CHAPTER 22
Wednesday of the following week, they took Derek’s car and went back to the Weber home. Patrick had chosen a time when he believed his father would be at work. He just wanted to pack his stuff and get away from there without incident.
Patrick was a beautiful combination of vulnerability and courage. Sometimes he seemed so fragile—as if anything or anyone could break him—then the strength within would shine through, revealing just how resilient the boy truly was. Every second spent in his presence, Derek fell deeper in love with him. And just when he thought he couldn’t fall any deeper, Patrick would say or do something, or simply give him a look or smile that proved him so wrong.
Even while showing strength and courage, Patrick had a way of making Derek feel like his “protector”—hishero.That was a role Derek eagerly accepted. He loved that Patrick stood up for himself, but also loved that he leaned on Derek as well. Everyone needed to be needed. And they did that for each other—neededone another.
When they pulled up in front of the house, Alan Weber’s truck was gone. But Patrick’s mom was home.
“What do you think she’ll do?” Derek asked. He hadn’t met Patrick’s mom and the boy hadn’t told him much about her, except that she was submissive to his father’s will.
“Nothing. I don’t think she would have a problem with me if my dad didn’t. I think she just wants all the tension to go away and for our family to heal.”
“Maybe in time, it will. Even people like your dad have been known to change.”
Patrick looked doubtful but nodded anyway. “Maybe.”
On their way to the front door, Patrick took Derek’s hand and walked a little closer to him—saying without words that he felt safe with him. Derek squeezed his hand as they approached the front stoop and Patrick rang the doorbell.
His mom answered moments later and looked stunned to see her son—and his porn star boyfriend. She licked her lips anxiously. “Patrick…” Uncertainty caused her to fidget. “Your… your father isn’t home right now.”
“I know,” Patrick said. “I don’t want to see him. I’m here to get the rest of my stuff.”
“Oh.” She glanced uneasily at Derek but didn’t address him directly. “You’re… you’re really moving out?”
Patrick held Derek’s hand tighter. “Yeah, mom,” he murmured. “Did you really think I could stay here anymore? Dad wants to make me straight and that’s never going to happen. But he isn’t going to let up. So, I can’t be here.”
“Where are you living?” she whispered.
“Why are you asking? I know dad told you.”
She swallowed, her eyes down. “Withhim?”
“Yes.”
“And others like him?”
Patrick sighed. “Yes, others like him—kind, caring people who accept me for who I am. Can we come in? I need to pack my things.”
Eileen Weber backed away and walked down the hall. Patrick sighed again and entered the house, his hand slipping free of Derek’s grasp. Derek followed him into the kitchen where the woman had taken a seat at the table with a cup of tea. A book lay on the table with a bookmark poking out about halfway through.
“My room is down here.” Patrick walked across the kitchen.
Derek started to follow, then paused. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Patrick looked at him uncertainly as he glanced at his mom.
“It’s okay,” Derek murmured, then dropped his voice to a whisper and winked, “Moms love me.”
Doubt clung to Patrick’s face as he continued down to his room.
Derek turned and looked at Eileen Weber. She didn’t return a look but stared at her cup of tea, taking the occasional sip, eyes distant and distraught. Derek walked to the table and took a seat at the opposite end. “I can imagine what you think of me,” he said quietly. “And what you think goes on out at my home. But I assure you, it’s nothing so dreadful. I care about your son very much and I promise you, he’s in no danger. And just so you know, there’s nothingphysicalgoing on between us.” He smiled. “Other than holding hands.”
She didn’t respond or even look at him, though her eyes glistened.
“You haven’t lost him. And he hasn’t walked away from God. He talks about God all the time, he prays, and he plans to keep going to church. And no one in our home would try to discourage that. I know you must imagine our home to be aden of iniquity, but we are afamilyout there. We care about each other; we take care of each other. We’re not bad people, Mrs. Weber. And being in a place where he’s loved and accepted for who he is, Patrick is thriving—spiritually as well as emotionally. If you ever want to come visit him, you’re welcome in our home.”
The woman blinked a few times, her throat working, but continued to stay silent.
