“Yeah, you do.”
Oh my god, I want to strangle him. “Can we just focus?”
“I just wanna know who the guy is.” He chuckles.
“I never said there was a guy.”
“You know I’ve never cared about you being gay, Lee. I know Dad said all that BS but?—”
My father’s voice suddenly shouts through my brain, startling me. The venom in it still sharp enough to sting years later.
Silas says it so casually, but the words strike deeper than he realizes. My throat tightens, memory unspooling before I can stop it.
I’m fifteen again, sitting at the kitchen table with a calculus textbook open, pencil tapping nervously against the page.
My father comes in, heavy boots on the linoleum, smelling of bourbon and motor oil. He doesn’t ask how school was. He doesn’t ask if I need help. His eyes land on the phone in myhand, where a friend—a boy—had just texted me something stupid and harmless: a smiley face, a dumb joke about a video game.
He sees it, and his lip curls.
“You’re not one of those, are you?” His voice is a growl, already accusing.
My stomach drops. “What?”
“You know what I mean.” He steps closer, grabs the phone right out of my hand. His thumb scrolls, his face darkens. He doesn’t find anything incriminating—because there’s nothing to find—but it doesn’t matter. He shoves the phone back at me, disgust carved into every line of his face.
“Christ,” he spits, pacing the small kitchen like he can’t stand to be near me. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna turn into one of those fairy boys.” His hand slams against the counter, making the dishes rattle. “Not under my roof.”
I remember trying to swallow, trying to make myself small. “I’m not?—”
“Better not be.” He cuts me off, sharp as a knife. His eyes bore into mine, and what I see there makes my chest ache even now: not just anger, but something colder. Disappointment.
“If I ever hear you’re running around with some man,” he snarls, “you’ll regret it. You’ll remember who made you.”
He storms out, leaving the smell of bourbon hanging thick in the air, leaving me frozen at the table with my pulse in my ears. That night, I deleted half my contacts, threw my phone across the room just to hear it break. I lay awake staring at the ceiling, hating myself for how badly my chest ached—not just from fear, but from the shame of wanting something I’d just been told was filthy.
Even now, years later, I can still feel that moment branded into me, like a scar you can’t scrub off.
“Not what I was trying to say.” I say it rougher than I expected.
Silas is quiet. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs.
“Sorry. Sorry, I misread the situation. Tell me again.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to bring myself back to the present. “I just wanted to ask how you know when it’s the right time to get out there.”
Silas sits back in his chair, contemplating. “Well, I would tell you there’s never really a perfect time.”
“That’s helpful.”
“No, no—I mean that your person could come at any time. Any place. You just have to take a chance, little brother.”
I nod, rolling his words over in my head.
“But you gotta be careful who you give your heart to. There are dangerous people out there, Leander. People who look like friends but are not. They’ll draw you close, whisper sweet things, then devour you from the inside.”
The words hit too close. My gut twists, because it sounds exactly like Phoenix—how he slid past every guard I built, how he coaxed out things I swore I’d never give.
I keep my face calm—or try to. “You think I shouldn’t trust anyone?”
