2: Nathaniel Jean's Soft Spot

A/N: I just wanna add a quick disclaimer and make it known that this story doesn't reflect my religious beliefs or opinions at all. The setting of this story is a very Catholic town, so it only makes sense that Catholicism plays a part in the characters' lives. However, nothing said in this story is meant to disrespect the Catholic religion or push it on anybody who doesn't identify with that belief system. Any jokes made about the way Catholics in the community behave are directed towards the people, not the religion itself, and I am in no way trying to brand all Catholics as acting these ways. These people just happen to be Catholic and assholes. This particular story is simply describing this particular town in which these particular people act this particular way.

All religious beliefs (or lack thereof) should be respected and considered valid, so for the love of god please don't do the annoying thing that I see in so many Wattpad stories where you get into arguments in the comments with other readers over your opinions. It's just a story, guys.

Alright that's it lmao enjoy

With the next week came the first practices—Monday through Friday, from three to six—and the true start of the soccer season. As much as I loved soccer, this part of the year was usually hell, because I also had club practice from seven to nine on Mondays and Wednesdays. In other words, my life was about to become exhausting.

     One good thing came from the rigorous schedule, though. I realized after that first week that with school practice, club practice, and homework, I was so tired by the end of the day that I fell into a long sleep each night. I hardly had time to wallow in my self pity.

    And I needed the distraction. Ever since the start of senior year, it was as if Lucas Morgan was everywhere.

    We had no classes together—thank god—yet we seemed to pass each other at least once between each period. I tried to avert my gaze whenever he was within ten feet, but the effort was in vain. Not because I couldn't resist looking at him when he was nearby—I wasn't that weak. No, it turned out that my friends would be the banes of my existence. For whatever petty reason, they found it absolutely necessary to stop Lucas in the middle of the hallway and harass him for a solid thirty seconds every single time they saw him until  he got bored and walked around them.

    Then, at around two forty-five each afternoon, I'd see Lucas again in the locker room. After that, I'd be subject to the view of him stretching and running and dribbling nonstop for the next three hours. None of the boys even bothered him during practice  anymore, after the coach yelled at Tyler for mistreating a teammate.

     At six o'clock sharp, we'd be back in the locker rooms, and I'd have to try my absolute hardest not to look as he changed, or to feel guilty as I saw Shawn leave without him. I'd been tempted more than once to offer Lucas a ride, and the thought that I was starting to go soft for the boy only made me angrier.

     So yes, the distraction was very much appreciated. I would realize, though, at the beginning of the third week of school, that I couldn't stay distracted forever.

That Monday, all of the boys rushed out of the locker rooms as soon as they'd grabbed their items, hoping to beat the rain that was obviously coming; the sky had been growing darker and darker all day, and the air was disgustingly humid. Everybody except for me, because I was a stubborn idiot who refused to step foot in my car without showering first.

     Naturally, as luck would have it in my oh-so-cliche life, I found myself joined with unwanted company when I emerged from the shower.

    "Good job on the field today."

     I tried not to feel overwhelmingly annoyed that Lucas was talking to me, but I couldn't stop my eye from twitching at his compliment. He knew that I didn't want to speak to him, now or ever, so why was he even trying? Maybe he knew that his mere existence bothered me, and got a kick out of pushing my buttons.

     Of course, I didn't respond. Instead, I pulled my hoodie over my head and grabbed my bags, perfectly prepared to ignore him and walk out in the now-pouring rain.

     "Aw, thanks pal! You did good too!" Lucas' voice, sarcastic as ever, rang shrilly in my ears. Okay, he was definitely trying to get me mad.

     "The hell is wrong with you?" I snapped, whipping around with a glare and hoping to intimidate Lucas enough to get him off my case. I'm not sure why I even bothered—nothing intimidated Lucas.

    As suspected, the boy was not bothered. "Nothing, really," he shrugged, then laughed dryly. "Well, I guess your friends would disagree, huh? Dude, it's fucking obvious what's wrong with him!" Lucas' voice was mocking again, but this time I knew that he was imitating someone else. His voice had dropped to sound lower and somehow dumber, just like Damien Diggory's. If I didn't hate him so much, I'd be impressed by the impersonation. "He's gay, bro! I bet he, like, likes dick and shit! Haha!"

     I blinked, unamused by his little drama display, and said, "Your point?"

     Again, Lucas shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I just don't get the whole homophobia vibe from you. You don't really care that I'm gay."

