Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
He looks down at himself and recoils. “Oh, god, I didn’t know that was there.” He jumps up and rips the shirt off, looking like he wants to burn it.
“Throw it away. I’ll buy you a new one.”
He runs into the kitchen, jams it into the garbage, and grabs a clean shirt from the laundry. When he comes back, he looks slightly more composed.
“Yes, that was his blood,” he says, sitting back down with his chin in the air. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t punch an asshole in the face.”
“Good for you,” I say with a smile but quickly stop grinning. “Although you know you’re not supposed to fight, right?”
“I know, but—”
“But I’m glad you hit him. The kid sounds like a real asshole. Just try not to do it again.”
He stares at me then bursts out laughing. I smile with him and this is probably not the best way to handle this situation—I definitely shouldn’t condone violence—but I can’t help myself. My little brother is dealing with coming out, finding himself as a gay man in a world that’s more accepting than it was but still not perfect, and on top of that dealing with all the other crap teenage boys have to deal with.
It can’t be easy, and I’m happy he’s standing up for himself.
We sit and watch the movie for a while. I order the pizza, make some popcorn, and by the time the Ninja Turtles find themselves halfway through the movie and looking like things aren’t going good for them, there’s a loud banging at my door.
I get up and go check it, figuring the pizza’s here and the delivery guy’s just a little rude. Instead, when I look through the peephole, the man standing on the other side of the door makes my heart nearly stop.
I stagger back and look at Max. He looks at me, head tilted to the side with a quizzical frown on his lips. “Go to your room.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just go.”
He stands and listens. He must see the utter panic in my eyes. I grab my phone and text Baptist. Need your help. Come over, please.
I don’t wait for a reply because the banging comes again.
This time, I compose myself, and pull open the door.
My father’s standing there, looking like he wants to tear my face off.
Chapter 14
Blair
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
My father glares at me like I’m a puddle of talking ooze.
“I’m certainly not in the neighborhood for pleasure.” He looks around at my perfectly fine apartment building like I’m rolling around in squalor. “How do you live in this place? It’s beneath you, Blair. I thought you were well-compensated at Drake.”
“I’m not with Drake anymore, and I don’t need your opinion.”
“Yes, I know, I heard about you quitting.” He walks past me and strides into my apartment. I want to tell him to fuck off and go away but this is Alexander Webb, the man that has tortured me and bullied me and told me over and over that I’m not worthy of his love for years and years and years, and even now I find the old feelings creeping back in.
The desperation. The desire to make him happy. He’s my father and it’s hard to shake that little kid in me, the little girl that looked up to her daddy like he was the greatest man alive.
I know better now, but that girl is still inside of me, buried by the years.
He looks old. His hair is thin and gray. His beard is patchy and longer than I remember. He’s wearing jeans and a nice sweater from some fancy boutique, and he’s nicely tanned like he’s been out on his boat again. His dark eyes scan over the popcorn and linger on the TV paused in the middle of the movie, and I know he recognizes the movie.
“Where’s Max?” he asks casually.
“Hiding in my room.”
“His school called me. I told them to speak with you but then I came down to check on him. I thought you were supposed to be looking after him, Blair, and yet—”
“I am looking after him.” Anger flares in my chest. “Do you know what happened?”
“I know my boy got into an altercation. I’ll admit, it’s very embarrassing. I send him to a good, quality private school so that we might avoid these sorts of situations.”
“It wasn’t his fault. And anyway, why the hell do you care? Max is living with me because you’re too busy to deal with him.”
Dad doesn’t seem bothered by that, probably because it’s true. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at me like he’s studying me for the first time in a while. I’m very aware of my messy hair, my simple clothing, the bags under my eyes, the stress lines on my forehead. Everything about my appearance will be noted, catalogued, and used against me in some form by my father before this conversation is over, and I already want to scream in his face.