Get What You Need (31 page)

There was still a part of him that said he should just let it be. He should spend the rest of his day hunting for a job, because who the hell cared if he passed his classes now?

Except…
Marsh
cared. He cared a whole fucking lot, and the easy defeat he’d been letting hitch a ride on his shoulders this whole semester was suddenly an unbearable weight. Sure, he wasn’t the smartest guy, but he worked his ass off. He did his best, and he was so close.

And Greg. Greg cared, too, more than Marsh had ever dared to let himself believe.

It hadn’t been the plan to spill his guts to Greg the way he had. The minute he’d started talking, though, it had all come pouring out, and it had been terrifying and freeing, speaking aloud things he’d put so much effort into keeping silent. He hadn’t really expected Greg to agree with him when he’d said it was pointless to even try. But somewhere deep inside he’d been waiting for precisely that, and having Greg beside him, calling bullshit and telling him he was worth more than that…

Sure, he’d heard it from Yulia enough times before, but they’d been friends for so long now. She
had
to tell him he wasn’t worthless. Greg wasn’t under any such compulsion.

But Greg believed in him. Greg
loved
him. Marsh didn’t know if he’d ever deserve it, but fuck if it wasn’t about time to at least try.

Before he could stop himself, he crossed the room and grabbed his phone. As he brought the screen to life, the time flashed at him. Ten thirty on a Saturday morning…Marsh’s dad wouldn’t be at work, but odds were even that he’d be off doing something out of the apartment. Either way, Marsh couldn’t put this off a minute longer.

He pulled up his parents’ number and hit send, then grasped the front of his shirt and tugged it away from his throat.

This was stupid. This was a disaster—
Marsh
was a disaster, and they were just going to tell him exactly what he already knew.

But before he could scramble to hang up, the ringing cut off and his mother’s voice said, “Hello?”

The sound of her cracked something inside of him. He tried to gather enough moisture in his mouth to speak, and for a moment the silence was deafening. Then, finally, he croaked out, “Mom?”

“Marshall?”

His heart fell at the way she lowered her voice. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry it’s been so long, but…”
But I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me. But it’s not like you called either.

“Oh, that’s fine. I know how busy you get.”

“Yeah. Um. Schoolwork and practices and stuff.”

“Of course.”

Part of him wanted to ask her how she’d been and what had been going on at home, but he’d called for a reason. He had to get this out. “Mom.” His fingers caught as he unfurled the bill, and he stumbled over his words. “I got a bill from the university. It’s, uh, overdue.”

There was a long pause. “Your father never talked to you?”

Fuck. “Er, no.”

“Well, money’s real tight right now, sweetheart.”

“Right.”

“And he was concerned that you weren’t really serious about your, well, your future.”

“My future.”

“Yes. What you’re going to do after college.”

“I told you, back over the summer, I’m working on it.”

“He’s just—”

“Mom.” He clenched his hand into a fist and squeezed his eyes shut. “
Mom
.” When she didn’t say anything, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes to look at the wall in front of him. “Can we please cut the bullshit?”

“Language, Marshall.”

“I call it like I see it.” He knocked the knuckles of his fist against his brow. “And apparently Dad does too, right? I heard what he called me. That night.”

She hesitated for long enough that he thought she might have hung up on him, but then her voice was back, quieter than ever. “We pray for you, sweetheart. Every night.”

Oh,
wow
. They’d scarcely gone to church growing up, and she was pulling this card now? “So that’s how it is, is it?”

“I wish things were different.”

“You wish
I
was different.”

“That’s not what I said—”

“I heard you. Loud and clear.” He fought to keep his voice level.

“We’re not kicking you out or disowning you or anything.”

No, they were just cutting him off, in his last damn semester. “Sure.” He cleared his throat against the tightness there. “Well, have a nice life, Mom.”

“Do you want to talk to your father? Or…?”

“Nah. I think I’ll follow his shining example.”

“Marshall. I know you’re upset right now, but this is for the best.”

The sick part was, his father had probably actually convinced her of that. “Whatever helps you sleep better at night.”

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, squeezing his hand into a fist until his knuckles turned white. “I think I already am.” Maybe he had been for a very, very long time. “Bye, Ma.”

“Goodbye, Marshall.”

He hung up the phone before the bubble in the back of his throat could force its way through, before his voice could break. He pointedly did not throw his phone at the wall. It wasn’t like he was going to be able to afford a replacement, possibly ever. The instant he set it down, though, his hand started shaking, and he curled his arm across his chest, digging his fingers into his shoulder to try to get the tremor to pass, or to hide it, at least from himself.

Amazing how, even when you expected absolutely nothing, you could still manage to end up disappointed.

Only, it wasn’t just disappointment. It wasn’t even just the bitter ache in his gut—the inadequacy. He’d fucked up plenty of things in his life, but this wasn’t one of them. After all the things his daddy had stripped him down for, this wasn’t even his fault.

He wasn’t resigned. He was fucking angry.

And he really wanted a hug right now.

His eyes felt watery and hot, and he dug the heels of his hands into them hard before huffing out a sigh and lifting his head. And he just about choked to see Greg standing there, peering in through the gap of his door. “What the—”

Greg pushed the door a little wider. He had the good manners to look apologetic, ducking his head and scratching at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to listen in.” Glancing up, he made a little wincing face. “Was kind of hard not to, though.”

“Don’t care.”

“About me listening, or about…”

Marsh shook his head. “Any of it. All of it. Just—” He cut himself off and launched himself forward a couple of feet. Maybe things between them were still new, but Greg was a good guy. Even if he was having any regrets, he’d heard what just went down. He wouldn’t deny Marsh this.

