Page 249 of For the Fans

“Plead salvation with your body, Kyran. Loud enough that He can hear you.”

My eyes shoot open with my gasp, and I sit up in bed, glancing around the unfamiliar space.

Oh, right. I’m in a new hotel room… back in Boston.

Cambridge, to be exact.

I spent a month at that hotel in the Berkshires, seeing my counselor Anna and working through a lot of difficult stuff I’ve let fester for eight years. And after weeks of rough, emotional reconstruction, I decided it was time to come back to Boston. To do something very important…

Confront my parents.

Anna said I can keep seeing her over Zoom, or she can refer me to someone here, whatever I prefer. I still haven’t decided what to do, but I think I like the idea of sticking with her. Speaking face to face is cool, but I’ve already built a rapport with her. And as nice as the Berkshires are, they’re nothome.

It’ll be hard to be in the Boston area without seeing Avi. But honestly, I’m really fucking sick of being away from him, anyway.

My trauma will always be with me, no matter where I’m located. It’s a part of who I am, and as I’ve learned in these past weeks, I just have to make room for it inside myself. Work on acceptance, and giving myself the time and space to heal.

I want to do that with Avi.

At this point, the nightmares are already getting less scary. The rage and hopelessness are still there, but I’m learning to cope with it; I think because I’m no longer using all my energy to bury them with denial.

I’ve also been reading a lot, listening to music. I started meditating and doing yoga. The last five weeks have been like a form of rehab, to kick my habits of avoidance, and I finally feel ready to get back to life.

But mostly, I want to get back to Avi.I miss him like crazy.

Sliding out of bed, I wander into the bathroom. After splashing water on my face, I gaze at myself in the mirror… and I remember all the times I’ve done this. When I would stare at thestranger gazing back at me and wonder if I would ever recognize him again.

I don’t feel like that same, terrified twelve-year-old boy anymore, struggling to breathe over the knowledge of what had been done to him. Running my fingers through my hair, my lips quirk, because Ifinallylook like me again.

And I recognize this person, this real Kyran. I’ve seen flashes of him before.With Avi.

I blink at my reflection. “You deserve better parents. But you’re stuck with the ones you have. So you’ll go, say your piece, and close that chapter. No matter what happens, you’re here.Thisis you.”

Hours later, I’ve showered, dressed, and I’m heading downstairs to meet my parents for lunch. It’s almost crazy how difficult it was for me to get them both together in the same room. Even after knowing that I left school and home because I’ve been struggling so badly, itstilltook several texts and phone calls of convincing.

But eventually, they agreed to come to lunch at the restaurant in the hotel where I’m staying. I reserved a booth in the back for privacy, and it should be fine.

When I walk into the restaurant, the hostess looks up, and I just tell her I’m meeting someone, sauntering by and making a beeline for the back booth. I can see that my mother is already here, but not my dad.

Pausing, I take in a steady inhale, reminding myself that I can’t control how other people react to things. I can only control myownactions.

“Mom,” I murmur politely as I wander over, taking a seat across from her at the table. “It’s been a while…”

My mother gazes at me, smiling. Elena Harbor-McLaughlin is still a beautiful woman. Blonde hair, green eyes, fair features. She looks just like she did when she was still actively my mother,just with a few more lines around her eyes, and a sort of vacancy that only really popped up after my confession that tore our family to shreds.

“Kyran, sweetie… I’ve been so worried about you,” she says in her familiar tone, that of a waspy Boston wife with a rich husband. “Since your father’s company went under, I’ve been meaning to reach out to you.”

“Then why didn’t you?” My head cocks.

She looks momentarily uncomfortable, straightening the silverware on the table. “Kyran, you know it’s difficult between your father and me. All those bad memories…”

Ah, the making Dad out to be the monster routine. I remember it well…

“Mom, it would have been as easy as picking up the phone. Just beingtherefor me,” I rumble calmly. “But you weren’t. Not now, and definitely not back then.”

Her forehead lines. “Ky… I don’t…” She pauses to shake her head. “I don’t really know what to say.”

Folding my hands on the table, I lock eyes with her. “Oh, don’t worry.Ihave plenty to say. I needed amother. To protect me, and console me. Tell me everything was okay. But instead, you focused strictly on your shitty marriage and thendisappearedon me. Andstill, I’m always the one who’s expected to come to you. For holidays and occasions… I mean,Jesus. You didn’t even call me when I won the fucking Rose Bowl…”