      Oh boy, was he wrong. He was so wrong, yet he sounded so right, as if he knew everything. It was infuriating, his know-it-all attitude. I had several choice words floating through my head for him, begging to be shouted, but instead I rolled my eyes and said, "Go suck a dick, Morgan."

      Lucas laughed. "I'd love to!"

      For several reasons that I don't care to admit, my cheeks burned red at the sexual statement. I should have just walked away then, showed him that I didn't care what he said, but he'd gotten to me again. And he knew it. He knew that I didn't handle anger well, that I was easily provoked, and he was using it to his advantage. "You're fucking sick, you know that?" I snarled.

     Lucas glanced down at himself, then up at me with a raised eyebrow. "Really? Because I feel great."

     I took a deep breath through my nose in an attempt to not do anything stupid, like hit him or kiss him or anything in between. "Dude, what do you want from me?" I sighed, trying my best to keep my voice level.

      "A ride home would be nice."

     My brain didn't process his words for a few seconds. Then, shocked by his straightforward request, I merely stared blankly at him for several moments. Finally, when I realized that he'd actually said that, I scoffed. "You're kidding, right?"

     Lucas crossed his arms over his chest. "Why would I be kidding? It's raining cats and dogs out there, and I sure as hell don't wanna walk forty-five minutes through that."

     I shook my head in disbelief. "Forget it," I said shortly, and turned on my heels to leave.

     "Please?"

     Fuck. He was not allowed to pull the 'please' card on me.

      I didn't have to say yes. I sure as hell didn't want to. It would give me certain satisfaction to know that Lucas Morgan, my unbeknownst enemy, had to walk home through the rain while I was available to give him a ride. Refusal would be so easy, too. All I had to do was say 'no'. Maybe even throw in some curse words, just for good measure.

      I turned back around and stared straight into his green eyes. The expression in them had changed drastically since my last words—the snarky glint was gone, replaced by something almost like hope. God, it would be so nice to reject him now. To see that hopeful look fall from his face.

"Fine, you can have a ride, but if so so much as look at me I'm leaving you on the side of the road."

Dammit.

     Where had that even come from? Judging by his expression, Lucas was just as surprised at my generosity as I was.

      I wanted to backtrack, to say 'never mind' and leave Lucas here. But then I'd look pathetic. I'd dug myself a lovely hole, and there was no climbing out now.

"Uh, what?" He asked, bewildered.

"You heard me," I grunted reluctantly, mentally cursing myself over and over. "Now hurry up or you're walking."

I didn't wait for his response. I turned and stalked out of the locker room, the sounds of Lucas scrambling to gather his things following me out. By the time I was halfway down the pavement, he had caught up with me.

Lucas wisely said nothing as we hurried through the parking lot to my Mercedes. By the time I sat behind the wheel, we were both soaked to the bone.

The drive was quiet and extremely awkward, so I turned on the radio. A Migos song began playing and Lucas, infuriating as ever, snorted. I glanced at him, one eyebrow raised, and said, "Is there a problem?"

He shook his head and glanced down at his lap, but I could see him biting his lip, holding in a snicker. That bastard.

Ten minutes later, I pulled up to his white-picket-fence house. "Get out," I told him.

Lucas turned to look at me and did the most aggravating thing he possibly could have. He smiled. Not a mocking, sarcastic grin, but a sincere, toothy smile. When he smiled, he showed off a single dimple in his right cheek that I used to love when we were friends. I still loved it.

"Thank you," he said.

"Get out," I repeated, and he laughed.

"Getting out," he narrated as he climbed out of the car and shut the door behind him. I wasted no time in pulling out of his driveway and driving away from him, probably much faster than was safe during such heavy rain.


It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A mistake I made in a moment of weakness.

Yet three days later, the sky decided to spill its guts on us again. Apparently Lucas was feeling bold, and I was feeling stupid.

I really needed to stop making the mistake of staying after practice to shower. I couldn't help it, I hated the feeling of walking around covered in dirt and sweat, and I didn't want to get my car dirty. Then again, I hated Lucas Morgan, too, yet I kept practically walking into encounters with him.

"Hey," Lucas greeted as I passed the bench where he sat, clad only in a towel from the waist down.

I didn't return his greeting. Instead, I rudely said, "Look away, pervert."

I heard Lucas snicker behind me as I changed into my regular clothes. When I finished dressing he asked, "Can I open my eyes now?"

