“I wonder if my parents know you’re gay.”
No answer came to that either.
“Devon has a sense. He must. Or maybe he just thinks I love you as a friend.”
We were hardly ever alone in my house or at the pool. That walk was bliss, but also torture, because I wanted to take him behind the trees and show him how I really loved him as they sang romantic melodies or hummed some sort of thumping disco porn music beat. “I guess we should get back. There’ll be dishes to dry,” I said as the truck became visible again and we unlaced our fingers.
He risked a quick peck, on my cheek. “I hate to, but okay.”
The next Saturday evening, since we had Sunday mornings off from training, Mathias and I headed back to the field with that tent—and my brother. No showers, no change of clothes, we planned on bein
