Finding Delaware (State of Us #1)

20. Huckslee

Huckslee

F uck, I hate it here.

Resting my elbows on my knees, my fingers curl into my hair as I lean on a bench outside SLC International Airport. It’s cold as hell, which, of course, is because it’s January in Utah. I didn’t miss this shit. I left mid-sixty temperatures and shorts for lower twenties and ice. Blue skies for gray smog. I really, really hate it here.

My knee begins to bounce erratically, showcasing my nerves. I haven’t stepped foot inside this state in almost four years. Didn’t plan on ever coming back, either. I barely survived this place the last time I was here, so why would I? Things in Cali are good. Grandma and Grandpa Jones are amazing people. They offered to put me through college when I fucked up my scholarship, and I’ll forever be grateful to them for saving me when I felt like I couldn’t save myself. Berkeley’s fantastic, I love my roomie, and I made some friends. Get to swim in the ocean every day. It finally feels like I have the space to breathe.

And then I got the call a week ago that threw my life back into turmoil.

No one tells you that every day feels like a waste when you get a second chance at life. Not as ‘wasteful because I’m here,’ but more like ‘there are so many other things I can be doing right now, but instead, here I am doing Political-Science homework.’

There’s an entire world out there and so many things I’ve yet to see with my own eyes.

For example, my grandparents took me on a cruise to the Bahamas last year, and I’d never seen such clear blue water. We visited Harbour Island, where the sand was pink, and I swam with sea turtles. Actual sea turtles, like Crush from Finding Nemo. And don’t even get me started on the dolphins.

My team winning our championship was another big moment. No, I was never super passionate about football, but that feeling of accomplishing something I’ve spent years putting blood, sweat, and tears into? The most satisfying high on the planet.

The point is, I almost missed out on all that shit. And I never want to miss out on anything ever again. Which is why I’m freaking out right now.

A car horn draws my attention, and I spy a dark BMW pull up to the curb in the loading area. The passenger window glides down to reveal Logan’s frowning face.

“Sorry, Huck. There were like two accidents on i80. ”

Heaving a sigh, I grab the handle of my luggage and push to my feet. Let’s get this shit over with. “I see Utah drivers still suck in the snow.”

The trunk pops open, and I heave my bag inside before slamming it shut.

“It’s all you Californians moving here without any idea how to drive in the winter.” He watches me open the passenger door to climb inside, coughing out a laugh. “Dang, dude, will you even fit in here? When did you get so much muscle?”

“Four years of college football will do that to you,” I grin, giving him the best side hug I can in the car. He looks the same, for the most part. His brown hair is shorter, but he’s still wearing a button-up polo and a pair of tan shorts like he’s always done, even in the winter.

Some things never change.

An awkward silence settles over us as he exits the airport and pulls onto the freeway. Though we’ve talked to each other through text, phone calls, and FaceTime, this is the first time I’ve actually seen him in person since I left. And I won’t lie; I’m a bit salty about it. I asked him numerous times during past summers to come see me, but he’s always had an excuse. Yeah, I wasn’t exactly traveling to visit him either, but I feel like I had a valid reason.

“Thanks for offering to pick me up.” I clear my throat, adjusting the radio until I find a tolerable station. “I know it’s out of the way for you.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s no biggie. I’ve got some things I need to do in town, anyway.”

“Really? What could you possibly have to do in Gville that you can’t do in the city? ”

“Just...things with my parents.” He shoots me a sideways glance, and we fall quiet again as Post Malone’s ‘Hollywood’s Bleeding’ plays on the radio.

Logan’s been hiding something from me for a while. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it. Another thing I’m salty about. I know I have no right to be because I hid the fact that I was gay from him for years, but it sucks when someone who was like a brother to you turns into a stranger.

“So, how’s the boyfriend?” Logan asks, and I go rigid before forcing myself to relax. Even though he knows, it’ll always be weird having my sexuality out in the open with him.

