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It doesn’t erase the hell he put Blair and I through.
It doesn’t erase the years of abuse and neglect.
But it makes sense.
And I understand being the asshole who needs to get over themselves. The difference is I try. I put in the effort, and I apologize.
Which is something Dad never learned how to do, and he died alone because of it.
When I let the notebook fall limply in my lap, Blair takes it from me. Pages flip and he sounds like he goes through the five stages of grief with his sighs and grunts alone.
He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into him. I don’t fight it because right now, my older brother is exactly who I need.
“Dad was right about one thing,” Blair whispers. “Mom loved you so much. Being trans wouldn’t have changed that.”
I bury my face in his neck, and Blair rubs a hand up and down my back. Another hand joins his, and I know Atty’s familiar heat as his arm comes around me too.
“We love you, Loh. That will never change.”
I squeeze them both, but when tears start to prickle in my eyes, I ease away and scrub at them. Without a word, I climb to my feet and let them carry me out.
Out of the room.
Out of the house.
Corvin is leaning against the bottom of the deck with a lit cigarette in his hand, and even though I crinkle my nose at the nasty habit he’s picked up, it doesn’t slow me down.
I take the steps two at a time until I land at the bottom.
“Firecracker?” He smiles at first, likely thinking it was an excited jump that landed me here, but when he meets my eyes, that smile falls, replaced by a worried frown. “Sweetheart?”
I grab the stupid, gross stick out of his hands and grind it into the gravel, and then I wrap my arms around him like a sloth on a tree. His t-shirt is soft beneath my face as I bury myself in his shoulder.
Those comforting arms wrap me up tight and lock me in place. Holding me together as the seams threaten to burst under the pressure in my heart.
But Corvin’s gentle breathing and the calming beat of his heart under my ear settles the impending storm.
He doesn’t ask me what’s wrong.
He doesn’t give me reassuring platitudes.
He holds me tight like every other time he’s saved me.
His arms are my cage against the harsh reality of the world. His arms are the one place where I know I can be safe. Where I can make a haven and bury myself until I’m ready to face life again.
My silent protector.
“I love you,” he whispers, and the heartache overflows.
Tears pour down my cheeks, and I’ll embrace his comfort now to take the edge off, but I know I’ll need his rough hands to turn it off tonight.
And he’ll give it to me because he loves to make me cry.
No matter how many times he takes me apart, he always puts me back together.
THE END
