Page 90 of Breaking Free

“How’s school?” Mom asks us both.

“Pretty good,” Trevor answers. “I struggled a bit with chemistry, but other than that I’m doing okay.”

Mom nods. “What are you planning on doing after school?”

I listen intently, because it’s something we’ve actually never talked about.

“Well, it’s changed a few times, but I think I’ve settled on being a teacher. Probably middle or high school.”

“That’s a good one. Not nearly appreciated enough, but I think you’d be a great influence on people’s lives.”

He grins. “I hope so.” His eyes flicker to mine. “What about you?”

My mom smiles, reaching over to touch my arm. “Dominic’s gonna be a therapist.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, digging his fork into some mashed potatoes. “What kind?”

“A child therapist.”

He nods, his eyes lingering on me for a while. He knows why I’d choose that, based on what I’ve told him about my own childhood.

“Both of you wanting to work with kids and have an impact on their lives is amazing,” Mom says. “I’m proud of you both.”

Once we finish our meal, including having some strawberry cake for dessert, Mom heads over to Ms. Anne’s house with an array of food, and me and Trevor get some time to hang out alone.

“I probably shouldn’t have eaten as much as I did,” I complain as I rub my stomach. “Gonna need to work out extra hard tomorrow.”

“Besides the stuff we do for football, what do you do to work out?”

“I run when I have time, and do any and everything I can at home. Sit-ups, pushups, shit like that. I used to be better at going to the gym all the time, but I’ve been preoccupied,” I say, giving him a wink.

“Oh, it’s me that’s kept you preoccupied? Not transferring schools, moving to a different town, acing all your homework, working, and playing football?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Just you. It’s a lot of work to get the closeted kid who says he hates you to admit he really wants you.”

He shoves me. “Shut up.”

I wrap an arm around him as we sit on the couch and laugh. “I’m glad my hard work paid off.”

He’s quiet for a minute before he speaks up. “Why did you try?”

“What?”

“I’ll admit you made some efforts in getting and keeping my attention. I kept trying to push you away, but you didn’t let me. Especially after saying you didn’t want to start anything with me when you first saw me in the locker room.”

I grin. “I was full of shit. You said I was a drunken mistake. I wasn’t about to let that go without having a response. I loved that you came in my hand so fast. Means you were really into it.”

A light red color stretches across his cheeks. “Let’s not bring that up again.”

“Look, I’ll be honest. I was really attracted to you the first night we met. I wanted to fuck you right there in that bathroom. When I saw you in the locker room, I figured the universe was finally giving me some good juju or something. I needed to try to get you alone again.” I take a breath. “Focusing my attention on you was a good way to keep me from thinking about all the bad shit that was happening around me. I know that doesn’t sound the greatest, but you were this little bright light in my darkness. Even all your moody bullshit.” He makes a face, making me grin, but I continue. “When we’re together, you give me this sense of control I need. You yield to me in a way that makes my dick hard just thinking about it. And yet, I know I’d do absolutely anything for you. In that way, you have a type of control over me. We’re perfect for each other. I told you that.” I rub a hand down my face, not used to spilling my guts like this. “Eventually, I realized it was more than me just wanting to fuck you. I liked being around you. I’ve never chased after someone before. From the get-go, I knew something was different about you.” I shrug, feeling weird. “Anyway, I don’t know. Does that answer your question?”

His eyes stare deeply into mine, and I can’t quite read the emotion in them. Shock? Awe? He grabs my face with one hand and presses his lips to mine. We stay connected for several seconds, and he plants a few more soft kisses on me.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, still holding on to my face.

We don’t get to discuss this further, because Mom comes back in, but I hope we can get back to this later.

36