“Eh. I broke up with him on the plane.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “What, why? Weren’t you guys together for, like, a while?”

If you consider eight months a while.

Running a hand through my curls, I lift a shoulder. “We just wanted different things in life, I guess.”

“Like what?”

Everything , honestly.

“I don’t know. Marriage. Kids. A dog.”

Logan’s brows raise. “Like adoption?”

“Obviously,” I laugh, and his neck reddens slightly in embarrassment.

“So you wanted to marry him?”

“No, the other way around. He wanted to marry me.”

In all honesty, Greg was a sweet guy. He treated me well, all my friends loved him, and he wasn’t selfish in bed. Kind to everyone. But that was just the problem. He was... too nice. How fucked up is that? I’ve broken it off with every guy I’ve ever dated because they aren’t assholes, apparently. I won’t even get into what my therapist thinks about that.

Logan gives me an unreadable look. “You don’t want marriage and kids?”

“No.” Feeling uncomfortable with the subject, I shift in my seat. “Not really. Is that bad?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if it bothers him. Logan grew up religious like I did. Marriage and babies are pretty much pounded into our heads from the minute we’re baptized at eight years old.

“So, is not agreeing on marriage a valid reason to break up with someone, do you think?” He asks it softly, genuinely, and it’s my turn to gaze at him in surprise. His eyes are trained straight ahead, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“I mean, I think so. The whole point of dating is to create a life together, right? At least, that’s how I see it. Obviously, everyone sees relationships differently, but I’d rather he find someone who wants the same things as he does instead of wasting his time on me. Because I don’t think I’ll ever want marriage. You know?”

He nods but doesn’t respond; it seems like he’s lost in his thoughts for a while. I let him have his moment, turning up the radio as I watch snow-covered mountains pass by out the window. The Great Salt Lake looks even more dried up than it did four years ago.

“So, Berkeley’s gonna let you finish the year with online classes?” He breaks the silence, and I nod in response.

“Yep. What about you? Balancing everything ok? ”

Logan’s taking business management courses and working at his dad’s company, processing mortgage loans. Sounds boring to me, but he seems to like it well enough.

He gives me a non-committal reply, and then we’re taking exit 99 toward home. The closer we draw toward Gville, the worse my anxiety gets. It always starts in the pit of my stomach, squeezing my muscles until it spreads into my chest, shoulders, and neck. I can feel my back stiffening against the seat when we pull into town. My fingers itch to pull my anxiety meds out of my pocket, but I don’t. Not only because I don’t want to freak Logan out, but...well, I don’t want to freak him out.

It’s not the same as it was before. Honestly, living in a place where I feel safe to be myself has done wonders for my mental health, but years of pretending and hiding growing up did their damage. ‘General Anxiety Disorder’ is what my psychiatrist calls it. Triggered by thoughts or feelings of helplessness. But I’m doing better. We found a great care plan and a fantastic therapist, and I’ve hardly had any anxiety attacks in the last year. Though, I also had the vastness of the ocean and a large city with plenty of space and freedom. Gville is small. Tiny. Claustrophobic.

When we’re pulling into the driveway, it feels like ants are crawling under my skin.

Fuck.

Just breathe, Huck. Breathe .

But it’s so fucking hard.

“You alright, man?”

Glancing sideways, I notice Logan turned fully in his seat toward me, a deep frown of concern pulling at his mouth.

“Yeah. It’s just...” Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. “I haven’t been back here since, well, you know.”

Since I OD’d on my prescription meds that nobody knew about and apparently almost bled out from slicing my arm open on a shard of glass when I collapsed.

Crazy, right?

My fingers brush along the scar near the crook of my arm, now covered by a script of black ink. Coincidentally, it’s the same arm that Taylor broke in high school–

Nope . Not thinking about anything to do with him or that.

Logan nods in understanding as he chews on his cheek. “Do you need me to come inside with you?”

Yes. “No, but thank you. I appreciate it. And thanks for the ride.”

