Page 161 of These Secret Years

She wipes at her face with the blanket even though there’s a box of tissues and multiple wads of them on the coffee table. “I shouldn’t say I knew, just that I hoped it was him. He seemed so…devoted is such an old-fashioned word…”

“He has a lot of friends on the team,” I say, but then more of her words register. “You hoped…how did you know?”

“Your father and I…we’ve known for a long time.”

That’s not what I asked. “But how?”

She throws up her hands briefly before they drop with a thud back onto the couch. “No girlfriend in high school, not a single mention of one in college either. You didn’t even take a date to prom.”

“I went with friends.”

“Who all had dates.”

“There just wasn’t anyone⁠—”

“Knight. You’re a closed book. A bank vault. I’m willing to bet there’s mountains of things I don’t know about you. Secrets you’ve kept. This one—yeah, I guess we deduced it, but you’ve always been very, very good at hiding it.”

“Apparently not,” I mumble.

“It was more like the only thing that made sense. So, if you’re wondering what your dad and I were worried about, it was that you’d have to hide forever. Why would we want that for you?”

A sour feeling pools in the pit of my stomach. Regret so thick and heavy weighs me down until I don’t think I could move if I tried. “Please don’t say that’s why.”

“Of course that’s why.”

“He made me doubt everything.”

“That wasn’t his intention.”

“Does it matter? When he knew that’s what he was doing?”

“Baby—listen to me. Your father loved you. And he did what any good man would do for his son. He wanted to protect you.”

My inhalation is so jagged, it feels like it cuts my throat on the way down. “You know…that’s great. I’m glad you two were able to talk about this. But maybe—do you think maybe I could have used someone to talk about it with, too?”

On this, she breaks down. “We thought we had time.”

I can’t listen to this anymore. I’m too hurt. Too fucking angry. Too confused. “I need a minute,” I say before getting up and leaving the living room.

I can’t be here anymore. I leave through the front door in my flip flops and my shitty sleep clothes and start walking.

I don’t stop walking until I’m on Sullivan’s street. When he’s still not at home—because of course he isn’t—he’s probably not even in Michigan yet, I walk further to the shitty lake house nearly overgrown by the woods. I go inside and, using my rage and my bare hands, start ripping down every single piece of wood on the windows that’s kept the light out of this place for too long.

Amazingly, the faint evergreen scent of the Christmas tree still lingers in the air.

The sun has only just set when I get the text. Two words that change everything.

“I’m home.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

KNIGHT

Having a dead dad who wasn’t supposed to die anytime soon gives me certain liberties. For example, when I tell Sullivan I want him to come home with me, he can’t really say no, can he? Not when he made me wait an entire extra day for him to get here, and not when I probably look like I’ll start ripping doors down next if he refuses.

Shortly after he shows up at the lake house, I drive the two of us back to my house where the atmosphere has shifted once again. Tonight it’s more fond memories and “Yes, I’ll take another glass please.”

The ever growing contingency of family members is gathered out back around the fire pit. The kids are in the pool while Dillon and Derek swim with them—lifeguard duty, I guess, and yet, despite the light, laughing conversation, complete silence descends when Sullivan and I walk out onto the porch.