Page 37 of The Bro Date (Best Bros Forever #2)

She ignores him, aiming her fire at Shane next. “ And you . . . ” She eyes him up and down, making me extremely uncomfortable, but Shane only stiffens his spine, ready to take the blow. “The last thing I’d expect from you is to be gay.”

Is that supposed to be some sort of insult?

Like always, Shane doesn’t falter. “I’ve loved your son for a decade. It doesn’t really matter what you think, because with all due respect, Mrs. Livingston, I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll treat your son better than anybody else could—guy or girl.”

“I beg your finest pardon—” Mom gasps, pressing her hand to her heart and literally clutching her pearls.

“Now, now. Let’s all just take a deep breath,” my dad says, holding his hands up and trying to play the mediator for some strange reason. I guess he doesn’t want any drama to take away from the buzz he’s got going on. “Let’s not escalate this any further, Renée.”

“Don’t you dare , Matthew,” she spits at him. “You can’t tell me you’re happy about this? Our only son is a gay violinist instead of a successful real estate agent who's dating a beautiful, southern belle ready to birth our grandchildren.”

“A lot of families have to deal with this. It’s not uncommon, Renée,” my dad reasons, finishing off the last of his drink. “There’s always adoption.”

“I cannot believe you right now, Matthew,” Mom growls, wrinkling her upper lip and baring her teeth.

“Honey,” my dad pleads, “it’s not the end of the world. I promise.”

“ Stop! ” I shout, unable to bear sitting at this table and listening to them talk about me like I’m not even here.

“Can we just agree to disagree like we do with everything else about my life?” I can once again feel myself retreating into my shell like a hermit crab.

I’m ready for this evening to end. I don’t even want to stay for dessert, I’m so uncomfortable.

“I can respect that,” my dad says, “but just know, I don’t disagree with you at all. It’ll just take some getting used to on our end.” Then he changes the subject as if trying to move on from the inconvenience of me coming out. “So, Renée, what’s for dessert?”

“I don’t think we were done with this discussion yet, Matthew,” she says sharply, side-eyeing him with a pointed glare.

I stand from the table, interrupting this ridiculous conversation. “It’s not a discussion. I was simply letting you know,” I say bluntly, despite the heat rushing to my cheeks and the drum pounding against my ribs.

“Toby’s right,” Shane says, standing next to me and grabbing my hand to imbue some of his strength and resilience into me.

He squeezes my fingers tightly, letting me know he’s got my back.

“Respectfully, Mr. and Mrs. Livingston, it’s not your choice or your decision who your son is attracted to and dates.

And it certainly isn’t your choice who he falls in love with.

” He turns to me, whispering into my ear, but I’m sure they both hear.

“I think it’s time for us to go, butterfly. ”

My mother scoffs, rolling her eyes in disgust. “This is all your fault. You’ve poisoned my son since the day you met him. Public school was the ultimate mistake all along.” She storms off into the kitchen before we can say anything back.

“Listen, boys. I’m sorry for her reaction.

I think she may be in shock and slightly triggered.

But nonetheless, please get home safely.

I’ll try to talk some sense into her over dessert.

” He chugs his drink back, shaking his head and smacking his lips as he fights the burn.

“There was a time in college when I experimented with a man, and if I’m being honest with myself, I think about him often.

Renaldo, ” Dad purrs, and I nearly gasp in shock at his confession.

“Your mother knows this, and she’s always held some sort of resentment toward a man she’s never met. ”

He’s clearly drunk and spilling secrets that I really hope he doesn’t remember.

“I’m goin’ to make another drink,” he slurs, waving us off. “Have a good night.”

We’re left standing in the empty dining room alone, nothing but the repetitive ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

“Let’s go, Tobes,” Shane murmurs, wrapping his arm around me and hugging me tightly. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

It’s Sunday morning, and I can’t seem to shake off last night’s dinner with my narcissistic parents.

I was hopeful that a good night’s sleep might blur some of the details from my brain, but I can still picture my mother’s disgusted eyes.

The only thing she’s worried about is her own reputation, as if my being gay might tarnish it.

It’s bullshit, and it’s hurtful.

After my dad’s awkward, drunken revelation, I can see why she’s so bitter and he’s so absent.

I will never live in a loveless marriage where passion is dead and resentment thrives.

