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My pulse hammered against my throat. Every instinct I’d built to protect myself from him yelled at me to stop and apologize—to blame my behavior on the long day or stress or anything else that might smooth it over. Dad had always been good at that. He didn’t need to raise a hand or his voice to make me feel small.

And normally, I’d let him.

“Then stop saying shit like that,” I replied and watched as his brows shot up.

“Excuse me?”

“David, please,” Mom whispered. The fear in her voice was almost enough to make me stop. I glanced at her and immediately wished I hadn’t. Her fingers were wrung in her napkin, and her expression was drawn tight. Guilt punched straight through my anger.

This was supposed to be her Thanksgiving. It was one of the few she’d explicitly asked us to make for her. I could still back down. I could swallow the anger and smooth things over with him—pretend what he was saying didn’t upset me. Hell, I’d done it my whole life.

But now it affected Theo too. Somehow, that was more unforgivable than the lifetime of it I’d dealt with.

“You heard me,” I snapped. “Stop talking like that.”

Dad let out a humorless laugh.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he retorted. “Everyone is so damn sensitive these days. You can’t say anything without someone deciding they’re offended on behalf of—”

“I’m not offended on behalf of anybody,” I cut him off, knowing exactly what I was saying.

My words stopped him dead, and the energy around the table shifted uncomfortably. Dad’s eyes narrowed.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

And there it was. The opening. The one I’d spent my whole life avoiding. My chest constricted painfully, but my resolve didn’t fracture. I’d imagined this moment one too many times. In some versions, I was seventeen and stupidly brave. In others, I was safely back in Florida with a thousand miles between us. Sometimes Mom and Jude were there. Sometimes Sariah was. Sometimes, I said the words over the phone so I could hang up when it all went to hell.

Never did I imagine standing up for someone else who was still figuring his sexuality out would be the catalyst I needed to throw all reasoning to the wind and just say what needed to be said.

“You keep talking about people like they’re some fucking problem that needs fixing,” I shot back, anger leaking into my voice.

“I’m allowed to have an opinion!”

“You can believe whatever the hell you want. I stopped thinking I could change you a long time ago,” I scoffed. “But I refuse to sit here and listen to you talk about the gay community anymore like we’re the problem with society! Turn on the fucking news and guess what? Nine times out of ten, it’s a straight white guy who’s the goddamn problem, but I never hear you bitching about them. No, it’s always you acting like gay people are!”

The word we’re hung there long after the rest of my outburst died. No one moved. Hell, I was pretty sure no one was breathing. The silence that settled around us was thick and uncomfortable as my father and I stared hard at one another. At the other end of the table, Jude had gone completely still beside Mom, his eyes wide, while Mom looked ready to cry. Her expression was unreadable. It wasn’t anger or distress, but I still couldn’t quite place it. Henry and Alice stared at their plates. Theo’s eyes were just as wide as Jude’s, his lips parted slightly with surprise.

And Dad… Dad’s expression slipped behind a mask of contemplation that scared me more than his anger ever did. I could see the way he replayed my words in his head, assessing each one carefully, and my entire body tensed with anticipation.

“What did you say?” he demanded quietly.

“You fucking heard me,” I said, refusing to repeat myself to appease him. I wasn’t playing this game with him.

The silence stretched on, and I could almost hear everyone at the table waiting to see which one of us would move first. I held my father’s stare as I braced for whatever the hell came next.

Finally, he moved, slowly pushing his chair away from the table. The legs scraped loudly against the floor, and I flinched. He stood without a word—without exploding or yelling. Even his expression had become frighteningly controlled.

“Outside,” Dad said. “Now.”

“David, please don’t do this.” Mom reached for his arm, but he pulled away before she could touch him. “David.”

I pushed away from the table and stood without hesitation. For once, I didn’t feel the instinct to apologize or scramble to calm him down before things got worse. If my father wanted this conversation away from the table, fine. I’d follow him outside.

But I wasn’t taking back a damn thing I’d said.

“I’m not asking again,” Dad said over his shoulder as he headed out the front door without waiting to see if I followed. I stopped only once, my hand falling to Mom’s shoulder.

“Rhodes,” she whispered. Her face had gone pale, and her eyes glistened as she looked up at me. The look on her face made my heart hurt. I hated being the one who put it there. I bent down and pressed my lips to the top of her head, giving her shoulder a light squeeze.