Page 93 of Breaking Free

“I’ll be fine,” Trevor says with a chuckle, standing up.

“I can drive so he can get some beauty rest,” I offer, getting up from the couch.

His parents laugh and Trevor elbows me.

“Please come visit again,” his mom says.

“We will,” Trevor replies.

“Christmas?”

The hopeful tone of her voice has me answering, because I couldn’t imagine turning her down. “We’ll be here.”

Trevor glances at me and smiles, and his parents get up to say goodbye.

“Be safe,” his mom says as she hugs Trevor. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She steps to me next, wrapping her arms around me. “Thank you for making my son happy.”

“I’d do anything for him,” I reply as I hug her back.

She gives me a squeeze before his dad comes to shake my hand and pat me on the shoulder.

On the way to the car, Trevor grabs my hand and tugs me closer to give me a kiss. “I told you they’d love you.”

“Guess I’m pretty loveable,” I answer with a shrug. “Now give me the keys, sleeping beauty. I’ll get us back home.”

He tosses them to me without a fight and climbs into the passenger seat. I start up the car and give him another look. “We survived a holiday with the parents. Isn’t that a pretty big milestone?”

With a snort, he says, “I think so. Let’s see if we make it through Christmas.”

As soon as I pull onto the street, he leans his head against the window and closes his eyes. I keep peeking over at him, a smile stuck on my face. I squeeze his thigh before I put both hands on the wheel and focus on the road.

He shifts slightly and murmurs, “I love you.”

I do a double take, then a triple. Did I hear him correctly? Is he already dreaming? He doesn’t open his eyes or move again.

I spend the rest of the drive home trying to decipher what else it could’ve been. Did he mean it? Do I ask him about it? No, definitely not. He probably doesn’t even know he said it, and how would that conversation go?Hey, I think you said you loved me before you drifted off to sleep? Do you?

And how would I respond if he said yes? Because if I’m being honest, I’ve had a few moments where I’ve definitely wondered if how I’m feeling is love. I wouldn't really know. There’s not a set list of things you must feel in order to decipher if you’re in love or not.

I know I love being around him. I love making him laugh. I love seeing him smile. I love that he’s been so brave with telling his family and friends about his sexuality, and about me. I love that he was so intent on not letting another man touch me, that he publicly came out to people in order to say I was his. I love how he looks at me. I love the way he blushes when I tell him all the dirty things I want to do to him. I love how he makes me feel. I love how happy I’ve felt since I’ve known him.

I think I love him.

37

A little overthree weeks go by without either of us mentioning that four letter word—love. He never acts uncomfortable or nervous, so I don’t think he’s aware he said it. But it’s all I can think about.

We spend nearly every day together. If I’m not working, I’m with him. Most of our days are full. We have school, practice, football games, and then I go to my job from early evening to early in the morning. We’ve been to a few more parties as a couple, but I’ve just realized I’ve never taken him out on a proper date.

“Hey, Trev,” I yell from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” He pops in a few seconds later, looking sexy as fuck in only a pair of basketball shorts, his hair still wet from the shower.

“I’m off on Saturday. I’m taking you on a date.”