Page 37 of The Substitute

Ambrose sucks in a deep breath, and I run my nose up his throat, loving the power it gives me to know I’m turning him on. He drops his head back to the wall, giving me more room. I press my lips to his skin, and his phone rings. We both freeze, and he’s immediately tense.

He grits his teeth and removes his hand from my shirt.

“I have to answer that.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.

I scramble off his lap, and he gets his phone. With an angry jab of his finger, he answers it.

“Yes?”

He paces the room, shoulders tight and jaw clenched. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. When Savage is here, he gets frustrated, but this is a different level of angry. Who the hell is he talking to?

“No. I’m not.” Venom drips from his tone. “You don’t control me anymore. You have no say in what I do.”

There’s yelling on the other side of the phone, but I can’t understand what is being said.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

What the fuck?

I eye my bed, looking for my phone. Do I need to call the police? Is someone threatening him? Should I text Savage and ask him? Maybe it’s a family issue?

As the minutes tick by, I’m pretty sure he’s talking to his father, and it enrages me. No parent should talk to their child like this, I don’t care how old they are. I have the urge to call my dad and thank him for not being an asshole. My mom too, now that I think about it. I might feel like I live in my brother’s shadow, but at least it’s not this.

“Fuck off, Father.”

Ambrose tosses the phone onto my bed and stands with his hands in his hair for a long minute. I don’t know how to comfort him. Do I go to him and give him a hug? Do I wait for him to calm down first? How did he know what I needed when I was freaking out?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

With a heavy sigh, he sits on the bed next to me and hangs his head.

I reach out to put a hand on his back like he did for me, and he leans into it. Maybe a hug is what he needs?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He barks out a humorless laugh. “No.”

“Do you want a hug?” That sounded awkward as hell. Ugh.

His eyes meet mine, and he looks so sad, so beaten down, that I pull him into me and wrap my arms around him. I’m pressed against the bed in the next moment with his face in my neck and both his arms around me in a tight hold, but I don’t mind. Remembering how he calmed me, I run one hand through his hair and one over what I can reach of his back.

“Every thought I’ve ever had was beat out of me before I even knew what free will was. If that doesn’t make someone want to kill themselves, nothing will.” His words are quiet, and they break my heart.

“Your parents?” I tentatively ask. I don’t know how much I can really ask without making it worse.

“My father and catholic school.”

“Was it that bad?”

“It is when the school is designed to beat the gay out of us.”

“They did it on purpose?” I can’t imagine what that was like. I always knew I was safe at home, no matter what I did or who I loved.

“‘Course they did. My father couldn’t ‘make me a man,’ so they tried to have the priests do it. But that wasn’t the worst part. I’d take a beating any day over the other hells I endured there.”

“What was the worst part?” I whisper the words, terrified of the answer.