Getting out, I pull my luggage from his trunk and stop at the driver’s side window to give him a fist bump. “Drive safe. Still want to do lunch in the city tomorrow?”

He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as he nods. “Yep. I’ll text you the address.” A pause. “Good luck, man. Give your dad my best.”

“You know I will.”

Standing on the front lawn, I watch him drive away, continuing to stare long after his car has faded from view. Only then do I pull out the bottle and swallow a pill. With the way my hands are shaking, I should take two, but I get nervous doing more than the prescribed dose for obvious reasons.

Taking several deep breaths, I let the cold air sting some clarity into my lungs before I pick up my bag and walk into the house that almost became my tomb.

Did this dining room always feel so small?

Sitting at the table across from Dad, listening to him speak, all I can think is how it feels like the room has shrunk since the last time I was here.

“I’m glad you’re here, son, but you didn’t have to come all this way just for me.” He looks the same, only skinnier. Tired. More drained. The glasses keep sliding down his nose like they no longer fit his thin face. His shirt hangs off his shoulders.

I guess stage-two bladder cancer will do that to a person.

“Yes, I did.” Swallowing hard, I glance away toward the fireplace where all the pictures of Mom still sit. “At least until you get better.”

Because this isn’t permanent. I’m not back in Utah forever, and Dad will beat this.

He smiles, but it seems weary.

Maisie reaches out across the table to take my hand. “Well, we’re just glad to have you back for however long we get you. ”

I squeeze her fingers, nodding but can’t look at her. Can’t force myself to meet those blue-green eyes and dark hair that are like the ones that have been haunting my dreams for four years. So I sweep my gaze around the room, taking in all the photos of me hanging on the walls since I was in youth soccer. All of my sports accomplishments, school pictures, family photos. It’s like a monument to my childhood, but all I see behind those happy smiles is a kid being crushed by expectations. However, something’s missing…

With a frown, I realize for the first time that there’s only me in here. No pictures of another dark-haired boy anywhere to be found. And now that I think about it, I don’t think there ever was.

“When is the surgery?” I ask, pulling at my collar. It suddenly feels too hot in here, the fireplace stifling.

Dad leans back in his seat, removing his glasses to clean them on his shirt. “Next month.”

“What?” My eyes fly to him, slightly panicked, and I don’t miss the way Maisie’s lips thin. “Why so far away?!”

“That’s the earliest they can get me in.” His tone is calm and gentle, but there’s an edge to his voice that you’d only notice if you’ve spent twenty-two years with the man. “It’ll be alright, Huck. The doctors say it’s a slow-moving cancer. We’ve got time.”

But it doesn’t feel like we do.

It feels like that night at prom when I felt like my world was about to come crashing down around me. A wave of dizziness makes my head spin, and I tune out Dad and Maisie’s explanations of his treatments to focus on my breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I am me. I have control.

My fingers start to shake, so I fist my hands, nodding along to the conversation like I’m taking it all in, but I’m not here. I’m on a dark stage, spilling my heart out as the curtain opens, hundreds of eyes watching me bleed onto the floor. And just like that night, the walls feel like they’re beginning to move in on me. I can’t breathe. I need out out OUT .

“Is my old dirt bike still in the garage?” I cut Dad off mid-sentence, and he blinks at me with a frown.

“Yeah, it’s still there. I’ve been keeping fresh gas in it and starting it occasionally, just in case, you know...” In case I ever came back. “Why, son?”

Inhale. Exhale.

“Think I might go for a ride on the track.”

He raises a brow. “It’s covered in snow.”

“I’ll throw the snow tires on.”

Leaving my seat quickly, I head toward the garage as Maisie tells me she’ll start lunch. Less than thirty minutes later, I’m sitting on the track, gazing over the white powder-covered field. It’s been years since I’ve ridden a dirt bike. Even longer since I’ve ridden one in the snow.

