Page 10

The tree outside Mason’s bedroom creaked as I nervously climbed down.

My sneaker hesitantly stepped on the next branch, and I exhaled in relief when it held my weight.

For a moment. A loud snap split through the early-morning silence.

The ground rushed up to meet me, leaves slapping my face as the world blurred.

I hit the flower bed with a heavy thump and tried to catch my breath.

I lay there stunned, looking up at the window I’d just snuck out of.

A few beats passed as I waited for his handsome face to appear—for that same coy smile he’d given me last night, a lure that would have me climbing right back up to him again.

However, it remained darkened despite my clumsy escape.

A dull ache radiated from my thigh as I gathered my bearings.

Standing up, I felt a tear in my jeans and looked down at the cracked garden gnome that’d broken my fall.

Last night had been a blur in the best possible way.

After we cleaned up, Mason had given me directions to his house in West Point along with a promise of what we’d do.

It was so spicy that I nearly beat him home.

There was still no sign of movement, and I grabbed my dirt bike from where I’d leaned it beside the tree.

Fucking gnome, I griped, steering my ride out of the backyard with a slight limp.

At least that had been the only mishap. Well, actually…

I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but I’d thankfully woken up before him.

It was obvious we were both dancing around each other’s feelings last night.

And it only made sense to bail before he kicked me out, even if Sawyer called this move “the Z-step.”

Once I was in the clear, I checked my phone for the time.

The screen read 5:53 a.m., and below that was a long list of texts and new-follower alerts from Instagram.

I could only guess these were all the people waiting for details about next weekend.

Which would require way more thought than I could muster now, especially after only a few hours of sleep.

If I even know what I’m doing.

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I kick-started the engine and took off down the street.

Guilt twisted in my stomach as I felt the creeping weight of the notifications.

Before it could fully strike, I reminded myself of what happened last night.

We’d accomplished Pride Day despite the curveball Mayor Buchanan threw at us.

What my father had thrown at me when I came out.

My hands gripped the handlebars in frustration as I approached a four-way intersection.

Ever since I figured out who I was, my father had been scaring me into submission.

If he’d had his way, the speakeasy wouldn’t have happened.

I wouldn’t have said anything at the square.

I wouldn’t have even come out. But with the promise of more speakeasies, it felt like I was finally facing that fear.

Slowing to a stop, I checked both ways and noticed familiar red writing in a salon’s window. Chapman Law stared out at me from the Family First poster. Memories of yesterday morning flooded my mind, and it only pissed me off more.

I steered my dirt bike over to the curb and threw down the kickstand.

The engine shut off, the sudden silence ringing in my ears.

I swung my leg over and marched toward the poster without second-guessing myself.

The message in red ink got louder with each step.

So loud I couldn’t hear anything else as I reached up and it tore off the glass.

Breathing heavy, I ripped it to shreds and threw them to the ground. Then I saw another one on the boutique next door. And on the store next to it.

Anger fueled me down the sidewalk, shredding poster after poster.

Each tear sounded like a cheer, applause, the whoops Mason had yelled last night.

Shredding the mayor’s strategy to win reelection felt like the ultimate fuck-you to this town and its hate.

To my father and the confines I’d been forced to exist in.

Because this was my fight too, just like Carmen had declared.

“Zeke, where have you been?”

My heart hammered against my chest as I jumped, banging my head on the window frame. One leg was still on the fire escape, the other on my bedroom floor. Damn it! Wincing, I turned to see Mom standing in my bedroom doorway.

“I, uh…” She crossed her arms as I searched for a fast excuse. There was no way in hell I could tell her the truth. It would only lead to yet another sex talk. Before seven a.m. After two injuries involving sneaking through windows. “I went out…for a walk?”

“All night?” she replied, her lips pursing. She knew she’d caught me in a lie. “Because you never came home, and I tried calling.”

“You did?” She nodded, and I grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t see a missed call in my notifications.” Because they’ve been blasting since last night.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she began as I slipped inside, “but isn’t your curfew eleven p.m.?”

“Is it?” I asked with an apologetic grin. “I thought with it being summer and—”

“Don’t you dare try to sweet-talk your way out of this like your father,” she said with a half-hearted scoff. “You’re not nearly as good at it as he is.”

I knew she was joking, but my chest deflated as I sat down on the edge of my bed. “Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling the ick of being compared to him.

“Where were you?” Before I could answer, she added, “You weren’t fighting again, were you?” She scoured my face for signs of a scuffle.

“No, I was with Sawyer,” I admitted, which technically wasn’t a lie. “We were working late with a QSA…meeting…and I accidentally fell asleep.” Another technical truth.

Seeming to buy it, she leaned against the doorframe. “He keeps calling me,” she said as she massaged her temples. “Because you keep sending him straight to voicemail.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, falling back across the bedspread. “One, nobody talks on the phone anymore. And even if I did…I blocked his number.”