I turned around and saw him still sitting on his bench, this time with his hands covering his eyes. Before I could respond, he dropped his hands and looked up at me. "Oh good," he said, grinning. "I was scared I'd go blind when I saw your pale-ass stomach. Thanks for the warning—really helped a brother out."

I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. He was asking for trouble. When he'd gotten into the habit of riling me up, I didn't know, but I didn't like it one bit. "Who the hell do you think you are?" I asked, narrowing my eyes in a glare. "Learn to watch what comes out of that mouth of yours."

Despite my subtle threat, Lucas didn't seem worried. Instead, he grinned. "How sweet," he said, his words coated in sugar.

I flipped him off and grabbed my duffel bag and backpack. "You can be as sarcastic as you want, you're the one hauling your own ass home."

Lucas shrugged. "Nothing I'm not used to."

As much as I tried to fight it, guilt nibbled away at the lining of my stomach. "Well maybe if you weren't such a cocky little shit, you'd have a ride," I said matter-of-factly. Lucas laughed, as if the idea was funny.

"We both know that's not true," he said with a roll of his eyes that I knew wasn't directed at me. "If I was straight, I could be as much of an ass as I wanted and Shawn would still give me a ride."

Mentally, I agreed with him. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know that, though. "I wasn't talking about Shawn."

Finally, I got a reaction out of him. His eyebrows shot up and surprise registered momentarily down him face, before he pushed it out of sight. "You're saying you'd give me a ride, then?"

"Would have," I corrected. It wasn't true, of course; I'd had no intention of offering. A little white lie never hurt anyone, though. "But you've gone and pissed me off, so you can forget that."

Lucas pursed his lips and stared up at me quizzically. "I don't believe you," he said. "There's no way you'd have offered me a ride."

I shrugged, enjoying the hesitation I saw flicker across his expression. "Guess we'll never know, huh?"

A glimmer in Lucas' green eyes told me that I hadn't won just yet. "You could always prove it," he said; he stood up then, grabbing all of his things and taking a step towards me.

"Oh yeah?" I challenged. I wished that I could look down on him and intimidate him, but we were nearly the same height. I had maybe an inch on him, at most. "How?"

"You could give me a ride anyways," he said triumphantly. I muttered several curses—I really should've seen that coming.

I tried to reject him smoothly, saying, "How about no?" Lucas' smirk never wavered, though, and as I walked out of the locker room, he was right in step with me.

"You're stubborn, you know that?" I snapped as he followed me out to my car.

"Yup," Lucas said.

"And annoying," I added.

"Yup."

"And this doesn't change anything."

"Nope." Lucas was smiling. His grin had always been a little lopsided. The left side of his mouth turned up just a little higher than his right, so it always seemed like he was smirking.

"I still hate you."

"Of course."


The drive to Lucas' house was just as tense as it had been Monday, but I tried not to dwell too long on the fact that the object of both my affection and my loathing was sitting inches away from me. I didn't turn on the radio because I wasn't about to sit and listen to him snigger about my music taste, so the silence was even more awkward.

Lucas must have felt it too, because as I drove I caught him fidgeting with just about everything—his phone, his hands, the drawstrings of his hoodie—out of the corner of my eye.

     "You know—"

     I quickly cut him off by saying, "One more word and I'm leaving you here." We were at a red light, still a solid six or seven minutes from his house. That would not be a fun walk.

    I chanced a glance at Lucas to see him pouting slightly. He was so irritatingly cute, he gave me a headache.

    "Permission to speak?" He requested sarcastically.

     "Nope," I said.

     "Anyways," he continued as if I hadn't spoken, "As I was saying, it's weird. How you guys work, I mean. How this whole town works, really." He paused as if waiting for a response, but I provided none with the hope that my lack of interest would convince him to shut up. Of course, it didn't, and he continued. "You all preach goodness. You live and breathe the Bible, but you do it sort of . . . selectively. You believe in kindness, yet you're horrible to anyone that's different from you. That's weird, right? You know what else is weird? The Bible says, 'Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.' Yet half of the families in this town are divorced. Nobody gives them any problems, nobody tells them they're wrong, but the entire town hates me just for being who I am.

      "Example number two. Catholics feel very strongly about premarital sex and abortion, right? Yet Katy Holman, at sixteen years old, found out she was pregnant in January and got an abortion that same month. She stopped getting shit for it by February. I came out—against my will—in Sophmore year, and I still haven't stopped getting shit for it two years later. Even Katy Holman has the nerve to call me a sinner. I just think it's so strange, how that works. It's a constant cycle of hypocrisy."

