Page 70 of Breaking Free

I sit on the bed, my back against the headboard as my legs stretch almost to the end of the mattress while I flip through the channels. Trevor takes a slice from the box next to me and awkwardly stands near the bed, facing the TV.

“Just sit on the bed, Campbell. I won’t bite.”

He mutters something before sitting on the edge. I let him scarf down two slices before I speak up again.

“You ready to talk?”

“About what?”

“You tryin’ to act like we have nothing to talk about?”

He sighs. “Fine. But you go first.”

28

“There’snothing I can say that I haven’t already. I told you the truth. Yes, my parents know Coach Bennett. They go back several years, but they weren’t all buddy-buddy. I hardly knew him at all. I was a kid and I didn’t give a fuck who my parents were friends with.” I sigh, scratching my jaw. “My dad was an abusive asshole, okay? Coach eventually found out and when he tried to interfere, Dad severed the friendship and Mom wasn’t allowed to speak to him again. That’s all I know about that, and I only found that out recently.”

His face softens and I don’t want him to pity me, so I quickly continue. “Don’t feel bad for me, Campbell. He’s dead and gone now. I’m just sad it didn’t come faster. Look, when he died and I started looking into transferring, my coach at GV contacted Bennett and he recognized the name. Because he was fairly aware of our situation, he made sure to help on his end, wanting the transition to move faster and smoother, considering my mom needed me. I would’ve been able to transfer anyway. He just came down to watch me and that was my try out for the team. Sure, it was special circumstances, but I’m good, and you can’t deny that. He knows that, too. I got on the team but you can’t say I don’t deserve to be on it.”

He nods. “Okay.”

“And there was no,my son needs to be a starterbullshit. My mom doesn’t care about football like that. I hardly do. I got into football at GV because I needed it. I was an angry teenager. I was destructive and lashing out and held onto a lot of anger and hurt from my childhood. I needed the discipline that comes with college football. I can’t go out and fuck around on the weekends because of games. I don’t have free time after school to get in trouble, because I have practice. I don’t drink very often, and I workout and take my frustration out on the weights.” I shrug. “I have to keep my grades up because of my scholarship, so…”

“You’re on a football scholarship?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Academic.”

His brows shoot up. “Oh, so you’re smart.”

“Brilliant,” I say with a smile.

He snorts. “Anyway.”

“You believe me now, or what? I don’t care about that starting spot.”

He looks down at the comforter, playing with a loose string. “I’m sorry I was an ass.”

“Well, you’re lucky I like your ass and am willing to forgive you.” His lips purse as he tries to fight off a smile. “I want to apologize too.” He gives me a confused look. “You coming out to your parents is a huge deal, and I didn’t react the way I should have. I’m happy for you. Really. I’m guessing it went well?”

His lips kick up on the sides. “Yeah. Um, apparently my mom thought I might’ve been gay years ago.”

I laugh. “Moms.”

Trevor scoots closer, loosening up. “She might’ve unlocked some shit I didn’t even see back then, but it’s fine. They both know and they don’t care.”

“Good,” I say with a grin. “My mom was always okay with my sexuality. My dad wasn’t.”

He chews on his lip like he isn’t sure if he should ask any questions. “Was that why he…”

“Hit me? No. Not the only reason. It started before I was out. It started with my mom. He had addiction issues, anger issues, and who knows what else. Mom doesn’t know some of the stuff he said to me when she wasn’t around. He called me all the slurs you can think of. Said he’d beat the gay out of me, threatened to force me to sleep with women until I liked it.”

My anger builds, my skin prickling with burning rage. Trevor sits right next to me, his leg pressed against mine, and then he takes my hand in his. It’s a simple gesture, but it almost breaks me.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

I bite down on my lip, fearing if I try to speak right now, emotion will get the best of me. I’m mad for being sad about it. I don’t like feeling like this.

I shake my head. “Nobody does.”