“Zeke.”

“Mom.”

“He’s still your father.”

“I’m not his son,” I said, rolling over to look at her. “I want nothing to do with him.”

“Unfortunately, he’s in your life—”

“Until I turn eighteen next month.” She gave me a look that could have meant one of two things: I understand but cannot approve of your brave fight against that asshole, or it’s funny you’re about to be of age but still act like a child.

I shrugged it off and looked back up at the ceiling. “What did he want anyway?”

“He said he saw you at Pride Day yesterday.”

“I saw him there too,” I grumbled, remembering how he’d turned his back to me. “Being a total dickwad.”

“He’s worried about you.” Her words came out strained, and I knew she was fighting to be civil. “Especially after yesterday. Are you okay?”

“My head hurts,” I said. “And my leg. But that’s totally unrelated.”

“I meant with Pride Day being canceled.”

“Oh. That.” If the speakeasy hadn’t happened, would I be okay? Probably not, but I was definitely livid either way. “It was shitty how he was there to help cancel it. He’s big mad I joined the QSA and helped with Pride Day after him telling me not to.”

“He’s concerned about you, that’s all. Take it from me, he doesn’t do a good job of showing that he cares.” She frowned, breathing out heavily. “Look, I hate being put in the middle like this. He wants to talk to you. With your grades and college to think about—”

“That’s too bad.” I cut her off, and she shook her head sadly. “What?”

“Hun, you have to talk to him. He’s your father, and he has the right to be worried about you.”

“What about my rights?” I questioned. “This whole Family First bullshit he’s supporting?”

“I saw that on one of those posters,” she said, sadness filling her eyes.

“Someone hung one on the shop window downstairs.” The still-simmering rage had me up off the bed.

Ready to march down there and tear it down like all the others.

She held a hand up to stop me. “Don’t worry, I’ve already trashed it. ”

“Oh…”

I hesitated as she stepped farther into the room. She walked toward me and gave me a hug, my chin resting on her head. “Zeke, I’m sorry about what’s happening. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you better when you came out to us. I’m sorry it took me three years to finally do it.”

The trembles of her voice reverberated in my chest. “It’s whatever, Mom,” I offered, but she shushed me.

“It’s not whatever. ” Her tone was decisive as she pulled back to look at me.

As though she’d rehearsed this countless times.

“I thought I was nothing without your father, too scared of him leaving me to see how scared you were, and I won’t let that happen anymore.

You’re my son, and I’ll do everything I can to fight for you. Because I’m proud of you.”

“You are?” My voice came out in a whisper, and I was fearful she’d take it back.

She nodded as she wiped at her eyes. “Everything you’ve done with the QSA, even if they canceled your Pride Day celebration. You’re invested in something again, like who you used to be.”

“I’m nothing like him. ”

“You’re still the boy who helped me in the garage.

” She sighed softly, like she was remembering all those times it was just us.

“You cared so deeply about fixing things and working with your hands to put everything back together. That’s what I’m talking about.

That’s who I remember, not the young man your father tried to mold you into. ”

I thought of the spark plug I’d put on the dresser next to the picture of us.

It was proof that I was her son too. That part of me had been hidden away with all the others.

It was hard to remember with how my father’s loud opinions drowned everything else out.

I’d resented her for letting him push us around, but she and I were more like strangers now.

It felt like I was getting to know her all over again.

I could remember how she was as loud and rebellious as Zelda Fitzgerald, capable of fixing things too.

And she was trying to fix the past even though it was complicated. That had to count for something.

“Even though you’ve grown so much since then,” she continued, “you’re still just a kid, okay? You might think you’re tough, but bad things can happen if you aren’t careful, especially if you’re using a rusty old fire escape to sneak in.”

“I’m always careful, Mom,” I promised, despite the ache from falling that morning.

“That might be the funniest joke you’ve told,” she deadpanned, pointing a finger at me. “No more sneaking around.”

“Thanks, I try,” I said with a laugh to dodge her latter statement. Because the Pride speakeasies would require copious amounts of sneakery. There was a chance she’d understand why I wanted to do them. I couldn’t risk it, though.

“With that settled, how about I make us some pancakes?” My stomach immediately rumbled at the thought of food. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she surmised, pushing me toward the door. “Go wash up and—Hang on.” Her eyes lingered on where I’d landed on that gnome. “Why are your jeans ripped?”

“No clue,” I blurted quickly, backing into the hallway.

Last night had been fun. So had this morning with Mason.

But I didn’t want to explain any of the last twelve hours to her.

It finally felt like I was taking charge of my life, especially if it was pissing my father off.

Even more reason to start planning for next weekend.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket and fired off a quick text to the group chat.

QS-SLAY!

Zeke:

Meet tomorrow? We have to plan for Saturday