Page 8 of Open Water
"Anything new?"
"Not since Boston. But that's almost worse."
"That's psychological warfare."
"Yeah. And whoever it is, they know things. Specific things. My schedule. When I'm with Liam. Where we've been." I looked at him. "We think it's Braden. But I don't know."
"Braden's an asshole but honestly… he's not that smart."
"So who? I keep feeling like I'm missing something obvious." I stared at the ring of water my glass had left on the table.
"Marcus." Ethan said it quietly.
The name landed like a stone in still water.
"No." I turned my water glass on the table. "He's been friendly. He apologized about the party. Brought up stuff from when we were kids. Got all nostalgic."
"And you bought it?"
"Yeah. I mean he's been in my life since I was eight, Ethan. That's hard to just erase."
Something shifted in Ethan's face and the easy warmth pulled back like a tide going out.
"He called Remy a faggot, Alex."
The words landed flat and hard.
"I know—"
"No. Hear me out." Ethan's forehead scrunched up. "He didn't say something ignorant. He didn't use the wrong word by accident. He looked at Remy and chose that word."
I didn't say anything because he was right and there was nothing to say.
"And now he's trying to talk to you again and you're sitting here telling me he seemedgenuine." Ethan's voice was controlled but his hands were flat on the table, pressing down. "People like Marcus don't change, they learn to hide it better."
The heat in his voice wasn't just about politics or principle. It was personal. And I realized that this wasn't just about Remy being a teammate or a fellow queer person in his world. This was Ethan defending someone who mattered to him.
"You're right," I said. "I shouldn't have let him back in."
"What if the apology tour was the point? Get close again. Find out what you're up to." Ethan's voice was still tight. "You said the texter knows your schedule. Knows when you're with Liam. Who better than someone you just let back into your orbit?"
The thought hit my stomach like cold water. Marcus at dinner, sliding into the chair next to me. Marcus on the bus, reading the magazine article about me and Liam, sayingenjoy it, boyswith a smile.
"I'm not saying it's him," Ethan said, his anger settling. "I'm saying the timing of his redemption arc is awfully convenient. And I'm saying a guy who uses that word doesn't get the benefit of the doubt. Not from me."
"You're right. I hear you."
"Sorry." He exhaled. Picked up a fry, put it back down. "That shit just pisses me off. And maybe it should piss you off more."
I nodded.
Maybe it should. That was the thing I kept circling back to — all the ways I'd learned to absorb cruelty without reacting because reacting would draw attention and attention would mean questions I couldn't answer. Marcus called Remy a slur and I cut him off, but quietly. Surgically. The Harrington way. No mess, no scene. And then he showed up with a sad smile and a childhood memory and I almost let him back in because it was easier than staying angry.
I was so tired of easy.
My father positioning pieces from two hundred miles away. An anonymous texter who knew where I slept and who I slept with. And maybe — maybe — a childhood friend who'd been playing the long game with an apology in one hand and a phone in the other. All of it pressing in. All of it only possible because I was hiding.
"I want to come out," I said.
