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“I’m here to tell you that you’re making a huge mistake,” he continued. “And if you agree to sell this place to me, come home, and go to counseling”—whatever he meant by that was decidedly not good—“we can forget this whole mess ever happened.”

I raised an eyebrow, jutting my hip out. “Oh? And what mistake is that?”

“Fornicating with that . . . man.” He practically spit out the word, and my eyes shot wide without my permission.

“Wh-what?” I managed.

“That bar owner. The one I saw on the news.”

My jaw dropped. How the fuck had he put that together? I decided to play dumb, see if he would tell me. “What are you talking about?”

“You and that sodomite, Henry Ravenwood!”

What the ever-loving fuckballs?! “I know who you mean. But why would you say we were ‘fornicating’”—I even added the air quotes with both hands—“as you so delicately put it?”

He scoffed, and I was surprised he hadn’t flat-out spit on my hardwood floor. “You were spotted at the restaurant hanging all over each other, Tristan. It was truly disgusting behavior. And once I saw the man you were with, I recognized him from that news story about his bar. I know what that place is, Tristan, and I know what kind of people go there. Since I was worried about your soul”—I barely held in an eye roll at that one because he didn’t really care; I was sure either one of his so-called friends had seen me with Henry, embarrassing the fuck out of him, or he’d hired a private investigator to spy on me after that absurd phone call with my mother—“I did some research. And did you know what I found? You have been staying at that man’s house for weeks at a time. You’ve barely slept here in months!”

I’d thought my jaw couldn’t drop any further, but I’d been mistaken. “Have you been spying on me?”

“You’re absolutely right I have. I suspected when we learned you were on that site that you had other skeletons in your closet. But to find out it was this? It broke your mother’s heart.”

I let my eye roll fly at that last part before the rest of what he said finally sunk in, and my anger flared. “‘This’?” I threw my hands in the air. “I’m gay, Dad. G-A-Y gay. You can say it. And there is nothing wrong with what or who I am, who I love, or what I do. If you don’t like it, you can leave. Now.”

“We won’t stand for this, Tristan. We raised you better than this.”

What the actual fuck? “In what universe did you raise me? You were barely around! And Mom was hardly better. So I found people who care about me, who are there for me, who love me. Something you and Mom have never been capable of. You cut me off a couple of years ago now, and they’ve been the happiest years of my life. Let’s keep that going, shall we? Why don’t you go back to your friends and your country clubs and all the other shit you like to do and leave me the fuck alone.” I stalked toward the door, throwing it open. “I don’t want you here any longer. Leave. Now. And don’t ever come back.”

During my impromptu speech, George’s face had reddened to the color of a tomato. It would’ve been comical had I not been eager to get him out of my sight.

After a moment’s deliberation, he started toward the door. But just before he stepped past me and over the threshold, he stopped, meeting my angry glare. “If that man hadn’t had friends in the police department, his bar probably would’ve stayed closed for good. But Curtis always did cave easily—he never has been able to man up and hold his ground.”

I gasped, stumbling backward half a step. “What?” I barely whispered.

The smile my own father turned on me was nothing short of diabolical. “Didn’t you know? Curtis Atherby is an old friend of mine from those country clubs you hate so much. When the investigator showed me that picture of you two out to dinner and confirmed you were living in sin with a man twice your age, I called him up, asked for a favor.”

Rage boiled to the surface until I was certain I was almost as red as my father had been. I clenched both fists at my sides to keep from punching him—I retained just enough rational thought to realize I’d go to jail if I ever hit him because he had an army of lawyers at his disposal and would love nothing more than to get me out of his life in such a way—but goddammit, how I wanted to.

For all I knew, that could’ve been his backup plan to get the condo. But after all this, he could pry this place out of my cold, dead hands.

“Get. Out. Of. My. House. Now.” Though I growled the words through gritted teeth, he could clearly hear every one. And even if he couldn’t, my intent was abundantly fucking clear.

“Fine.” George Applegate stepped out into the hallway, only turning back to deliver his parting blow. “The deal your neighbors got for their condos is off the table for yours, of course, and you’ll be lucky to sell with the rest of the place empty. Buyers will want to know why, and . . . well, you know how these things go. People talk.” His thinly veiled threat was laced with pure disdain. “When you’re out of options and come crawling back, Tristan, just remember that you could’ve done this the easy way. Until then, you and I are done.” Then he left without another word.

I slammed the door, feeling the floor shake beneath my feet, and started to spiral.

Chapter forty-three

Tristan

Icouldn’t breathe.

My vision was blurry.

My chest hurt.

I couldn’t breathe.

My hands shook uncontrollably against my thighs.