Page 24 of Captivated (Salvation #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Zeeb would’ve laid money that he’d demolish every mouthful of supper within ten minutes, but the food tasted like dust, and there was a lump in his throat that made swallowing difficult.

He knew what lay behind it.

Whatever Nate was about to spill, it threatened to be a shitstorm of epic proportions, and despite his claims to be ready to hear it, Zeeb’s stomach clenched at the thought of someone hurting him and trying to claim it was out of love.

Especially after he’d done a little research. What he found made Zeeb’s blood run cold.

How the fuck can this kinda thing be goin’ on?

What amazed—and shocked—him was the number of states in the US that hadn’t banned these practices.

God only knows what they did to Nate.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but if Nate had the guts to share it, Zeeb would have the courage to listen and be there for him.

Nate’s steady breathing yanked him back into the present. The sun was setting, and the nocturnal creatures were gearing up for a busy night, a chorus of peeps and other sounds gradually gaining in volume.

Nate seemed calm, his legs stretched out in front of him, his gaze locked on his boots, but Zeeb had a feeling there was a lot going on under the surface.

“I’ll say it again. You don’t have to tell me a goddamn thing, not if it messes you up.” An out for Nate if he needed one.

It was also an out for him.

Nate shuddered out a breath. “I thought about this all the way here. And I decided bringing it all out into the open might be a good thing. If I’m going to put it behind me, then I need to face it head-on.

That means telling people what happened.

” He raised his chin and glanced at Zeeb.

“And if I’m going to do that, then you’re the obvious choice. ”

Warmth crept through him. “Sounds like you trust me.” That was a big fuckin’ deal and Zeeb knew it.

“More than anyone I’ve met in a long time. There are three people in this world that I’d consider myself close to.” Nate managed a half smile. “You’ve become number four.”

Zeeb’s chest swelled. “Good to know.”

Nate’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You think you could bring me a glass of water?”

Zeeb stood. “I’ll bring two. My throat’s pretty parched.

” He gazed at the remains of their supper.

“I don’t think either of us did that justice.

” He went into the cabin, filled two glasses, and returned to the porch.

After handing one to Nate, Zeeb resumed his seat.

He took a long drink, but even after that his mouth was dry as a bone.

Nate sat up, his elbows on his knees. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”

“Which is when?”

“Growing up.” Nate shivered. “Where this story really starts is with my dad.”

“Was he anything like mine?”

“Based on what you told me, I think you came off better than I did.” He paused. “I’d always known my family was pretty strict when it came to religion. And Dad was the kind of person who demanded obedience and conformity.”

Zeeb’s gut twisted. “You’ve only just started, and already I know I’m not gonna like the ending.”

“When I was little, I was always more interested in drawing and painting than the kind of pursuits Dad wanted to impose on me.” He took a mouthful of water. “I guess I was a gentle little boy, and Dad saw that as a sign of weakness. And he took his frustration out on me.”

“Emotionally or….” Zeeb’s heartbeat quickened. Please, tell me he didn’t hurt you.

“Yes, but physically too, especially when I didn’t meet his expectations of how a boy should be.”

Zeeb clenched his hands into fists. “And where was your mom while all this was goin’ on?”

Nate’s face tightened. “She… she kept her distance. I don’t know if that was out of fear or because she was like him. Either way, my home should’ve been my sanctuary, and it was anything but that.” Another drink. “But the shit really hit the fan when I was nine years old.”

“What happened?”

“I hung out a lot with Bethany, our neighbor’s little girl, about the same age as me.

They had a farm, and I used to play there a lot.

” He swallowed. “Until the day my dad came to see where I was, and found me playing dress-up—in girl clothes. Bethany had a trunk full of stuff she liked to put on.” He expelled a breath.

“You know, I can’t even remember what game we were playing that day, who we were pretending to be.

It’s as if the whole episode has been wiped from my mind.

” He shivered again. “It was innocent fun, but that wasn’t how Dad saw it.

He said I was straying from the path . A day or so later, Dad took me on a trip. ”

“To a conversion therapy camp?”