Sure enough, Greg opened his arms the instant Marsh moved, and Marsh fell into them. Greg pulled Marsh in close, and it was perfect. A balm. The kind of thing that made all that terrifying laying-yourself-out and making-yourself-vulnerable stuff worth it. Because once someone saw you like that and decided they wanted you anyway, it opened the way for this. For hugs that felt like they could solve anything.

Greg stroked a hand up and down Marsh’s spine, and Marsh shivered. Even if it wouldn’t fix a thing, Marsh would stay here happily. Because really, it was at least worth a try.

“You wanna talk about it?” Greg asked after a long couple of minutes.

Marsh shrugged but didn’t pull away. “Not much to tell. It’s basically what I thought it was, but even worse.”

Greg’s hand stuttered at the nape of Marsh’s neck. “Worse?”

“She was rationalizing, when really it’s just that my dad’s a bigot who never thought I was worth his time in the first place.”

“That’s not true.”

Snorting, Marsh buried his face further against Greg’s shoulder. “Right. Easy for you to say. Your parents like you.”

“And I’m sure yours do, too. They’ll come around eventually.”

“Not likely. And definitely not in time.”

Greg squeezed him tighter. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

Marsh shook his head, eyes clenched shut. “No clue.”

But there were options. A lot of them. He’d been telling himself he didn’t have any choice for a long time now, but he’d been wrong. He’d been wrong about a lot of things he’d thought he couldn’t have.

He pressed his face against warm, nice-smelling skin and breathed in deep. “But it’s about time I make up my mind.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It would have been funny, if it hadn’t been so close to breaking Greg’s heart. Back in the beginning, he’d had so many reasons in his head for why this thing between him and Marsh could never work out. Marsh was exciting. He was cool and self-possessed, and Greg was anything but.

He’d always assumed that when the school year was over, Marsh would be going places, while Greg would still be here, plugging away at a boring degree in a boring field, working steadily toward a stable career that made people yawn just hearing about it.

Greg’s heart gave a little squeeze, and he rubbed a hand up and down Marsh’s spine. Because here they were, standing in Marsh’s bedroom, together, and the whole damn time, Marsh had been sitting on this secret—this fear that he was the one not going anywhere.

Turning his neck to press a kiss to Marsh’s hair, Greg asked, “Would it help to talk about it?”

Marsh sighed and pulled away. “Maybe?” He crossed the couple of feet to flop on his bed, then grabbed a pillow and dropped it on top of his head.

And Greg could be patient. Taking care not to crowd Marsh, he settled on the edge of the mattress beside him. For a minute, he just watched the steady rise and fall of Marsh’s ribcage as he breathed.

Greg pushed off to sit up straighter, flexing his fingers as he went back and forth in his mind. Reach out or don’t reach out? Finally, he brushed his hand against Marsh’s knee and asked, “What do you
want
?”

“Hmm?” Marsh’s grunt was muffled from behind the pillow. Greg wanted to snatch it away so he could look Marsh in the eye, but if Marsh wanted to hide right now…well, he was exposed in lots of other ways.

“Don’t think. Just answer. If you could do anything with yourself, with your life, where would you be?”

Marsh shifted the pillow a little higher so it didn’t block his mouth. “Depends? You know any Major League scouts in need of a new shortstop?”

Greg swatted at his knee. “If I did, you think I’d be here slogging along at grad-student wages?”

At long last, Marsh threw the pillow away entirely. He shifted, rising up onto his elbows, and gazed at Greg with a look of confusion Greg couldn’t quite place. “Um. Yeah. Of course you would.”

“Hey.” Greg put a hand to his own chest in mock offense. “I had a two hundred batting average in Little League, you know.”

Sitting up, Marsh shook his head. “No. That’s not what I meant. Not that that’s not impressive.” The tilt of his eyebrows said he was underplaying just how
not
impressive that really was. “But it doesn’t matter. You would. Still be here, I mean.”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind a million-dollar contract for few seasons of sitting on a bench.”

“You would, though,” Marsh insisted, his forehead furrowing, and there was a fervency to his expression. An earnestness. Then the light in his eyes faded, his features falling. “You don’t get it, do you?”

What?

The confusion must have been written all over Greg’s face, because Marsh chuckled, lifting his shoulders and then setting them down. “You’re just—you’re so lucky.” Now that was really confusing. But before Greg could say anything, Marsh continued, “You know what you want to do, and you’re
good
at it. All that science stuff. I mean, I saw you yesterday, talking about what you do. It was amazing. I just.” He twisted his neck, looking off to the side. “I wish I could do that.”

“Marsh. I sit in a lab all day, and then I come home and look at graphs on my computer. I don’t have a life. I’m not—”
Cool.

“Shut up.” Marsh waved his hand, all dismissal, but his tone was laughing, not biting. He looked to Greg again, and his eyes were so damn deep. “You do things almost no one else in the world can even begin to understand, and you’re incredible at it, and you love it. Don’t you get how lucky that is?”

And for just one second, one glorious, lingering moment, Greg did.

Greg softened his stance and his voice and his smile. He reached out, taking Marsh’s hand in his own. “You’re right. I am lucky.” Lucky to be sitting here, next to the guy he loved, the one he’d thought was so far out of his league, but who wasn’t. Not really. The one who was just a guy, twenty-something and scared, and yeah. Greg knew what that felt like. Quietly, he asked, simply, “What do you love?”

“Besides you?”

Was Greg ever going to get tired of hearing that? He lifted Marsh’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “Besides me.”

“Baseball.”

“Okay.”

“I…” Marsh hesitated. “I like history.”

“Mhmm.”

“And…” Another long breath. “I don’t know.”