Page 84 of Catch Me (Becoming Us #4)

“Okay,” Travis interrupted, tightening his arm around me.

“Can I say something?” I nodded. “I understand that you’ve had certain views for a long time, Mr. Valdez, but we’re talking about an unchangeable part of Roman’s identity, and you can’t debase his feelings.

Regardless of what you might believe, you can’t convince someone to be gay, you can’t turn them gay, and most importantly, you can’t change that they’re gay.

Accept it or not, this is who Roman is. I’d love to see you guys talk about this, and that might include anger, pain, and all of the things in-between, but I’m not going to stand for you belittling him and making him feel wrong when he’s spent his whole life feeling that way.

Your son is happy. Does that mean anything to you? ”

My dad got to his feet. “This isn’t right. This...” He swiped a hand down his face and laughed. “It’s one thing after another with you, Roman. If you would’ve listened to me and come to Idaho—”

“I’d probably be dead.”

They both looked at me, one with surprise and the other with immense sadness. I squeezed Travis’ leg and offered him a tight smile.

“I was on antidepressants,” I explained.

“And mood stabilizers meant to keep me from falling too far on the days I felt worse. I tried so many of them, and I thought I was just broken. I thought about dying. I wasn’t really suicidal, but I was apathetic.

If I crossed the street and got hit by a car or if I didn’t wear my seatbelt and got in a crash, I wouldn’t care.

If I went to Idaho and had to be around you all the time, I would’ve stepped into traffic or jumped off of a bridge.

I’m starting to think you’d rather I did that than be gay. ”

My dad shook his head, but he didn’t say anything. My chest was tight and my head pounded, but I couldn’t stop yet.

“Recently, I got off the meds.” I looked at Travis.

“That’s what Sen meant when he told you I’ve been going through something.

I’m not cured or anything, and I might need them again in the future, but I wanted to try managing it by going to therapy and being with people who accept me.

I wanted to live authentically and discover who I am.

It's been really fucking hard, up and down, but there are so many ways I feel better now, even when I’m in a bad place.

I’m better , Dad, and if that means nothing to you, then you might as well just leave because I can’t afford to have someone like you in my life to drag me back down. ”

He was breathing heavily, looking too angry for me to relax. “I want you to come back with me. Being here isn’t good for you.”

That was what made the dam burst. My temper flared, and I jumped to my feet. “Seriously? You’re just going to disregard everything I said.”

“My church can help you. They’ll pray for you.”

“I’m not going to your fucking church. I like Ross and his family.

That’s what it means to be a Christian, not whatever hateful bullshit they preach at your church.

This is my home, and it’s where my life is.

You think my art is such a waste of time and that I’ll never make anything of myself, but you’re wrong. You’re wrong . ”

I marched over to the small desk in the corner and grabbed a handful of papers. Tossing them on the floor, I pointed at the various sketches.

“Those are all for clients. Book characters, game characters, monsters. People hire me for these because I’m fucking good .”

“Amazing,” Travis corrected casually.

“You know what’s fucked up? When I used to show you what I made, you were dismissive. But then... Then you thought it was worthy of hanging on your fucking wall and you don’t even know it.”

“What are you talking about?” Dad asked.

I threw open a drawer in the desk and grabbed the sketches of the players. He took them tentatively and looked through each of them with a furrowed brow.

“The Atlanta fucking Braves, Dad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did!”

“You said you were doing a commission for them. You never explained what it was.”

“You never asked.”

“Your art is good, Rome.” His tone had softened, but then his gaze shifted to Travis, and his lip curled. “But you’ve lost yourself. Let me help you. Please.”

I snatched the papers from him and tossed them to the floor with the rest. “Get the fuck out.”

There was a hint of sadness in his eyes as he grabbed his jacket. “When you’re ready—”

“Get the fuck out,” I repeated. “I can’t do this with you anymore, so when you’re ready, you know how to contact me.”

“Rome—”

“Leave!” I shouted. I was on the verge of exploding, and for a second, I imagined how it would feel to take out my anger on him. He deserved it. But I deserved better for myself.

He shook his head before he headed to the door. It was almost anticlimactic after all this time. He just... left me, and for a moment, I couldn’t dare to breathe.

Not another word. Not a glance. Not a single moment spent trying to understand or accept me—this boy he’d raised but could somehow walk away from so easily .

I felt it, not just this time, but also when he’d left me behind a decade ago to start a new life, a new family. I’d never been enough. I never would be.

For a second, I felt so angry I couldn’t see straight. But suddenly, I was empty. Completely, utterly empty. My dad was gone, and there was no part of me that thought he’d ever see me as his son again. It was my worst fear given life, and every breath carried that bitter loss.

As soon as he was gone, Travis stood. I didn’t want to talk right now, so I retreated to the kitchen and poured myself another cup, even though I’d told him it was too late for this much coffee. It wasn’t like I’d sleep tonight anyway.

“Baby.”

Ignoring him, I took a long drink. It burned my throat, but I didn’t stop until it was gone. I set the cup down a little too hard, then dropped my elbows to the counter.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What are you feeling, then?”

“A lot. I didn’t let myself have any hope about this whole thing, but it still feels like dog shit.”

“Can I touch you?”

After a second, I nodded. He took my elbow and turned me to face him, then brushed his fingers through my hair.

“It’s not your fault,” he said firmly.

“I know. It just... All of that, and it was over so fast. What do I do now?”

“Let’s go out.”

“Out? I don’t want to do that.”

“Brooks told me about a rage room, and it sounds like the perfect way to spend our evening.”

I considered it, weighing our options. Staying in sounded like a good idea, but I’d probably just wallow if we did that. I’d sink into depression, which would probably happen regardless, but an outlet was a logical move. He was here for five days, and I wanted to enjoy all of them the best I could.

“Fine, but I might need to do it a few times. Or I’ll end up hitting you with a bat or something. ”

“That’s just rude. I’m the face of the Braves, you know. Threatening me could turn a whole state against you.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” I stopped, pulling out my phone. “How do you feel about inviting the guys?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I like you when you’re all codependent.”

“Shut up,” I muttered as I shot off a text.

I knew that all of us could use a good outlet. We were happy, every single one of us, but goddamn, we all had our share of fucked up shit that needed to be purged. At this point in my life, I was starting to understand that those things were better done together.