Nate gaped at him. “How did you?—”

“Sol put two and two together,” Zeeb told him.

Nate said nothing for a moment. “Smart man. It was a nightmarish place—and it still shows up in my nightmares—where they subjected me to intense psychological abuse, intended to ‘cure’ me of what they called my ‘deviant tendencies’,” he air-quoted.

Zeeb’s chest tightened. “How long were you there?”

Nate’s eyes were full of misery. “Six years.”

Holy fuck.

“Surely they let you go home now and then?”

“I went home a couple of times. They sent me back.” Nate took a deep breath.

“I’ve done a lot of research on such places the last few years.

Typically, conversion therapy camps aimed at changing sexual orientation or gender identity don’t come with breaks or periodic returns home, especially if they’re extreme in nature. ”

“And yours was?”

Nate made no attempt to respond.

Zeeb’s rage went from simmering to boiling. “I repeat—where was your mom while all this was goin’ on? She just left you there?”

“Apparently her belief I needed therapy was just as strong as my dad’s.

I think that last visit home was down to her, though.

When it became obvious my dad felt I hadn’t made enough progress for his liking, or maybe my behavior didn’t meet with his approval, he sent me back and she didn’t raise a finger to stop him.

” Nate’s face contorted. “All of which reinforced the notion that I was broken and in need of fixing.”

Zeeb wanted to pound someone into the ground. Several someones, starting with Nate’s parents. “So eventually they fixed you and sent you home?”

Nate shook his head. “I ran away from the camp when I was fifteen. I hitchhiked my way to a nearby city, where I wandered the streets until I was picked up by the authorities. By that point, I’d made it as far as Idaho.”

Zeeb’s admiration for Nate’s resilience knew no bounds.

“They put you through hell, didn’t they? We’re talkin’ physical and psychological abuse. I did some research too, after Sol spoke with me this morning.”

Nate nodded. “All in an attempt to reshape my identity. We were under constant surveillance, where any sign of non-conformity, even the smallest gesture or expression, was met with punishment, shame, or manipulation.” He snorted.

“‘Mental conditioning’, they called it, designed to convince me my natural inclinations were wrong, sinful, or deviant.” Nate swallowed.

“They employed what they called tough love , coupled with religious guilt and emotional manipulation to try to erase any trace of who I really was.” He shivered.

“When the authorities picked me up, it was a moment of both relief and fear. Relief because I was free, but fear because I had no idea how the system would treat me. Would they understand my history? Would they care? Would they send me back to my dad? Or the camp?”

“They didn’t, did they?”

Another shake. “There was a woman at the precinct. She wasn’t a cop, but I got the idea she dealt with a lot of kids.

She took me to a youth home, full of kids who had no place else to go.

One thing they all had in common? They were all LGBTQ.

The place was run by a gay couple, Owen and Simon. That’s where I met Derek—Dad.”

Zeeb couldn’t stay in his seat a moment longer. He got up and went over to Nate’s chair, crouched in front of it, and took Nate’s hands in his.

“You’re one hell of a survivor, you know that?”

Nate huffed. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve been in therapy ever since I got out of that godforsaken place.”

“But you’re here,” Zeeb protested, tightening his grip on Nate’s hands. “You haven’t given up. You’re fightin’ it, and that’s fuckin’ awesome.”

The feel of Zeeb’s rough, callused hands on his was a welcome sensation. Nate made no attempt to pull free.

“Can we talk about yesterday?” Zeeb’s voice was low, and it didn’t feel as if he was pushing.

Mark’s sweet face rose in his mind, and he swallowed.

“I went to see someone,” he said. “Or their parents, anyway.” He took a breath. “I met Mark Omerod in the camp. He was the one that guest was talking about, the one who… who killed himself. A couple weeks ago, apparently, but it only hit the Ontario news yesterday.”

Zeeb’s breath caught, sharp and quiet.