I said nothing. I kept my eyes on the road and carried on as if I hadn't even heard him speak. Lucas huffed softly, but he didn't sound annoyed. Just tired. He made no move to talk again, and I made no move to kick him out of the car until I'd pulled into his driveway.

"Get out," I grumbled, turning to Lucas with a glare. His hand reached for the door, but stopped midway. He dropped it back to his lap and looked at me for a long, unsettling moment. "Don't make me say it again."

Lucas smiled. "You know, as much as you pretend to hate me, I don't think you really do," he said complacently. "I mean you sat through my rant and didn't kick me out, that's gotta mean something. I think I'm growing on you, Nathaniel Jean. Maybe you've got a soft spot for me."

"I swear to god if you don't get the fuck out of my car—"

"Alright, alright," Lucas raised his hands in submission. "I'm out. Thanks for the ride, see you at school."

For the second time, I sped away from Lucas' house as if the furies were chasing me. When I arrived at my own home, I saw another car in the garage. My parents had left for Colorado on a business trip a week before school started; they were finally back.

     Nobody greeted me when I entered the house. My mother was in the kitchen, judging by the smell, and my father was lounging on the sofa watching the news. Neither of them so much as moved when they heard me enter.

     "Hi dad," I said in an awkward, half-hearted greeting.

     My father didn't glance up from the TV, but he said, "Hello, son. How's soccer?"

     That was it. No 'how's school?' or 'how has your day been?' or 'how are you feeling?' He didn't care about any of those things. He only asked about soccer. Not that that was anything new.

     "The usual. Coach is already drilling us for States and we haven't even had our first game," I told him. My father hummed.

     "As he should," he said. "Anyone new we've gotta worry about?"

     I shrugged, even though he couldn't see me with his eyes glued to the TV. "Not really. There're a couple of sophomores and freshmen that made it. They're pretty good, but not that good. None of them are even on the starting lineup." Our school didn't have a junior varsity team, so varsity tended to have players from every grade. That meant that each year there was an oncoming threat of talented young players, but nobody stood out this year. "You know that family that just moved in, the Andersons? They have a boy one year below me who plays midfield really well, and we have a new defender that's pretty good. Other than that, everything is pretty much the same."

     "Who's this new defender?" Dad asked. "Is he gonna take Fiero's spot?"

I really did not want to tell my dad who he was. Of course, he would find out eventually, but I'd rather not be around when it happened. "No, he plays center."

"And his name?" Dad pressed. I groaned internally.

"Lucas."

"Lucas . . . ?"

Here goes nothing. "Lucas Morgan."

Instantly, my father's eyes were on me. Funny how I had to mention someone else to get his attention. "What?" He snapped. "You're joking."

Reluctantly, I shook my head. His eyes widened. Here it comes.

"They let that fag on the team?" He exclaimed. My mother entered the living room, her hands dusted with flour, at his outburst. "Has your coach gone mad? How could he even let that queer try out?"

I shrugged. I did not want to have this conversation, now or ever. "He plays well," I said simply. "None of us like it, but we've gotta deal with it."

"What's going on?" My mother asked, glancing between my dad and I. That was it. No greeting, no 'honey I missed you!'

Dad sneered. "That Lucas boy is on the team."

My mother gasped, which really didn't seem necessary to me. "Lucas Morgan?"

I decided to take my leave then, before they started discussing the horrors of a gay boy living in their town, let alone playing on my soccer team. I didn't want to hear them talk about how despicable Lucas was—I'd heard it all before.

     I slipped out of the living room, unnoticed by my parents, and disappeared down the hall until I reached the stairs. The moment I set foot on the second floor of our house, I ran into my younger sister. Jenna was texting on her phone, not watching where she stepped, and would have fallen on her butt had I not caught her.

     She yelped in surprise and nearly dropped her phone. When she realized what she'd ran into, she rolled her eyes. "Jeez, you're like a brick wall, Nate," she huffed.

I shrugged, albeit a little smugly.

     "I work out," I said. "You should try it sometime."

     Jenna slapped my arm playfully and smirked. "We both know I can outrun you, hotshot."

