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“Glad to do it. Just have whoever is leading the team contact me for the keys.” I shifted topics. “About the author cancellation, I might be able to help with that too. What are you looking for?”

Andre looked surprised but intrigued. I didn’t think he expected me to be friends with an author. “We need someone who is queer and writing queer fiction or nonfiction. Name recognition would be great, but at this point we’d be grateful for anyone who can step in on short notice.”

“How about Kendrick Sanderson?”

Andre’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously? The author of the Rainbow Rivers series? We tried to get him, but we were told he wasn’t doing events right now.”

“I can make a call. His boyfriend is one of the players we haven’t announced yet for Saturday’s game. I don’t know if Kendrick’s coming with him, but I can find out and if he’d be into doing the event.”

Andre put his hand over the top of mine, squeezed it, and then left it there. “He would be an incredible addition. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but… wow.”

He pulled his hand away suddenly, seemingly startled that he was still touching me.

The warmth of his hand was gentle and reassuring in a way I didn’t expect, and I wished he’d kept it there longer.

“I’ll make a call as soon as we’re done and see what he says.”

We sipped our drinks in companionable silence for a moment before Andre turned serious.

“Ethan, I want to apologize again for last night,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I was out of line, and I said so many things I regret. It was wrong to take my frustration out on you. I’m truly sorry.”

I took a deep breath, a mix of emotions pinging around in my head. Part of me wanted to brush it off, to say it was all in the past. But this was a pivotal moment.

“I appreciate that,” I said carefully. “I think we have some misconceptions about each other, and I’d like to get those behind us.”

Andre nodded, looking relieved. “If it’s okay, I’d like to understand better so I don’t make the same mistakes.”

I hesitated, old insecurities rising up about discussing my reading problems, but Andre’s expression was open and curious. I took another sip of my latte, gathering my thoughts.

“Calling it bullying might have been a poor choice of words. It was more…” I had to pause because I wanted this to come out right. “I always thought I was disappointing you. You were so passionate about events and causes, and I could never measure up to what you wanted.”

Andre’s forehead creased. I imagined he was replaying our past in his mind. “I suppose I wanted—expected—you to do the same that other athletes did. To attend events. Rally other students.”

Looking into my coffee cup, I ran through my relaxation exercises since it was time to lay everything out for him. I looked up before I spoke. “School was a struggle. I have pretty severe dyslexia, making reading very difficult, so much of my energy went into studying to keep my grades up. And I needed good grades so I could stay on the hockey team.”

“Ethan, I had no idea.” His hand was back on mine and that sent goose bumps up my arm. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

I shrugged, a familiar mix of embarrassment and defensiveness trying to rise up. “I was self-conscious, so I kept it only to my family and close friends.”

His voice wavered a bit as he responded. “I wish I’d known. I’d like to think I would’ve tried to help or at least been more understanding.”

“It’s okay,” I said, surprised to find that I meant it. “We were kids. The experience taught me a lot about asking for help and offering help as much as I can. My moms were great through it all, and I had some very supportive teachers and friends.”

“Still, I feel terrible that I added to the stress. You hid all that so well.” He paused, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. “I always admired you. It seemed like you had everything together.”

“You did?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

“You were this amazing athlete, popular, and always kind. If I’m honest, I wanted to be around you more. That’s one of the reasons I kept asking you to work on projects and was so disappointed when you wouldn’t.”

Warmth spread through me, coming directly from where his hand touched mine. “I thought you saw me as a dumb jock who didn’t care about anything important.”

Andre looked down at the table and shook his head. “I can’t say sorry enough.” He looked back at me, his gorgeous brown eyes—when did I start thinking of his eyes that way?—appearing on the verge of tears. “Talk about misconceptions.”

The weight I’d been carrying about working with Andre started to lift. “I’m glad we talked. Not just to get through the festival but to put all that firmly in the past.”

Andre’s smile widened. “The festival is going to be epic.”

“And maybe after the festival madness, we could grab coffee again or dinner? Get to know each other in the present.”