

I honestly wasn’t expecting him here.

I haven’t exactly been talking to him.

I didn’t answer his calls or his texts. I even deadbolted the door so he couldn’t get into the apartment last night or this morning.

I don’t know what to say to him; therefore, I chose not to say anything at all.

Unlike him, I’d rather not speak out of misguided anger.

I was taught better than that.

Crash lets loose a sniffle prior to asking, “Are you just…are you never gonna talk to me, again?”

I pull the keys out of my pocket and turn towards my vehicle rather than answer.

“Seriously?!” He cries out in such a way it’s impossible not to feel his pain. “Yell at me, Hugo. Scream. Shout. Rip me a new one! Say whatever you wanna say! Just…stop…this silent treatment shit. I don’t like it. I don’t fucking want it.”

The last statement has me turning around in blatant outrage. “Everything is a-a-about what y-y-you fucking want, Crash!”

He noticeably shrinks within his own skin, causing me to chastise myself for my tone.

My volume.

My actions.

The mental reaction to it sends me further spiraling, stutter be damned. “I-I-I live on fucking e-e-egg shells for y-y-you!” Breathing increases in difficulty, and the unsteadiness of anger effortlessly rocks my frame, yet it’s the magnitude of the unspoken truth that stabilizes my speech. “For our entire friendship, it has always been about you. What you need. What you want. Whether it was the toy you wanted or the movie we had to watch or the music on the radio, it was up to you. It was always your decision. I have spent practically my entire life letting you walk all over me because I love you. Because I have always loved you. Because I know without fucking question, I will always love you.”

His jaw slightly cracks in response to the declaration.

“I have sat on the sidelines for you. I have watched you date and degrade yourself for people so unworthy of your fucking time that I have spent hours reading my father’s fucking relationship magazines trying to figure out how that shit is even possible. I have sat in the backseat of our friendship. I watched you have friends who abandoned you when you were no longer of value to their shallow existence. I have been your biggest fucking fan to the point I even petitioned for them to reevaluate that breakdancing contest that it was clear you fucking deserved to win. I have…missed parties, dinners, dates to be there for you whenever you needed me. I have spent the last couple of months breaking my goddamn neck proving to you that I am not like the monsters that came before me. I would never hit you. I would never verbally assault you. Fuck, just having to look you in the face and tell