I don’t have moto gear anymore, and my fingers are frozen to the handlebars, but it feels good. Kicking on the bike, I start slow, re-adjusting to the feeling of my heavier body on the two-stroke. I’m almost jostled off when I hit a jump, but muscle memory takes over, and I correct myself.

A small chuckle leaves me at the sight I must make. I definitely won’t be winning any races anytime soon, that’s for sure.

Honestly, the conversation with Dad could have gone better, and I lasted longer than I thought I would inside that house. But, fuck…

I don’t know if I can stay here.

I thought I could do it, thought it had been long enough that I’d be over it, and that Dad’s surgery would be sooner. But if I can’t even stand being in there for longer than an hour, how can I stay for possibly two or three months until he recovers and gets the all-clear? It’s not like he needs me here. He’s got Maisie to take care of him; I don’t necessarily have to stay in the house...but there’s no way I can afford a hotel, and I’m not asking Grandpa Jones for more money.

An odd sound starts to come from my bike’s engine, so I slow to a halt and put a foot out, listening. It sounds like an engine revving, but I’m not doing it. Turning the bike off, I realize the sound is coming from behind me.

What the fuck?

It gets closer, and I twist slightly to look over my shoulder, only to have my heart drop into my stomach when I see who’s riding toward me.

He’s covered head to toe, but I know it’s him. I can feel it.

I’m frozen as I watch Taylor approach until he stops beside me.

For a moment, we just look at each other. Take each other in.

He’s wearing a helmet, a denim jacket, and leather gloves covering his hands. Dark hair dyed red at the tips peeks from the collar, curling around his nape. His bike is still that awful yellow color, but this one is shiny and new. A decal says T.O.T on the radiator shroud, whatever that means. A pair of black jeans cling to his thighs, combat boots on his feet.

Like I said, he’s completely covered. But fuck, if my body doesn’t light up at the nearness of his presence after four years. And it only serves to wring my nerves tighter than they already are.

How the hell did he know I’d be here?

Jerking his chin, Taylor kicks his bike into gear. “We racing or what? ”

And then he’s speeding ahead of me down the track.

Motherfucker.

So I start up mine and haul ass after him, spell broken, because how dare he show up here after the shit he did to me? Does he think four years was enough to clear the air between us, racing on this track like my life wasn’t entirely altered by the stunt he pulled?

Like he didn’t break me into pieces.

His bike is much newer and faster than mine, so I struggle to keep up. I’m sure he’s also kept up racing over the years instead of giving it up like I did, so he has an advantage over me.

When I start to creep up on him, he fishtails his back wheel, spraying snow all over me, and I growl angrily as I wipe it from my visor.

Dirty, cheating son of a bitch.

It’s clear I have no shot at winning, no matter how hard I try, so I give up and let him pull farther ahead of me as I idle my way through the track. I’m not going at a snail’s pace, but definitely not as fast as I used to go, because I didn’t fucking come out here to race. I just needed some goddamn air.

The end of the track comes into view, and my vision narrows on Taylor leaning against his bike, arms crossed like he’s been waiting for me. My hands are nearly frozen solid, but I don’t even feel it because I’m burning, boiling under my skin at the sight of him standing there nonchalantly like everything is cool.

I’ll lose it if I talk to him or see his face, and I can’t afford that right now with everything going on, so I pass him on my bike before bringing it to a stop. Swinging my leg off, I begin wheeling it through the snow toward the house without acknowledging him whatsoever, praying to whatever powers that be for him to stay where he is and let me go.

Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking do it, Taylor .

Snow crunches behind me as he starts to follow, and my body stiffens.

“Hey, Huck. Wait.”

Goddammit.

I keep going, mentally pleading that he gets the hint and leaves me the fuck alone.

But apparently, not much has changed about him in four years because his hand wraps around my arm as he tugs me to a stop.

“Will you please hold up a minute–”

Letting go of my bike, I whirl on him, planting my hands on his shoulders to shove him back and away from me. “What the fuck do you want, Taylor?”

