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Spencer shrugs at that. “Tell them it’s mine. I’m already wearing a scarlet letter for fucking my stepmom and having her baby. Trust me, the family won’t be surprised.”

Hugo grimaces. “It could be mine. I should accept responsibility—”

“It’s ours,” Aubrey interjects fiercely as Spencer huffs out, “Dad, don’t be a martyr.”

“A martyr?” Hugo clips out. “I can’t allow you and Aubrey to bear all the weight here. It’s not fair. The three of us have tangled ourselves in this beautiful mess. The least I can do is own up to my part in it.”

“Do you trust your father and your brothers? The whole Park family?” I ask, darting my gaze to each one of them. “Is it possible you could get support rather than shame?”

Hugo gives me a firm nod. “We Parks stick together. We always have each other’s backs.”

“It sounds like, to me, this baby is a cause for celebration then,” I say with a grin. “Why don’t I step away and allow you three a moment of privacy.”

As the three of them hug, laugh, and for Aubrey, cry, I feel lighter as I exit the library. This family—the whole lot of them—is a loving family. Sure, they have their fair share of secrets and shame, but they’re not without hope.

They may not be my family, but I feel a certain sense of pride at being at the center of helping bring them closer together. I will do my best to get each and every one of them to open up.

Jude may be my biggest challenge yet, but I have growing faith I’ll help him too.

Jude

I’m antsy and eager to talk to Tate again. After our interruption, he’s been busy all day. Dempsey’s been in the library with him for hours and it’s driving me insane.

I just want to drag Tate back upstairs to my special place, listen to records, and pet his cat together. I want to hear him talk and squirm uncomfortably at the way he makes me talk too.

I just want him.

That thought makes my lower belly burn hot. What exactly does that mean? Do I really find him attractive?

When I think about his pouty lips, my dick twitches. Okay, so yeah, I do find him attractive. It’s strange as fuck, too, considering I’ve never once desired another man like this. Sure, I’ve thought other men looked good. I kind of thought of that as how one would appreciate art. Everyone does that, right?

Or do they?

Have I been bisexual all along and never recognized it?

Perhaps. I never shied away from looking at the other guys in the gym showers when I played football. Mostly, I was curious about what size dicks they had to compare myself to them. Some of the most arrogant dudes on the team had tiny-ass cocks, which I always found amusing. We had this one guy on the team, though, Tim Gallagher, who I found particularly interesting. Gallagher was one of the smaller guys on our team, but he was hung. Biggest dick I’d ever seen in my life. I always wondered how big it actually got like when he was hard and ready to fuck.

Now that I’m actually analyzing things, I’m realizing maybe I wasn’t as straight as I originally thought I was. Back then, had Gallagher approached me, stroking his dick, I might’ve stayed for the show. Hell, I might’ve even been curious enough to see if I could wrap my large hand around his massive girth.

Right.

So definitely not straight.

My attraction to Tate feels similar to the Gallagher thing. I’m curious, but much more aware. Maybe it’s because now I don’t have Serra to distract me. She was always pushing for sex and who was I to deny her? I wonder if I’d have realized I was bisexual a lot sooner if she hadn’t been there back then.

Not that it matters.

Realizing my sexuality is a moot point. I’m not the guy I was back then. I’m the reclusive freakshow Park who hides away in the shadows, a slave to his past failures. I’m not the kind of guy who pursues anyone—much less a guy—in a romantic way.

Why not?

My brain demands an answer and my heart is quick to lash back.

Because you don’t deserve love, remember?

Bitterness rears its ugly head. These new feelings for Tate, like my conversation with Baker, are only a reminder of what I can’t have. It sucks—really sucks—but it’s the hand I’ve been dealt.

My phone buzzes and I break from my melancholic thoughts to see who’s texting me.