Page 23

DEAN

I woke to the sound of someone pounding on the front door.

It took me a second to remember where I was—Harry’s bed, his arms still wrapped around me, warm and safe. The light coming through the curtains was soft and gray, early morning.

But the knocking kept coming, loud and fast, rattling the whole house.

“Harry!” someone shouted. “ Harry, open the goddamn door! ”

Harry jerked awake at the same time I did, blinking hard, already sitting up. The clock on the nightstand read 6:02 a.m.

I reached for my underwear, pulling them on as fast as I could. Harry was already out of bed, tugging on his own pair of jockey shorts. He looked back at me, eyes wide, but all he said was, “Stay here.”

I wasn’t going to.

I followed him, barefoot, heart pounding, stomach turning sour with dread. The way that voice had sounded—sharp, worried, angry —I already knew.

It was my dad.

Harry reached the door and yanked it open—and there he was.

Dad.

I’d never seen him so distraught, standing there on the porch, hair a mess, his face flushed and tight with worry.

“Harry, I need your help. I’ve been calling Dean all night. But he’s switched off his phone and he didn’t come home. I need you to help me find him, I need—”

“Andy, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” Harry blinked, voice rough with sleep. “Dean’s fine.”

“I know you think that. I know he’s a big boy now. But he’s still my kid. Look at all the shit and chaos that comes with being famous, all that craziness with the concert. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I’ve never really thought about what happens out there in LA, and that’s on me. Maybe I need to be a better father. But now that I have seen it, all that fame shit, it terrifies me. God only knows where he spent last night—”

Suddenly his words stopped dead.

His eyes had drifted past Harry, down the hall, landing squarely on me…

Standing there, in nothing but my underwear, hair a mess…

Heart in my throat.

For half a second, I saw it—the relief. The easing in his face when he saw I was okay.

Then confusion.

Then realization.

And then—

Dad’s eyes darted back to Harry, his jaw clenching so hard I could see the muscle working beneath the stubble.

“What the fuck ?” he snapped, stepping forward, jabbing a finger hard into Harry’s chest. “You wanna tell me what the actual fuck is going on here?”

Harry held his hands up, trying to calm him. “Andy—just listen—please, let me explain—”

Dad shoved past him into the house, eyes blazing, steam practically coming off him. “No. No, fuck that. Tell me right now—why the hell are you two standing there in your underwear like you just spent the night fucking?! ”

“Dad—” I started, stepping forward, voice shaking, but it didn’t matter. He was already working it out in his head, the pieces snapping into place whether we wanted them to or not.

“How long?” he hissed, glaring at me now. “How long’s this been going on? How long have I been stupid enough to think that I could trust my best friend with my son?”

“Dad, it’s not like that?”

“Oh no? Then what is it like? Tell me. Tell me everything. Because this looks like something I don’t wanna know about. This looks fucked up on every level.”

Harry moved between me and Dad, steady, palms out, voice calm but strained. “Andy, I swear—we were going to tell you. We didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“Tell me what?” Dad shouted, eyes wild. “That you’ve been fucking my son?”

“Dad, we’re not just… messing around,” I said, my throat so tight the words barely made it out. “We love each other, Dad.”

Harry nodded beside me, his voice soft. “We’re in love.”

Dad stared at us like we were speaking a language he didn’t understand.

“ Love? ” His voice cracked on the word. “Jesus Christ, Dean—you couldn’t find anybody else? You had to go and spread your legs for him? For my best friend?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

Harry shook his head, desperate. “Andy, please—”

But Dad was already moving. His hands balled into fists, chest heaving.

“Andy—wait—” Harry tried reaching out a hand, but Dad’s fist came fast and hard.

The punch cracked against Harry’s jaw, knocking him back to the floor with a sickening thud.

“ Harry! ” I dropped down beside him, grabbing his shoulder. “Harry—Jesus, are you—”

He touched his lip, wiped away a smear of blood, then sat up slowly, blinking through it. “I’m okay,” he breathed.

Dad stood over us, glaring down, breathing hard, his face twisted with something between heartbreak and rage.

“We’re done,” he spat at Harry, voice shaking. “You and me—we’re done. ”

Then he turned that same look on me—his eyes hard, his mouth drawn so tight it looked like it hurt.

“As for you… son … I don’t even wanna look at you right now.”

The words knocked the air clean out of me.

“Dad—”

But he was already gone.

Storming out the door, slamming it behind him so hard the walls shook.

The house fell dead quiet, except for my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

I sat there on the floor, my hands still on Harry’s shoulder, the sting of Dad’s words cutting deeper than I could’ve ever imagined.

We’d wanted to tell him.

Just… not like this.