     Jenna was only fourteen years old, but she was probably right. She'd run track all three years of middle school and always came out on top. Now, she was running cross country for the school, but everybody knew that track and field was her passion. She was a sprinter. She could outrun most of the boys on the high school's track team when she was in seventh grade, so I didn't doubt that she could leave me in the dust now.

     Still, being the stubborn brother I was, I said, "In your dreams, shortie."

      Jenna rolled her eyes again, but changed the subject. "How come you're home so late? I know my practice ends before yours, but still, you take forever."

     "Caught in the rain," I said smoothly. It wasn't exactly a lie, it was just short of the whole truth. "That's all."

    Jenna seemed to accept the answer, because she said, "I'm not sure why I asked, since I don't actually care, but whatever," and stepped past me, probably headed to her room. I followed suit and headed to my own room, already knowing that I wouldn't be coming out again for the remainder of the night. If I tried to eat dinner, it wouldn't stay put. I felt sick.

     Lucas had a way of saying things, manipulating his words until I wouldn't be able to forget them. I wondered if he knew, or if verbal influence just came naturally to him. Or maybe I was just easily influenced. Whatever the case, I couldn't refrain from considering everything he'd said. I used homework as a distraction for a few hours, but when I was done and had no choice but to lay down in bed and hope for sleep, my mind resumed its chaos.

     My first thought: Lucas used to be popular. He was attractive and charismatic and nice, it made sense. He'd had a lot of friends, none as close to him as his brother. They were a dynamic pair. Shawn always seemed to be on top, but Lucas wasn't far behind. Shawn was the sporty one, Lucas was the creative one, and their differences made them work.

     It was like a switch flipped in sophomore year. As soon as word got out that Lucas was gay, he became an outcast. His 'friends' all left him, and his brother was the first to go.

      When he was first outed, the pastor had preached about homosexuality week after week, until eventually Lucas and his parents stopped going to church. Shawn, of course, still went every Sunday; it almost seemed like an act of rebellion, to show that he wanted nothing to do with his brother. Lucas was shunned by nearly the entire school; even teachers and administrators alienated him. I remembered seeing him walking once, then watching as a mother grabbed her son's hand and crossed to the other side of the street. Everybody in this town treated Lucas Morgan like the antichrist.

     Yet Katy Holman, who'd committed what people here considered a sin, was only scolded, maybe temporarily punished. Her friends were still her friends, nobody gave her trouble at school, and she was loved throughout the town. What made Lucas different from her?

     I wasn't sure how long I spent pondering the answer. Time made no difference, anyways, because I came out empty nonetheless. When I finally gave up on formulating an explanation, a new question bloomed.

     How did he do it? He wasn't completely happy, I could tell, but he wasn't in despair, either. I wasn't sure how I knew, but I was positive. Lucas Morgan was, if nothing else, satisfied with himself. He wasn't shy to speak of his sexuality, and he did it with pride.

     That made me angry.

     Lucas and I were the same. We had the same nasty problem. But we were total opposites. Where I hated who I was, Lucas didn't, not in the slightest. I thought that everybody in our small town was right for believing what they did, but Lucas seemed convinced that they were wrong. He wasn't supposed to be happy. He was supposed to be like me, torn apart from the inside out with guilt. He was supposed to think that gay wasn't okay, he was supposed to fear the consequences of his being. Yet he didn't. He was so goddamn content with himself.

      I wasn't sure why this infuriated me so much. Maybe I was angry because I wanted him to see himself the way I did. Maybe I was jealous.

      Jealous of the guy who was estranged by his entire community. That's rich.


The next day, it was raining again. I stayed after to practice to shower as usual despite the darkening sky, so I wasn't surprised when Lucas approached me, or when he asked for a ride home. I didn't even bother to argue. Thankfully, he didn't say a word the entire way.

     The sky was cloudy all day on Monday, but it didn't seem to be in any rush to release. As I prepared to leave the dressing room, I saw Lucas staring at me expectantly. It wasn't raining yet, but it could start any moment.

      "Just hurry up," I huffed. Lucas didn't need to be told twice.

      The sky was clear on Tuesday. Yet as I left the locker room, Lucas was at my side.

     "It isn't raining," I deadpanned. Lucas didn't so much as slow his stride.

     "But it's hot," he pointed out. "I could get heat stroke."

     I rolled my eyes but didn't bother to argue. I still hated Lucas, but I liked having someone else in the car with me. "Don't start thinking this is an every day thing," I warned. Lucas raised a single eyebrow.

     "Isn't it?"

Apparently it was.

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top