Page 36 of Give Me What You Will

Him.

Sammy.

A shiver slid up his spine, and he carefully kept his face neutral. Before, he would’ve ignored this shit from his dad. But after everything that had happened last night, he wasn’t in the mood to hear his dad trash-talk his…

Best friend?

Friends didn’t watch each other jerk off. And they certainly didn’t demand the other to coat them in hot fuckin’ cum.

“Papi and him,” his dad sneered, bringing him back to their conversation. “If Papi didn’t fuckin’ earn his stripes with me, I would’ve had nothin’ to do with him and his faggot grandson.”

Something sliced up his back, hearing the word. That word. Like a curse, but far fucking worse. Frankie rolled his jaw, grinding down on his back molars. If people didn’t live up to his ideals or his way of living, he made his opinion of them known.

“Don’t know why you bothered with him,” his dad continued. “He was a lost cause from the get go. Crazy fuckin’ mother, whiney goddamned grandpa. The whole family is just—”

Frankie slammed his hand on the table, voice low and icy. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

His dad blinked, nostrils twitching. “What’cha say to me, boy?”

“You heard me,” he retorted. “You’re so goddamned hateful. What’s it like living with all that hate, Dad?”

His dad’s lip curled.

“Papi saved your life in the war,” Frankie said, letting his irritation take over. “He even gave you a loan to start your bar. Or do you conveniently forget these things? And Sammy,” he sucked in a breath, heart racing, “worked for you for pennies during med school. Those men deserve your respect. They were the legs you stood on for years. Hell, I fuckin’ deserve better than listenin’ to your bullshit.” He stood, hand clutching his coffee. “What happened to all your friends, Dad? They ain’t here. And you and I know damn well that if Papi were still alive, he’d be here.”

His dad, cold and unforgiving, smiled cruelly. “Sammy left you. Where is he now, huh?”

Frankie stiffened.

“Tina stopped by this morning—told me he was back in town. That you two had some sort of beef. Fightin’ at the bar and everything. Makin’ a fuckin’ scene. That true? He finally done with you?”

Fear shot through him like a bullet to the chest, and he stood there, hollow and empty. He blinked, emotion welling up at the idea of Sammy leaving him again. That he had fucked up their already fucked up relationship some more. That he shouldn’t have touched him, shouldn’t have done those things…

I shouldn’t have run away.

I should’ve stayed.

I should’ve…

“No.” He said the word with a certainty that he didn’t feel. Maybe last night was too much for Sammy. Maybe he caught the first flight back to LA because he was done with him.

His dad read something on his face and shook his head. “My son and his gay best friend. I always wondered… You look like a helpless little puppy without him. Christ, Frankie. You suck his cock, too?”

“What’d you say to me?” Frankie breathed.

“You heard me. You a faggot like him now?”

Frozen anger burned through his fists. If his father was fifteen years younger, they wouldn’t be standing here talking anymore. He’d be on the ground. Broken. Bloodied. No one insulted his best friend to his face and got away with it.

Except for this man. This wrinkled, tarnished, wasted old man who had nothing left in life but the black hole inside him. Frankie was done wasting his time trying to prove himself to his father, who existed on hate and judgment. Always picking away at people and what made them happy. Never satisfied with his own life, and certainly not with Frankie.

He set his paper-thin coffee down and tilted his head, studying him. “Ever since I took over your bar, I’ve noticed something. Not as many of your type comes in anymore. The old fucks who think they still got a seat at the bar. Because it’s my bar now, Dad. Mine.”

His dad, for the first time all morning, stiffened, lips pursed into an unsettled frown.

“And the only thing you left me with was debt and barflies. It’s been two years. Two years of me…”

Paying off your fuckin’ gambling debt.