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Von takes both of my hands in his. “Your parents are some of the worst people I’ve ever met, and I’ve met tons ofskit fans. Sorry, assholes.” He puts a slight bend in his knees so we’re eye to eye. “For having terrible parents, you are so happy and normal.”
“An act,” I reply.
“Stop deflecting.” Von squeezes my fingers, then lets go of my hand.
His ability to cut through my defenses is unnerving. “Thank you,” I say, and it feels inadequate for what he did for me tonight. I bite back questions regarding our kiss because I need someone to care right now, and I’m worried he’ll run again. Or toss me out on my ass.
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do. They forget I’m a person and not an abomination.”
His beautiful face softens. “I meant everything I said about you. You’re the type of person who will do anything for a friend. You thrive on caring for other people. But who cares for you?”
I’m struck silent.
“You’re efforts help the lives of less fortunate people. I admire that.”
“Careful, Viking, you’re talking again as if you like me.” I’m lightheaded as we laugh.
He gently pushes me back into the chair. “We need a drink.” He sets a bottle of Akvavit on the coffee table and pours us each a shot. Von hands me one and holds his in the air. “Skal!” He knocks it back. I drink mine, swallowing hard so I don’t cough.
“I hate them,” I admit. “They’re my parents, but I hate them.” It’s a relief to say it out loud.
Von pours us another shot. “Do not give your family that property. If your grandfather wanted them to have it, he would have given it to them.” We clink glasses and down another shot.
My grandfather was a safe place for me growing up. I’d go to his house after school and he never missed any of my hockey games. He was lonely after my grandmother died but never grilled me about why I hated sleepovers or didn’t have a girlfriend. He made me believe I was enough—vastly different from my parents.
“You’re right,” I agree and take a third shot.
“If you could do anything with the land, what would you do?” Von’s gaze pierces me and it’s hard to focus on his words and not his gorgeous face.
“Well I sure as hell wouldn’t give it to the sister who outed me to my parents and seemed happy when they shunned me.” The liquid swirls in my glass as I twist my wrist. “Honestly, I’d want a place similar to The Q so kids like me would have a safe place to go and understand that their bible spewing parents aren’t right.” This land could be my way of giving back to a community that needs so much help. An answer to so many problems.
“Cheers to that.” Von holds up another shot.
An hour later, I stumble into the bathroom and burst out laughing. “Von, you’re an evil genius,” I call out. Von has two different razors on the sink with two toothbrushes. He arranged it to give the impression I spend the night here often. I’m surprised my mother didn’t pull holy water out of her purse to bless the place. She probably thought it was a lost cause.
After I use the bathroom, I steady myself by sitting on his bed. The room is messier than the last time I was here. Von leans on the doorframe.
He’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You cannot handle your alcohol.” Von’s eyes twinkle, or maybe it’s a trick of light.
“I didn’t eat my dinner.” I lean back, trying to act casual, not drunk. “Did you mess up your room for my parents?”
Von sits next to me. “I picture you throwing clothes around your room, and your parents could not recognize your clothes.” He motions to the jeans, hoodie, and T-shirt on the floor.
“You’re extra.” My smile is so wide it might split my face.
“You’re welcome.” He bumps my shoulder and my arms collapse so I’m lying flat on my back.
“Can we stream something so I have time to sober up?” I turn my face, afraid all the thoughts in my head will scare him away. I hate when he avoids me, and I refuse to give him a reason to kick me out.
He drags me out to the couch, and we sit so close I lean into him. He’s warm and steady.
A man I know I can count on. I sigh, letting go of the tension of the night, and soak in Von’s closeness. My eyes grow heavy and my head falls onto his shoulder.
Butterflies by Abe Parker