Page 37

Chapter 37

RYLAN

T he rehab facility's number stares up at me from my phone screen. I've been sitting in my car in the practice facility parking lot for twenty minutes, watching the sunrise and trying to find the right words.

There aren't any. Not really.

My hands shake slightly as I dial. Two rings, then the now-familiar voice of the front desk coordinator. "Oceanview Recovery, how may I direct your call?"

"This is Rylan Collings. I'd like to speak with Roger Collings please."

"One moment."

The hold music feels surreal - some soft jazz version of a pop song I vaguely recognize. Like this is just another call, not the moment I'm about to change everything.

"Rylan?" Dad's voice sounds clearer than it has in years. "Everything okay, son?"

"Yeah, I..." My throat closes up. "How are you?"

"Good, actually. I just finished morning meditation. Still feels weird, all this mindfulness stuff, but..." He trails off. "You sure you're okay? You sound strange."

"Dad, I need to tell you something." The words come out in a rush. "And I need you to just... listen. Okay?"

A pause. Then, softer: "Okay."

I take a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel with my free hand. "I'm gay."

The silence stretches for one heartbeat, two...

"I know, son."

My breath catches. "What?"

"Your mother..." His voice catches slightly. "She knew. Said we should wait until you were ready to tell us. But then she... and Nick..." He clears his throat. "I didn't handle any of it well."

"Dad..."

"Let me finish." There's a strength in his voice I haven't heard in twenty years. "I failed you, Rylan. After we lost them, I was so caught up in my own grief, my own guilt... I couldn't be what you needed. Couldn't create a safe space for you to be yourself."

Tears burn behind my eyes. "It's not your fault-"

"Some of it is." He sighs heavily. "But I'm trying to make amends now. Part of this recovery process is facing hard truths, and the truth is... I've known for a while. Just didn't know how to talk about it. Shit, I haven't been able to talk about anything real for as long as I can remember."

"How long?" My voice is barely more than a whisper. "How long have you known?"

"You remember that summer after Nick died? When you stopped dating that girl?" A soft exhale. "The way you looked when people asked about her... it was the same look your mother used to get when she was trying to protect someone she loved."

My chest feels too tight. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Christ, Rylan, I could barely say anything about anything back then." His laugh holds no humor. "And then your mother..." He stops and clears his throat. "Well. Let's just say alcohol became a very effective way to avoid conversations I didn't know how to have."

"Dad..."

"No, listen. Please." There's an urgency in his voice now. "I need to say this while I'm clear-headed enough to say it right. Your mother... she was so much better at this stuff. She knew how to create space for people to be themselves. After we lost her, I just... I failed you, son. Failed you both."

Both. Nick and me. The acknowledgment of that dual loss makes my eyes burn.

"Is there..." He pauses, and I can hear him choosing his words carefully. "Is there someone? Someone making you happy?"

Jamie's face flashes through my mind - his gentle smile, his patient understanding, the hurt in his eyes at yesterday's press conference...

"Yeah," I manage. "But I... I might have screwed it up."

"By trying to protect everyone else?" His voice is knowing. "By being the responsible one, like always?"

A sound escapes me that's half laugh, half sob. "Something like that."

"You know what I'm learning in here?" The rustling suggests he's settling into a chair. "We think we're protecting people when we hide parts of ourselves. But really, we're just... what did my counselor call it? 'Preemptively rejecting ourselves before others can do it.'"

"Sounds expensive," I joke weakly.

"Worth every penny if it helps me connect with my son." The raw honesty in his voice makes my throat tight. "Rylan... I know I haven't given you much reason to believe this, but... I love you. All of you. Even the parts you've been afraid to show me."

I sit in my car long after the call ends, watching the sun climb higher over the practice facility. Something has shifted, fundamentally and irrevocably. The walls I've built, the perfect control I've maintained - they don't feel like protection anymore. They feel like prison bars.

In a few hours, I have to face the team. Have to decide if I'm ready to be as brave as Jamie, as authentic as Nick, as accepting of myself as my father is trying to be.

And for the first time in my life, the answer feels simple.