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At the age of eighteen, my parents pulled me aside and told me a secret that they could no longer bear.

Maybe if I hadn't known that, I wouldn't have done half of what I did in my life. Actually, I'm certain of it.

Either way, the past is the past. And what my parents' told me that day put the rest of life in a fog. I detached myself from fickle human emotions because it all seemed worthless to me. Here I had spent eighteen years of my life loving and respecting the people I thought created me, only to find out that I was just someone that turned up on their doorstep when a woman left her baby behind lying in its hospital bed.

Emotions were useless to me. I figured it was best to live without them. Then he came along.

He was a thirteen year old kid who hung around the kids I used to coach football to in my free time. He was about five feet tall (exaggerating) and had a face that looked too innocent to belong to any earthling. It wasn't like I fell for him or anything –that wasn't why I'd sometimes stare when he wasn't looking – but more like I found him to be fascinating. If anything, I thought the first time I saw him, I could pass the time this way. I wasn't hurting anyone.

I was just fascinated.

About one week later, that little brunette lost both his parents to a car accident. It was my friend Stephanie who told me. She was to attend the funeral, and asked me to come along. I could've said no just as easily as I said no to everything else. Instead, I put on my best suit and head out with Stephanie on my arm.

I remember a lot of things about that day. I remember seeing the faces of the people in the small living room. No one looked sad. They all looked worried about something not pertaining to the deaths of two people. I remember looking around to see if I could spot that kid who'd always come to the field attached to Cody's hip. I didn't see the little guy anywhere, so I headed to the only place that seemed logical.

He was lying on the bed, face down, and crying. I sat beside him, and didn't do much of anything for what could have easily been an eternity. A lot of thoughts went through my head during that moment, as I majorly tried to figure out what I was doing here in the first place. And why was my hand now resting on his head?

He moved to the touch and turned to face me with large brown eyes so full of worry and fear. I had an itching desire to hug him, but the stone in my heart clogged the feeling. Instead I just smiled at him as gently as I could muster, and without any real idea as to how and why, I told the little kid to come with me.

"Chris?"

I look over to see Evan staring intensely at me. It's almost laughable really. "Hmm?"

He waits for a while – as though he's weighing his options – but he never had to do that because I already know what he's going to say. "I love you."

This was his nine hundredth and ninety seventh confession to me, and the nine hundredth and ninety seventh time that I've had to stop myself for saying it back.

"…" I think for second – rationalizing and separating my whims and wants from need and maturity – before turning back to my book. "Good for you."

To be quite honest, I have no idea when I began taking notice of Evan Bourne's confessions. I can easily say however that it seems appropriate to put the notice mark at number thirty. That was three years ago, and that number has done a lot more than double.

For every time that Evan says those three words, I have to fight a battle greater than the ones belonging to the Romans just to keep my tongue in check. I love Evan. I do. In fact, it was love that forced me to get an early career in full time coaching at the young age of twenty two. It was all love's fault that I used nearly all my money to basically buy Evan off his grandparents by providing a roof over his head and food on his table, as well as tuition for his tenure at The Academy. Love moved me to do what most – like myself – consider to be stupid and reckless things.

However, even during all that, I never once thought of Evan as anything more than a smaller and younger version of myself. A kid who had been suddenly flung into the world without a natural parent. I was simply fascinated by him. Curious as to what he'd become and where he'd take the cards dealt to him. I never once thought…

And then he said it. "I love you" just two months into our living together.

Naturally, I ignored it. I didn't even respond at the time both out of shock and a mental thought that the kid was slightly off the rails and was mixing up his feelings of mutual respect for something far more adult.

Then he said it again the very next day.

Soon, Evan's random and ever-serious "I love you" confessions became a daily thing. They increased in the past year – nearly to a point of desperation – and got me into the habit of responding with a "good for you" because it put him off for the moment and turned him back into the Evan I used to see in past standing on the lines of that field, wishing he could play with the bigger kids.

I told myself every day how much I loved Evan Bourne like a really good friend. He was just a really good friend.

"Why can't I join?" I took a seat on the locker room bench and sighed tiredly.

"I told you" My eyes ran up to meet his. His face looked damn close to throwing tears. I knew I had to tread carefully. "If I let you join the wrestling club, you'll get hurt and—"

"I won't get hurt!" He shouts loud enough to produce an ear-piercing echo.

"And" I ignore blatantly "then I'll get blamed for it because you're supposed to be in my care."

He drew back for a second that had me believing that he had bought the bullshit I was spewing, but then he turned it around and lashed out viciously. "Then why did you bother taking me in then? Why didn't you just stay away?"

I wanted to answer. God knows I wanted to answer. But…I never even knew the answer myself. I always wondered and thought about the why's of my actions. The why did I work so damn hard to take him in? The why didn't I just leave him with his family? I didn't know, and in his eyes I could see that he knew that about me.

"Just forget it!" And then he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

For the first time ever, I was shown a side of our situation that I never knew existed. For the first time ever, since I began to keep track, I knew that Evan Bourne – despite how much his looks wanted to deceive – was dead serious.

Tonight I hadn't planned on coming home. To be honest, I wanted to go drinking with some friends, but all I had to do was think about Evan being by himself, and my friends of years took the back seat immediately. I didn't plan on coming home, but I did anyways.

There I was greeted by the sight of Evan and what could be described as a home-invading restaurant table for two. My first instinct was to make something up. Lie and go to bed. My second instinct agreed with my first because it was the one who knew right away where this was going. If I counted in yesterday's double-whammy, then Evan was now at number nine hundred and ninety nine. If he was aiming for a record then he was almost there. Just one balmy confession away.

The roast beef is what ultimately convinced me to stay. I was starving, so I sat down to eat. There was an obvious tension lingering about, but I ignored it, said 'thank you for the food' and began to dig in. Evan just stared at me in a way that I should be used to. Not because it's what he always does, but rather it's what I used to do back on that field when his back faced me in the sure distance.

After a time not yet concluded, Evan spoke. "I love you."

The piece of meat flipped sideways and lodged wickedly across the circumference of my throat. I forced it down with sheer willpower – pushing back whatever I might have wanted to say in response to that, in opt for saying something that I should never had said. Not now when I finally realized how serious he was. Not now when he had hit the big 1 0 0 0.

"Good for you." As soon as I said that, I regretted it. And what happened afterwards was what should have happened the first time I ignored him.

In a fit of rage Evan overthrew the table. I looked up to him – shocked actually – and watched his face contort to the very same expression it had the day I saw him in that room. The overall sadness and maddening desire that streamlined his face dropped a weight on my conscience. This was Evan's last straw, and here I taken it and broken his back. I knew now what was going to happen.

I knew and expected Evan to open his mouth and shout a different triplet of words. I expected him to say the same thing to me that I said to the folks who raised me.

I hate you.

The second I thought of Evan saying that, my mind went to a blank state. I retreated so far into myself that I had exited out on the other side. I didn't want to watch him say that. I didn't want to hear him say that. My mind, I knew, was never truly prepared for that. No matter how many years I locked myself away, I could never hide the real truth of it all.

I wanted to be in love with Evan Bourne. But now, as he stood there angry, I had lost the chance to. Just like I had lost the chance to apologize to the good people who took in a child not their own.

Evan left without saying a word. My heavy feet couldn't chase after him. My mind was clogged to the point of losing the ability to command.

All that was left was for my heart to hope that he'd return.

TWO WEEKS LATER…

"Evan?"

"Hmm?" He replies half asleep.

I stare at him until his large eyes crack to see me. "I love you."