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Jared was kind of hoping him and his parents would just — never talk about Bryce. Ever. And yes, that was an unrealistic hope, he knows that, and knew, going to bed, that he’d only managed to delay the inevitable, but honestly, springing it on him before he’s even eaten breakfast is unfair.
Erin’s still sleeping, so small victories, because otherwise she’d be watching this with a shit eating grin, Jared innocently coming down to the kitchen for sustenance and seeing the terrifying image of his parents sitting side by side at the table, lecture faces on, coffee cups in hand so they can maximally fuel their disappointment in him.
“Morning,” Jared mumbles, pouring himself a cup of coffee while he fights the urge to run into the backyard and hide. Wouldn’t work, being an enclosed space surrounded in fences and all, and he’s not quite prepared to run out front, considering he doesn’t have car keys and also he’s wearing boxers and a Flames shirt, which isn’t a good ‘face the people mowing their lawns before it gets too hot’ uniform.
Also why is he wearing a Flames shirt. Did he want to remind them of his shame? Not that he’s ashamed, just — mortified? Mortified works.
Jared makes it all of two steps with his hand white-knuckled around his mug, breakfast no longer a concern, before his dad says, “Sit down, Jared,” and he has to slump his way back to the kitchen table.
He considers asking if they’ll let him at least caffeinate himself for this conversation, but he doubts it’s even worth asking. Don’t open a negotiation with a request that’s going to be refused out of hand. That’s just bad tactics.
Jared takes a fortifying gulp, even though he usually drinks it with milk, and it’s too bitter without it, burns his throat as he swallows. “Good coffee,” he says. “You make it, da-”
“Bryce Marcus,” his dad says, forever immune to Jared’s tactics, damn him.
“Yep,” Jared says. “That is a person. That I am dating. Boyfriend might be the word you’d use. We’re using it, so.”
It rolls off his tongue a lot easier now that Bryce has confirmed it, and Jared has to bite his lip not to give into a smile that’d probably be inappropriate for the circumstances, especially since his dad looks like he ate something sour. Must be the coffee.
“How long have you been dating?” his mom asks, and Jared knows this is probably meant to be the soft pitch, a way of opening it easy, but the answer —
“Just over a week,” Jared says, after forcing himself not to wince visibly, because he knows how that probably sounds to them. “But we’ve seen each other every—” he starts, then bites his tongue, because somehow it’s even more pathetic and juvenile sounding, him trying to stretch a week to sound like as much as it has been, as much as it feels like.
“A week,” his dad repeats.
“Like seven dates,” Jared mumbles, because he’s incapable of not defending himself here. “So it’s kind of more like—”
“A week,” his dad repeats flatly, and this time Jared can’t stop himself from wincing.
“I’m still not sure I shouldn’t call the Western Prospects organizers,” his dad says. “Because even if this isn’t explicitly against the terms of Marcus’ employment, there is no way—”
“Because potentially having the fact I’m gay get out is a great idea for my draft year,” Jared says
He genuinely feels like he needs to take a shower, using that, something his mom worried about aloud, something he knows gets to his dad. He’s sure they’re right that his sexuality would have an impact on his draft position with teams, no matter what lip service there’s been about an inclusive league, but it’s just — he hasn’t felt any particular need to come out to a wider group than family, friends and teammates he can trust not to go spreading it around, but his parents are the ones who really want him to keep his mouth shut about it, and — he feels gross.
It works, though, his dad blowing out a breath then clearly giving him the point in the way he isn’t pressing it. Jared would feel triumphant about it if his heart wasn’t still pounding out of his chest at the thought of his dad making that call, stomach still twisting, imagining Evanson’s face on Monday if he did.
“Your dad and I have been talking,” his mom says, which has got to be up there in the worst sentences you could possibly hear.
“Are we finally getting another cat?” Jared asks. “Because I’m up for—”
“Jared,” his mom says.
Deflection doesn’t work today either, he guesses.
“I was seventeen once,” his mom says. “And I know the fastest way to get a teenager to do something is tell them they can’t do it.”
“Not me, really,” Jared says with a shrug, crossing his fingers hard that they aren’t about to tell him he can’t see Bryce. “I mean, when have I ever done that? You tell me to drink in moderation, I drink in moderation, you tell me to get—”
“Okay, fair,” she says. “But I have a feeling in this case telling you you can’t see him isn’t going to work.”
“I mean,” Jared says. “You don’t really have a legitimate case to tell me I can’t —”
“You living under our roof is a legitimate case,” his dad says. “So don’t push it, Jared.”
“So are you banning me from seeing him or not?” Jared asks, with bravado he doesn’t feel. “Because if not I have a date I need to get ready for.”
And honestly, even if they do he’s got a date he needs to get ready for. What can they do, ground him? Can’t take the car, because he needs it for camp, and Bryce has a car anyway. They’d never fuck with his career prospects, so he’d still be going to camp no matter what, still seeing Bryce. No way to make sure he’s home immediately after because neither of them are home until evening. If they try to enforce this they’re at an impasse, and Jared’s mom at least clearly knows that.
“We’re not,” his mom says, and his dad looks sour again. Damn acidic coffee, man. “But we’re trusting you to be responsible here, Jared.”
There’s a loaded pause that sounds a lot like ‘unlike yesterday’.
“Okay,” Jared says quickly, hoping that’s it.
It isn’t. Of course it isn’t.
“I don’t want you spending any time with him if he’s been drinking,” she says. “Or drinking around him. That’s non-negotiable. If we find out you had even one beer we will be contacting someone about him supplying alcohol to a minor.”
“Okay,” Jared says.
“And you need to have some discretion,” she says. “I don’t know if Bryce is comfortable with people knowing he has a boyfriend—”
Neither does Jared, honestly, and it’s probably something they should talk about.
