How did I not see it before?

“You remind me of him sometimes,” I say quietly.

His eyes crease before understanding passes over his face, sharpening his features.

“Not on the outside. But you already know that, don’t you?”

He nods once, jaw stiff.

I sigh as I squint off into the distance. “Nah, on the surface, you’re nothing alike.” I let out a short derisive laugh. “Hell, maybe that’s what drew me to him in the first place.”

I hear Waylon swallow hard. I probably shouldn’t have admitted that, I think. It’s not the first time the thought has crossed my mind, but it’s the first time I actually allowed myself to consider it.

It would seem there are a lot of things I’ve been pushing away.

“Zayne was my first boyfriend, you know? My first real relationship after years of fucking my way through every out and proud gay boy I could find in a thirty-mile radius,” I say sarcastically. I shoot Waylon a look. “Emphasis on the out and proud.”

He works his jaw, but for once, he doesn’t try to steer the conversation, or find a way to bolt. He just...listens.

“I was a psych major at Temple, as you already know. I was not even five months away from graduating when it happened.” I run a hand through my hair as I look down at my lap. “I never went back. Took the rest of the semester off. I had every intention to go back and finish this fall.” I swallow hard. “But I couldn’t. There was no way I could finish my degree. Even my parents...not once have they tried to get me to reconsider. It’s like they knew...”

“Will—”

“I should’ve seen what was going on and done something,” I rush out raggedly. “It’s why I went into psychology in the first place—to help people. To save lives that would otherwise be okay if it weren’t for the fucking demons in their heads. It’s all I ever felt compelled to do, and it was all for nothing. I had the resources to do something, and I did nothing.” I laugh wetly. “How the fuck could I ever call myself a therapist, psychologist, whatever, if I couldn’t even see what was right in front of my fucking face? The one person I should have helped...protected...”

“It’s not your—”

“Don’t tell me it’s not my fault,” I snap angrily. “You weren’t there, Waylon. You didn’t know me back then...before...” I take a deep breath. “All I cared about were my grades and football and proving myself. I wanted to be more than the ‘gay football player.’ I wanted to make a name for myself. Prove that I was more than my sexuality. More than a fucking stereotypical jock.