Page 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Justin

We’re still tangled together on Drew’s couch, my head resting on his chest while his fingers card lazily through my hair. The sun slants through his window, warming patches of my skin. Neither of us seems inclined to move, even though we probably should clean up.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this…peaceful. Like some tight band wrapped around my chest for years has finally loosened.

“How long have you known you’re attracted to men?” Drew asks. His voice is soft, his fingers still moving through my hair.

I instinctively tense but then force myself to relax. This is Drew. Drew, who just shared something incredible with me. Drew, who makes me want to be brave.

“I worked out I was attracted to guys when I was fourteen,” I say. “Though I spent a long time trying to deny it to myself.”

His hand stills in my hair. “Why?”

His voice is gentle, but something about the way he says the word gives it an odd weight.

I shift so I can look at his face. He’s studying me with whiskey-colored eyes, his forehead puckered like nothing is more important than understanding every bit of me, even the broken pieces.

“My stepfather…” I start, then have to stop to clear my throat. “I told you before how Bobby Ray had very specific ideas about what made someone a ‘real man.’”

Drew’s arm tightens around me. The warmth of his skin against mine gives me the strength to continue.

“I hero-worshipped him at first,” I say. “I was eleven when he started dating my mom, and suddenly, there was this larger-than-life guy who wanted to teach me football and took me fishing. Who made my mom smile in a way I’d never seen before.”

I trace my fingers along Drew’s arm, focusing on the solid reality of him as the words scrape their way out of my throat. “He seemed perfect. Made my mom feel like she’d finally found someone who’d take care of her after struggling alone for so long.”

“What changed?” Drew’s voice is quiet.

How to describe exactly how it happened? The slow change in Bobby Ray’s behavior, the way his smile tightened when I got excited about things he didn’t approve of, and how his praise always came with conditions attached.

It was like one of those magic eye pictures. At first, all you see is the surface pattern, the perfect stepdad doing all the right things. Then, suddenly, the image shifts, and you can’t unsee what’s really there: criticism disguised as concern, control masked as care.

“It was subtle at first. Comments about how the things I liked were too girly. How I was too sensitive.” The memories rise up like bitter smoke. “He told my mom I was too much of a mama’s boy, that I needed to toughen up to be a proper man.”

Drew swallows hard. His fingers resume their gentle movement through my hair.

“I had this snow globe collection,” I say, the words coming out rough. I can’t believe I’m telling him this, but I don’t know how to stop now that I’ve started. “They were nothing fancy, mainly from thrift stores or yard sales. But Mom and I would spend our weekends hunting for them. Each one felt like holding a tiny perfect world.”

Drew’s chest rises and falls steadily under my cheek as I continue. “My favorite was this ridiculous thing from Florida with flamingos wearing sunglasses. The glitter was bright pink. Mom found it at a church sale and saved it for my birthday because she knew I’d love how completely over-the-top it was.”

I have to pause, the memories suddenly too vivid. Drew’s hand slides down to rub slow circles on my back, and I use his touch to anchor me to the present.

“One day, I came home from school, and Bobby Ray was waiting. He’d found the box where I kept them under my bed.” My voice catches. “He said collecting pretty things was for girls.”

The crack of that first snow globe hitting the wall echoes across the years. “He made me watch while he smashed each one. Said he was doing me a favor.”

“You were just a kid,” Drew says, his voice tight with anger.

“Yeah.” I let out a shaky breath. “Mom tried to stand up to him, but by then… He had this way of wearing people down. Making them doubt themselves. Everything she did was wrong. She was too permissive, too emotional, too…everything.”

The familiar mixture of love and resentment rises in my throat. “Part of me is still so angry at her. I’m angry that she failed me when I needed protection.” The words feel like a betrayal, but they keep coming. “And I know she was also a victim in the whole thing, but she was the adult. She’s the one who chose to let him into our lives, not me.”

Drew shifts beneath me, his arms tightening around my waist. The gesture gives me the courage to continue.

“When I realized I was attracted to guys…” My voice drops to barely a whisper. “I’d lie awake at night terrified he’d somehow know just by looking at me. That he’d see something in the way I walked or talked or…” I have to swallow hard.

Drew’s fingers thread through mine, squeezing gently.

“I threw myself into dating cheerleaders. Being the perfect straight football player. I got so good at pretending that sometimes I forgot who I really was underneath.” My voice cracks. “Bobby Ray’s voice is still in my head sometimes, telling me what real men do and don’t do.”

Drew brings our joined hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles.

“He never got too physical. I mean, he belted and shoved me a few times, but it didn’t seem worse than what my friends got from their dads. It was more the emotional crap. Even now, part of me is waiting for him to appear and start listing all the ways I’m failing at being a man.” I let out a hollow laugh. “How pathetic is that?”

“It’s not pathetic,” Drew says fiercely.

I meet his deep-brown eyes. “It’s pathetic that I spent so long hiding who I really am,” I say.

“It’s survival. You did what you had to do to protect yourself.”

His words unlock something in my chest. I bury my face in his neck, breathing in his scent as years of carefully maintained control start to crack. Drew just holds me, one hand steady on my back while the other cradles my head, letting me shake apart in his arms.

For the first time since I was twelve years old, watching my tiny perfect worlds shatter, I feel like I’m safe to break.

Because someone’s finally here to help put me back together.