“—but I don’t think either one of you would want that picked up by the media because you weren’t being responsible.”
“Yeah,” Jared says.
“So for the love of god, Jared Bradley,” she says. “If you put your hand down his pants in public again you’re grounded until you’re eighteen.”
Grounding is irrelevant, because Jared is dead now. All the blood in his body has gone to his face. His heart has stopped.
“Understood?” she says.
Jared somehow manages to choke out a ‘yes’ from beyond the grave.
He doesn’t know whether to be comforted by the fact his dad looks almost as embarrassed as he does, or even more embarrassed.
He’s going with the second one. He’ll just — sit here. Dead. They can’t keep talking if he’s dead, right? Seems like it’d be a waste of time.
“Jared, are you—”
“Can’t talk,” Jared mumbles. “Dead of embarrassment.”
“Good,” his mom says. That’s cruel. She’s cruel.
“Feel like an omelette?” his dad asks.
Jared was just planning on cereal, and definitely would prefer to escape to his room than endure purgatory — hell? Probably hell — any longer, but he knows a peace offering when he sees it, so the ghost of Jared says, “Sure,” and endures a stupidly awkward breakfast where they ask him all about camp with this silent agreement to pretend he isn’t like, banging one of the coaches. Not that they’re banging, and not that Bryce is actually a coach, but. Awkward. Jared talks about Raf a lot, because Raf’s safe. Raf, who once again saves the day, and he isn’t even there. Jared’s going to miss that guy.
Once he’s back in his room he finds out Bryce texted still ok to hang out? during Jared’s interrogation-cum-execution-cum-breakfast.
Heh, cum breakfast.
Speaking of —
For sure. Jared texts. Pick me up whenever works for you?
He kind of wants to add ‘earlier the better’, but it ends up being completely unnecessary. What works for Bryce means Jared has to rush through a shower — no time to take care of himself, even if he was inclined to after the morning from hell, and that might be a problem if things go the way Jared wants them to go — and vigorously towel his hair dry while scanning his clothes. He lingers on the skinny jeans, because he knows they look good, but then he starts imagining them getting like, stuck, and Jared trying to flail his way out of his pants would probably be the polar opposite of sexy, so. Shorts. T-shirt — not a Flames one, obviously. Good to go.
“Where are you going?” his mom asks as he heads downstairs.
“I told you, date,” Jared says.
“I know that,” she says. “But are you getting lunch or—”
“Want to make sure I’m chaperoned or something?” Jared asks.
“Jared,” she says. If this is the new normal, Jared is not a fan. Is this what Erin has to deal with all the time?
“We usually just go to a park or hang out at a mall or go to a movie or something,” Jared says. “So. Probably something like that?”
Not the time to mention he is 100% going to ask if they can go to Bryce’s place. He doubts she’d approve of that.
She sighs. “Be safe,” she says. “Will you be home for—”
“I dunno,” Jared says. “Home by curfew.”
He probably won’t have a thirteen hour date, but — it sounds nice? He’d be up for that.
“Any later and you are grounded,” she says.
“Fair,” Jared says.
“And—” she says, but Jared’s already out the door, and if it’s something like ‘no handjobs in public places’, he absolutely understood her the first time and also is never going to forget it as long as he lives. Which he guesses means he’s been resurrected from the dead at some point. It’s been a very busy morning.
Jared told Bryce to park down the street, just to avoid any unnecessary potential friction, and he did, but when Jared gets outside he’s leaning against his car. That kind of goes against the whole incognito thing Jared had going here, but if his parents are like, staring out from behind the curtains, they can’t see shit from that angle anyway.
“Hey,” Bryce says.
“You didn’t have to get out of the car,” Jared says.
“I just—” Bryce says, and then Jared’s suddenly got Bryce’s arms around him. They’ve never actually hugged before, Jared suddenly realises. And though making out’s been just as up close and personal — well, even more so, plus isn’t something Jared would do with as many people as he’s hugged, and actually hasn’t done with anyone else ever — somehow the hug feels like. Different? Different than the making out, and different than any hug he’s had before.
Jared’s never been a hugger, really, is a ‘two pats on the back, please let me go now’ hug endurer — unless it’s during a celly, because all parts of cellies are great — but he finds himself clinging a little to Bryce, letting go reluctantly when Bryce pulls back.
“Sorry about yesterday,” Bryce says.
“Not your fault,” Jared says, and fists his hands to avoid the urge to pull Bryce back in. Maybe his parents can’t see, but his neighbours could, and Jared doubts that hug looked particularly bro-like.
“Kind of,” Bryce says, and before Jared can argue, “I’m glad to see you,” which is something Jared can’t argue at all. “You okay?”
“I mean,” Jared says. “Kind of wish I could erase yesterday and this morning from my memory, and more importantly from my parents’ memory, but. Good considering?”
“Anything you want to do?” Bryce asks. “We can grab lunch, or there’s this—”
“Can we go to your place?” Jared asks.
“I—” Bryce says, then, after a moment of hesitation that has Jared gritting his teeth to keep himself from saying ‘just kidding’ or ‘never mind’ or something, “Yeah, sure.”
“If that’s not okay or whatever—” Jared says.
“No, it’s totally cool,” Bryce says. “Just trying to remember if I like, even have any food there.”
“You know delivery is a thing, right?” Jared asks, “I mean, I have a feeling you live on it, so—”
“I could cook,” Bryce says, injured sounding.
“You saying ‘I could cook’ instead of ‘I cook’ just confirmed you don’t ever cook,” Jared says. “But good effort?”
“Fuck off,” Bryce mumbles, shoving Jared’s shoulder lightly, and scowls when Jared laughs at him, a scowl that remains until Jared kisses it away in the (dubious) safety of the car.