I haven't felt nervous while visiting my dad since the first time I came to see him. Nothing about my dad makes me nervous, but going through security at a prison can be nerve inducing when you've never done it before.

I'm trying to keep that in mind now because Kyle is a ball of nerves as we make our way through security. At this point, I'm used to the guard's less than friendly demeanor as he shuffles us through the metal detector. When we make it to the other side of the metal detectors, a guard walks us down to the cafeteria. I expect Kyle to relax once the guard leaves us in the large, open room. There are still several guards around the parameters of the room, ready to take action if anything happens, but this is a minimum security prison, so nobody is hovering.

I spot my dad across the room seated at a table. His eyes widen a little when he sees I brought someone in with me, but other than the surprise, he seems genuinely happy to see me.

"You need to relax. He's harmless. I thought you got that," I tell him, hoping he's not about to make my dad feel like the bad guy the rest of the world will think he is when they read his criminal record.

Kyle seems to understand my trepidation, and he's genuinely apologetic when he responds.

"It's not that. I'm meeting the parent of the guy I've been—" his words trail off at the end of his thought reminding me we still need to have a conversation about what the two of us have been doing.

"Plus my dad is my dad, and I'm guessing that means he won't be too thrilled to see me," he says, effectively changing the subject.

I smile at him. Now that I know what he's freaking out about, I find his nerves less annoying and more, I don't know, cute? Kyle doesn't get nervous often. He's a quarterback. He's a great quarterback, so he's calm under pressure. This rare version of him is something new.

"My dad isn't a guy who holds people's actions against others. You don't have to worry about that. There's nothing to worry about when it comes to your relationship with me either," I tell him, "I've discussed us with him, and he knows about us, and he's fine with it."

Kyle's eyes widen. He's clearly surprised. I smile.

"Come on," I make my way over to my dad, and Kyle trails behind me.

When we reach him, both of them smile at one another. My dad holds out his hand for Kyle to shake. This would have never happened at the jail he was in, but in this one, he's allowed to make minimal physical contact.

"It's nice to finally put a face to the name," my dad says, "I've heard a lot about you."

I'm wishing my dad wouldn't have shared that piece of information when Kyle's face breaks out into a smile so big I suddenly find it hard to mind. I shake my head at my dad.

"Don't believe a word he tells you," I joke before sitting down at the circular table next to my dad.

"I hear I have you to thank for my transfer," dad says.

My dad is never one to hesitate when I comes to thanking someone for doing him a favor or apologizing for something he did wrong. Still, with his words comes a thickness in the air. The topic of conversation is still heavy. Kyle put his dad behind bars, and if there were any other way, I would have left him out of it. Kyle shrugs and feigns nonchalance.

"It wasn't a big deal," he minimizes his involvement, which is something he's been doing since the trial.

No matter what he says, I think he feels some guilt over putting his dad behind bars. My dad shakes his head.

"It was a huge deal. Doing the right thing when it's that difficult, Kyle, it says a lot about your character," my dad says emphatically.

He's right. It was a huge deal. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to make it up to him at this point. Kyle smiles.

"I appreciate you saying that, sir," Kyle says, making no moves to further the conversation or to admit he agrees with my dad's assessment.

"I can see why my son cares about you so much. He's been talking my ear off about you since day one of moving in with you. Even when he hated you, it was out of respect," my dad says, making me briefly regret my request to introduce them to one another.

Kyle scoffs, "I've never heard of hatred from respect."

My dad and I both laugh. I hate to admit it, but I think his assessment might be right. I don't know why I'm surprised when my dad proves yet again that he knows me better than I know myself.

"Some people call it jealousy," I wink at him.

"Some people might if they were trying to downplay how much the respect played a role in it. If it was just about what he had, that'd be jealousy, son. That's not what it was about, and you and I both know it."

Kyle looks at me, perplexed by what my dad is saying. I don't blame him. I'm not sure I would understand myself if it weren't for my dad and I talking this to our graves the last time we spoke.

"I've always kind of envied the things you had, before I knew you well enough to know the money was a veil over my eyes, blinding me to what you've been through to have it in your life." I explain hesitantly.

I wasn't planning on ever having this particular conversation with him. I certainly wasn't planning on doing it in a prison in front of my dad, but the truth is, Kyle has earned honesty from me.

"But you weren't ever rich in the way I'd seen it in the past. As far as I knew, you had everything, but you didn't act like it. You were, are, the best player on our team, which speaks to your dedication, you wanted to be friends with me even when I treated you awful, which speaks to your kindness and patience, and my personal favorite, you wanted me to teach you how to change a tire, which spoke to your willingness to learn even when your privilege would have allowed you to remain ignorant forever.

I'm almost positive the story wouldn't be the same for me. I'm not kind or patient, and I probably wouldn't know half the things I know if I didn't have to. You made me feel guilty, and it made me resent you. I wanted to believe you were just another rich asshole, but you've done nothing but prove me wrong about that since day one," I tell him

Bryant's dad was super nice. He was the person Bryant described to me to a T. The visit was fairly short, but it was enlightening. I never would have thought Bryant would feel the way about me he described, and even if I thought there was a chance for that, I would never have thought he'd tell me about it.

Right now, I'm driving us home. He's seated in the passenger seat picking at a hole in his jeans.

"You're quiet," he muses.

When I turn to look at him, he seems almost nervous. I give him a weak smile.

"Just thinking," I tell him before we fall back into our silence.

Several minutes pass before he lets out an audible breath. I watch him run an anxious hand through his hair before he breaks the silence.

"I know that was a lot, Kyle," he murmurs, sounding vulnerable.

I shrug my shoulders.

"It's all right. I'm just thinking," I tell him again.

He cringes, and I feel guilty for making it happen. I truly am just thinking.

"If it was too much, I'm sorry. I thought you deserved the truth, but the truth doesn't have to change anything if you don't want it to," he tells me—like I'm delicate, like I'm coming apart in front of him.

I offer him a small smile.

"It wasn't too much, Bryant. I'm just wondering," I say before cutting my words off, surprised at what was about to come out of my mouth.

Bryant sits up straighter in his seat next to me, and he gives me his full attention.

"You're wondering what?" there's an urgency to his tone I've never heard before.

It's his complete attention that makes me reluctantly voice what I was thinking.

"I'm wondering if I did want for it to change things, if I did like hearing you say those nice things about me so much it made my stomach ache, if that were the case, I'm wondering if it could change things," I know the hypothetical wording of my question makes my words lack the boldness they might hold otherwise, but at the end of the day, I just laid my cards on the table for him.

My heart races after the words leave my mouth, and I have a hard time looking in Bryant's direction, fearing the rejection that may come. He has more power over me than I ever meant to give me, and his response could shred me. When he doesn't answer, I feel just enough frustration to find the courage to look at him.

He's fighting back a smile, but I'm not sure if it's a smile the means he's about to laugh at me or a smile that means he's happy with where my head is.

"Do you?" he asks me.

When I only give him a confused look, he elaborates.

"Want things to change," he adds, his voice not giving me any clues as to how he feels about it.

I consider continuing with the hypotheticals, but I realize the sooner I answer him honestly, the sooner he'll put me out of my misery, one way or the other.

"Yeah, I do."

He stops trying to fight the smile, and it takes over his full face.

"What kind of change were you thinking?" he asks me.

I'm pretty sure I know how he feels about it now, so I don't hold back.

"Is dating you, exclusively I mean, off the table?" I ask.

He smiles at me.

"It's definitely on the table," he says, "I vote for that."

I smile back at him, trying to play it cool even though it's honestly too late for that.

"All right, sounds like a plan."