He slips on the ice, falling flat on his ass with an oomph , and when he looks up at me in surprise…

I forget to breathe. To think. For an instant, when his ocean eyes meet mine, it’s like all the years between us are gone. I’m back in that pool, thrusting into his hand while he places kisses all over my lips and neck.

“Just wanted to say hi, man,” he grumbles as he slowly pulls himself to his feet, and I gape at him, taken aback.

“You just wanted to say hi.” It comes out slowly, my voice leaden with disbelief, because is he fucking serious? “You just wanted to say hi?!” I step into him, curling my lips over my teeth in a sneer. “That’s really all you wanted to say to me after all this time? ”

His jaw tightens as his eyes jump over my face, and I can’t help but notice the scar on his brow is less prominent now. Still noticeable but faded. Still complimenting his features. The midday sun glints off an ear piercing, which catches my attention briefly. But he says nothing in all these seconds I’ve had to make these little observations. Of course. Did I expect anything less?

With a scoff, I glare in disgust before returning to grab my bike.

“You broke your rule,” he shouts after me when I hit the backyard. “No fighting in Delaware, remember?”

I grind down on my molars as I force my legs to keep moving forward before I go back there to beat his ass. “Fuck you, Taylor.”

Once in the garage, I pull out my phone to text Logan.

Me: Did you tell Taylor I was gonna be here today?

I don’t know why he would. That makes no sense. He responds within seconds.

Logan: No?

Another angry growl works its way from my throat, and I shove open the door into the kitchen where Dad sits at the island, Maisie setting food on its surface.

“Did you invite Taylor over?” I ask sharply, trying to reign in my rage. They don’t know that he was the one who opened the curtain at prom. At least, I’ve never told them. Doubtful Taylor did, either.

Maisie’s eyes darken, and she frowns as she sits beside Dad. “He just showed up. ”

Something in her tone tells me that this isn’t normal for him and that he’s not welcome, which makes me pause. Despite how terrible of a person Taylor is...this is his mother. Pity is the last thing I want to feel for him, but I’m not heartless. As I’m looking at this house for the first time with adult eyes, it’s eerie how there’s no trace of Maisie’s son to be found here. But then again, maybe I just don’t know the whole story.

I sit across from them, and the backdoor opens as Maisie dishes some pasta salad onto my plate. All three of us look up as Taylor’s eyes run over my dad before landing on me, completely bypassing his mother. A snapback rests backwards on his head, and he slowly pulls off his leather gloves before stuffing them into his jacket pocket.

My attention catches on the heavily tattooed skin at the backs of his hands and fingers.

Hmm. I bet they look good wrapped around his cock—

What. The. Hell.

No.

Shut up, brain. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

I am not going to think of Taylor fucking Tottman in that way. Not anymore.

I can feel his eyes on my face, but refuse to meet them, instead focusing on the food in front of me. Rather than sitting down, he leans back against the counter and folds his arms, watching us eat. A tense atmosphere thickens the air.

Eventually, breaking the silence, he clears his throat and moves his irritatingly heavy gaze from me to my dad. “How are you feeling?”

I resist the urge to scoff and roll my eyes .

“I’ve been better,” Dad answers politely with a strained smile, and Taylor nods.

“I’m sorry to hear.”

To his credit, he sounds genuine, at least. More awkwardness follows.

“How is the show coming, Taylor?” Dad asks almost haltingly like he’s trying his best to make small talk, but it pains him. When Taylor shrugs, I glance between them with a frown.

“What show?”

Dad waves a hand through the air. “That monster truck show that happens every year in the city. What’s it called again?”

Taylor pauses. “Big BIC Energy Monster Rally.”

I choke on the water I’d just taken a sip of, wondering if I’d heard what I thought I did, and Dad slaps a hand across my back while I cough. Glancing up, I barely catch an amused grin stretching across Taylor’s face before he covers it with a hand.

