He looks disappointed, and I feel like an asshole. I know he was trying to stand up for me—for what was right—but I can’t let him do that anymore.

“You’re worried that Kennedy is going to spread rumors about you having a small dick and being a bad lay, but you aren’t worried that the guys are going to start saying you may be gay?”

He folds his arms over his massive chest, clearly annoyed by my question. “Being gay isn’t something to be ashamed of.”

“And having a small dick is?” I point out because he needs to get this in his head. This is high school. Regular rules don’t apply.

“You said it’s not small.”

Jesus. I sigh. “Not the point. My point is if you keep standing up to them about using slurs and being assholes like that, they’re going to start to talk. Your dick isn’t small, but it would bother you if Kennedy told everyone it was.” I point at him. “You’re not gay. But you’re telling me it wouldn’t bother you if people said you were?”

He seems to think about this. His brow is crinkled, and he’s clearly frustrated. “I don’t know. I just want them not to say that shit.”

“I know.” I pat his shoulder. “Let’s go get Luce and then hang out.”

“No.” He surprises me. “I’m still mad. I think I did the right thing, and I’m mad at you for not backing me up.”

“Kingston.” I’m shocked. He’s never mad at me.

“No, Cam.” He pulls his keys out and moves toward his car. “Look, I get why you don’t want to say anything. Why you don’t want people talking, and that’s your right. But I’m not okay with them saying that shit.”

“Neither am I,” I say exasperatedly. Is this really happening?

“But you’re pissed at me for saying what I did.”

“I’m not. I just don’t want you to do it anymore. You’re putting a target on your back.” And mine. But I’m too chicken to admit it.

“I’m going home.”

“Wait.” I walk over to him, not wanting this to be the end of it. “Just come back to my place. Please? We can talk it out.”

I hate the feeling of him being upset with me. Desperation claws its way to the surface at the thought of him going back to his house, and me going to mine, and us not talking this out.

“Please,” I say again.

He huffs, looking back at the school and then back at me. “Okay.”

Relief washes over me as I nod my head, and we hop in our vehicles. I pick up Lucy, spending the entire drive thinking about the locker-room and the guys’ confused faces while my best friend went on his tirade.