“Jesus.” Zeeb rubbed the back of Nate’s hands with his thumbs in slow circles, and it was kind of soothing. “Nate, I’m?—”

“Don’t—” Nate blurted. “I mean, thanks. But don’t say you’re sorry. Everyone’s sorry, but that doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring him back.”

Zeeb nodded. “All right.”

They sat in silence. A hawk cried out overhead, then faded into the hush of dusk.

“I keep thinking about the last time I saw him,” Nate said quietly. “He was sixteen, and he’d been there two years. Whatever they were doing to him, I remember he cried the whole time. They said he was faking. Weak.”

Zeeb didn’t flinch, didn’t press, but simply listened.

“I told him to hang on. That it’d end eventually. That we’d get out.” Nate’s voice cracked. “I was wrong.”

Zeeb gazed at him, something raw and aching in his eyes. “You survived.”

“I don’t know if that counts,” Nate whispered.

“It counts to me.”

The words hung there between them, fragile but real.

Zeeb didn’t move right away. He didn’t speak. But Nate could feel the shift in him, like the moment before a storm breaks, charged, silent, too big to name. He watched the side of Zeeb’s face in the dying light, the way his jaw tightened, the flicker in his throat when he swallowed hard.

“You know what the worst part is?” Zeeb said at last, his voice low and gravel-thick. “I thought I’d been angry before. Thought I knew what it felt like.” He let out a ragged breath and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “But I didn’t. Not until right now.”

Nate blinked. “Zeeb?—”

“No. Don’t. Don’t try to soften it.” He turned, his eyes bright and wet. “You were kids, Nate. Just kids. And they put you through that? Made you feel like you were the broken one?”

Nate opened his mouth, then closed it. Zeeb wasn’t looking for answers.

“Fuck,” Zeeb whispered. He released Nate’s hands, his own curled into fists resting on his thighs.

“I keep thinking about you, scared, trying to hold it together for someone else. Trying to be the strong one, even then.” He shook his head, the motion fierce and bitter.

“I should’ve known. Should’ve seen it sooner.

I saw the way you flinched that first week, the way you looked at everything like it was gonna bite you.

And I thought… Hell, I don’t know what I thought.

That maybe you were shy. Or just tired.”

“I was tired,” Nate affirmed quietly. “I still am.”

Zeeb’s throat worked, as if he were holding something back and losing the fight.

“You’re not tired because of who you are. You’re tired because they broke something they had no right to touch.”

The anger in him wasn’t clean. It was rusted through with grief, heavy and human.

“And now this kid, this friend of yours…” Zeeb’s words caught on the edge of a sob. “He doesn’t get to grow up. Doesn’t get to make it out. Doesn’t get to be .”

Nate nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Zeeb wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “I didn’t know him. But I hate them for what they did to him. I hate them for what they did to you.”

The silence returned, thick and aching.

Zeeb drew in a breath. “I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay. ’Cause I know better. But if you ever feel like you’re drowning, I want you to look to me, all right? I want you to remember I’m not going anywhere.”

Nate’s throat tightened. He hadn’t cried in years where anyone could see, but the burn behind his eyes threatened now.

“I don’t know what to do with all of it,” he admitted. “The guilt, the memories. Him.”

Then the breath whooshed out of him when Zeeb hauled him to his feet and enveloped him in a hug, Zeeb’s cheek rough and warm against his. Nate wanted to protest until he realized how fucking good it felt to be held by someone.

“You don’t have to know,” Zeeb murmured. “We’ll carry it together, if you let me.”

His words sank in, heavy, terrifying…

Healing.

Nate gave a tight nod. “Okay.” His voice cracked. Then Zeeb let him go, and Nate wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He sat back down, but Zeeb didn’t move from his side, his hand covering Nate’s, and Nate was thankful for the connection.

“One thing I don’t get. They kept you for all those years just because your daddy caught you in girl clothes?”

Nate barked out a bitter laugh. “That was how it started. The irony? It took my experience at the camp for me to acknowledge something I hadn’t really understood until then. Meeting Mark.” He looked Zeeb in the eye. “That was when I knew for the first time— truly knew—I was gay.”