“It's sponsored by the lighter. Christian and I do a joint performance every night during the run of the rally,” he says, clearing his throat before bringing his eyes back to mine. “You should come. Tonight and tomorrow are the final two shows until next year.”

I don’t engage, though my tongue is burning with questions as I look away. What kind of performance? It’s a monster truck rally. Does that mean he drives those now? Is that what he does for a living?

Why do you care?

Good question. I don’t.

“That’s good to hear, son,” Dad answers mechanically as if he’s going through the motions and not really listening .

“How is Salem?” Maisie asks, speaking to her son for the first time since he walked in the door. “She seems like a nice girl.”

My throat burns, and I take another sip of water to ease my resentment. Over the last four years, they’ve never asked about anyone I’ve dated. Not once. I’d mention a boyfriend over the phone or when they’d fly out to visit, but they’d usually either ignore it or change the subject. Ever since coming out, it’s like they pretend it’s not real. Not that I actually got to come out...more like I was forced out.

Taylor rolls his eyes at his mother, though only I notice because no one else is actually paying attention to him. “She’s good.”

“That’s great to hear. You’ve both been together a long time. Do you have any plans for marriage soon?”

Jesus.

I really do not need to hear about his love life. Not a conversation I want to be a part of.

So I begin to rise from my seat, wanting to be anywhere else but here, when Taylor’s following words make me pause.

“We aren’t together anymore.”

I glance up at him to find his gaze on me intently.

“We aren’t together,” he repeats firmly, and I sink back down with a soft scoff. Why do I care who he does or doesn’t date? Not my business. Don’t fucking care. I tell him all of this with my eyes, glaring at him.

It only seems to amuse him, though, and he raises his brows.

“That’s too bad,” Maisie responds. “You both were very cute together. ”

My scowl deepens at that, and the corners of Taylor’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, snagging my attention as I watch the way he pulls it in for a suck before releasing it, now red and plump. A memory plays in the back of my mind, my own teeth nibbling on that lip a lifetime ago, how soft it was.

Snapping my eyes back up to his, I find him looking at me with a knowing smirk, and I mentally kick myself.

Get it together, Huck . Damn.

“Actually,” he says slowly, holding my gaze, “Salem has been dating Logan.”

Wait... what ?

My lungs go still like I’ve stopped breathing. Like the earth momentarily stopped spinning.

“That’s a lie,” I state flatly, blinking rapidly. Because it has to be. There’s no way. Logan would have told me something like that.

Even Dad looks up with a frown. “His father didn’t mention anything like that to me.”

Taylor shrugs a shoulder. “Ask Logan yourself.”

Fucking bet.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I tap my messages and see Logan is still the last person I texted.

Me: Are you dating Salem???

Logan: ...where did you hear that?

Why do I even ask. Taylor, right?

Me: Is it true?

Logan: God, he’s such an asshole.

Look, I was going to tell you at lunch tomorrow.

Was even planning on bringing her with me.

Maisie, Dad, and Taylor are conversing about something, but I don’t pay attention. I’m fucking pissed. Betrayed. I’ve told him about every single relationship I’ve been in. Although I didn’t go into details, he always knew what was happening in my life.

Me: And this isn’t something you could have mentioned over the hundreds of calls and FaceTimes we’ve done? Really?

Logan: It’s a conversation I wanted to have in person because I knew you’d freak out.

Me: Oh in person, when? All the times I asked you to visit me and you made excuses?

My skin prickles with a rising tension from whatever Dad and Taylor discuss, but I can’t focus on that right now because I’m livid .

Logan: You weren’t exactly coming out here to visit me either, Huck. Let’s talk about this all tomorrow, yeah?

I won’t even bring Salem, it can just be you and me.

But keep this on the DL. My parents don’t exactly approve of her, so that’s why we’ ve been hiding it.

Me: Yeah, well so much for that. Taylor just dropped the bomb in front of my dad and Maisie during afternoon lunch. I’m sure your dad’s gonna get a call soon.

Logan: ...fucking hell.