The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off is that I still need help paying for college, but dealing with them definitely isn’t good for my anxiety.

It’s become a routine of sorts—coming to the dock when I need to forget about my problems or take my mind off of things. Maybe routine isn’t the right word, more like a coping mechanism. But if I can forget about my mommy-daddy issues and practice violin, then it’s a win-win to me.

Shane’s at home, opting to study for his finals and give me some privacy.

He said if I wasn’t back in two hours, then he’d come looking for me.

But I didn’t want to talk about it last night, and I don’t want to talk about it today.

I’d honestly like to pretend that the entire dinner never even happened.

Towering cypress trees surround the lake, and morning sunlight shines through, shimmering against the calm surface of the water.

Sitting cross-legged at the end of the old dock, I rest my folded arms on the bottom slat of the railing, propping my head up on them and staring into the distance in an attempt to clear my mind.

I take a deep breath of fresh air and close my eyes for a moment, allowing my other senses to take over.

The cool breeze caresses my skin, and the warmth of the sun hugs my face.

Seagulls and mourning doves sing and chirp in the trees above me, their melodic songs only interrupted by the occasional splash of a turtle or frog.

My happiness is my own, and no one else's.

I repeat the mantra two more times before I open my eyes, stand up, and unclasp my violin case to get warmed up.

Today won’t be a “Pink Pony Club” kind of day, but instead a Ludwig van Beethoven day.

I need to practice as much as possible, and I decide to start with the second movement—the adagio—since it’s the most expressive and passionate.

I could really do with an emotional purge right now.

The lingering negative emotions from my parents have got to go.

Something about this particular part of the arrangement brings tears to my eyes, like I’m releasing all the anger, grief, and sorrow inside of me and opening up to love and happiness instead.

It’s a metaphor for my life right now, and boy, does it hit close to home.

I get lost in the music and in the movements, releasing everything built up and everything I’ve repressed.

My parents don’t deserve my worry or concern, and they certainly don’t deserve me . It’s their loss that they won’t be there to see me blow everyone away at the symphony.

Loud, slow clapping startles me, and I spin around, finding my boyfriend watching me from the other end of the dock, giving me a flashback to the last time we were here together, and I came out to him. Two months later, and now he’s my boyfriend.

I almost can’t believe it.

“Was that a sneak peek for the symphony next week?” Shane asks, slowly walking to me and making the wood creak under his weight.

“Yeah,” I murmur, packing up my violin. “I’m ready to get it over with, honestly. It’s kinda a lot of pressure.”

“You’re gonna do amazing, Tobes. Everyone who matters will be there to support you. Your friends, your boyfriend, and your grandparents.”

“I actually never heard from Gran and Bo,” I tell him, bringing back some of the stress I just got rid of. “I told them about it when I was down there for spring break, but I never sent them an official invite. My last text didn’t even go through. You know how spotty their cell service is.”

Shit.

That just opened a whole new can of anxiety worms.

He must see the panic on my face. “Don’t stress. Text me their contact info. I’ll handle it. You’ve got enough on your plate right now.”

“Thank you so much,” I breathe out in relief, looping my arms around his neck.

“That’s what boyfriends are for.” He slips his hands into the gap in my overalls, caressing my lower back between my cut-off shirt and underwear.

His long fingers creep lower, brushing over the top of my thong and making him groan when he feels bare ass.

Shane kisses my forehead tenderly, pausing his groping to check on me first. His dark eyes stare intently down at me. “Wanna talk about last night?”

“Not really.” It was an embarrassing disaster, and I’d rather forget it ever happened. “Just promise me we won’t ever become one of those bitter old couples filled with resentment and regret. Please, Shane. We can’t ever let that happen to us.”

“I promise. We won’t,” Shane says matter-of-factly, peppering zealous kisses all over my face. “Of course, we won’t.”

“Okay,” I say softly, trusting his words.

“Wanna go home and fuck?” he asks with an arched brow, his hand fully sinking down to squeeze and knead my ass.

My lip quirks at his candidness. I love how comfortable he’s gotten. “Yeah.”

Shane pops my G-string and hoists me over his shoulder, making me squeal loudly. “ Shane! ” I cry with a laugh, gripping onto his waist while hanging upside down. He grabs my backpack and violin case with one arm, keeping me steady with the other.