Maisie’s raised, irritated voice brings me back to the conversation. “Really, Taylor, that’s just poor manners.”

“Manners?” Taylor scoffs, and my head snaps up to re-familiarize myself with my surroundings. “I wasn’t taught those, remember? You can take the boy out of the trailer, but you can’t take the trailer out of the boy, right?”

He’s leveling a glare at my dad, who drops his gaze, and Maisie looks beyond pissed.

Shit, what did I miss?

“What just happened?” I ask, frowning as I bounce my gaze between all three.

No one responds, and Taylor exhales sharply before reaching up to take off his hat and run a hand through his hair. The action causes his jacket to ride up, revealing a smooth patch of pale skin above the waistband of his jeans. I catch a muscled V and a dark trail of hair leading down before he lowers his arms again.

“I’m going to load up my bike,” he mutters, turning toward the door. His hand closes around the handle before he glances back at me over his shoulder, meeting my baffled gaze. “It was nice seeing you, Huck. You look good.”

And with that, he’s gone.

What the hell ?

You look good?

Turning to my dad with a frown, I see him staring at the table while Maisie gently rubs his shoulder. “Dad? What was that about?”

When his gaze rises to mine, I’m taken aback by the shame swimming in them.

“Let’s go into the garage and talk, son.” He sighs as he lifts from his seat, Maisie helping him stand. I follow him out but hesitate at the food still covering the table.

Maisie gives me a kind smile. “It’s alright, I’ll clean up. Go spend some time with your father.”

When I step out into the garage, I find him staring down at the 1970 Chevy Nova we’ve been fixing up, looking sad. We started working on it together when I was ten.

My chest tightens, and I reach up to rub it. “We’ll still finish it. Plenty of time left.”

It feels like a lie because I don’t plan on staying here any longer than I have to, but his expression right now is tying my stomach into knots. He throws me a small, knowing smile before turning toward the fridge in the corner. Opening it up, he pulls out two beers and offers me one.

I gape down at it for a moment, stunned. “I...since when do you drink, Dad?”

He chuckles as he pries off the cap with the edge of his wedding ring. “I’ve always drank, Huck. Just knew how to hide it.”

Dazedly, I take the beer, studying him like I’ve never seen him before. My mind runs through all the times growing up I might have seen him with liquor in his hand or witnessed him drunk, but other than wine on New Year’s Eve, I come up with a blank.

“I missed my chance at sharing a beer with you on your twenty-first, so we’re making up for it.” He plops down into a camping chair, taking a sip, and I sit opposite him.

“Does Maisie know?”

“She does...now. Not in the beginning, though.”

My entire world has just been rocked, but I take a swig and rest my arms on my knees. “So what did you want to talk about, pops?”

He stares into his beer for a long moment as if gathering his thoughts. When he finally speaks, his voice sounds gritty. “Did I ever tell you why I left the Priesthood, son?”

My body locks up, and I shake my head as I look away. “No. I just always assumed it was because of...what happened that night. At prom.”

Dad excommunicated himself a year after everything went down, and I carry so much guilt over it. He’s never come outright and said it, but I guess it’d be hard to be a Bishop when you have a gay son who tried to commit suicide. Bad for the image, right?

“I’ll be honest, that was part of it,” he admits, and it feels like a punch to the gut. Tears sting the backs of my eyes. He quickly shakes his head when he glances up and sees me trying to blink them away. “Not for the reasons you think, Huckslee. I failed my sons. Both you and Taylor.”

“What?” Curling my lip, I gaze at him incredulously. “How in the fu-” He throws me a look, and I correct myself. “How the heck did you fail Taylor? ”

Taking a long pull off his beer, a sight I don’t think I’ll ever get used to, he leans forward in his seat. “Something happened, Huck. A year after you left for California. Something I never told you, and I suppose Taylor never did, either, because you never asked about it.”

A sweat breaks out on my neck as he takes a deep breath and speaks.

And what he tells me has my blood boiling with rage.