Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
We went to the spot where the table had been, where we’d done our homework under my father’s watchful eye. “Remember when you stood up to him here? I’d never seen him look so angry, but he knew, he knew you weren’t afraid of him, and that…that scared him. He only wanted to pick on someone who was weak.”
“You were never weak, Jojo.”
“No…I wasn’t, was I? But he thought I was…and he was wrong.”
We went through the house, conquering bad memories, embracing the good.
When I went into my old room, Gage paused at the door. “I don’t know…I don’t know if I can go in there.”
“We don’t have to, but this is where you saved me, Gage. That’s all that happened here. You protected someone you loved from a monster. You held me in this room. You kissed me in this room. You loved me in this room.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, looked up the song we’d danced to that one time, turned it on, and held my hand out for him. “Will you dance with me?”
Gage didn’t hesitate. He took my hand, came inside, and we danced, held on to that moment, let it erase the ugliness that happened to us in this space.
“There is nothing for you to forgive yourself for in this room. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were a kid, you were scared, you were defending someone you loved. That’s all,” I whispered in his ear.
“I killed him.”
“He would’ve killed me if you hadn’t. You were a hero, Gage; my hero. You always have been and you always will be.”
He squeezed me tighter, buried his face in my neck.
“You saved me.”
“I saved you,” he repeated. “He was choking you. He’d hit you. I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to get him off you.”
“And you did. That’s what you do, Gage; you take care of people.”
He didn’t reply, but he nodded.
It wasn’t perfect, and we still had a way to go, but it was a start.
I didn’t want to get out of the car at the cemetery. I’d never been to his grave, not once, and I never thought I would.
“Just remember, we’re not here for him, we’re here for us.” Gage’s words were exactly what I needed to hear, as if he were in my head, with a direct line to what was best for me.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
We held hands while we searched and found his headstone. We held hands as we looked down at it. No fear, no shame, just us, two men who loved each other. What was more beautiful than love?
“I feel sorry for you,” I whispered. “You were miserable. You spent your life trying to hurt people smaller and weaker than you because it made you feel better about yourself. You didn’t know love. You were a sad man, with a heart full of hate, and I feel sorry for you.” That last part, I could say it a hundred times. “I’m not afraid of you. Maybe that shouldn’t matter because you’re dead, but it matters to me. I’m. Not. Afraid. Of. You. I’m better than you. Stronger than you. Happier than you. And I know love, the kind of love you never had or deserved. I’m not going to let you take anything away from me again. I’m glad you’re dead.”
Maybe that last sentiment meant there was something wrong with me, but I didn’t care. I felt like I was a hundred feet tall, like there was nothing I couldn’t do.
“It was your loss,” Gage said to him. “You didn’t deserve Joey. He was everything you could never be. I love him. I’ve always loved him. I will always love him. We won.” Gage kneeled down. “I’m not going to let you take anything from me again either. We won.”
We had.
He stood, took my hand again, and we walked away from my dad, from that night, together, the way it was always supposed to be.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Gage
My dad still lived in the same trailer on the outskirts of town. There were still old cars in the yard, junk that had been there since my childhood.
“Do you want me to go in with you, or should I stay out here?” Joey asked.
This was different, not only because I’d be talking to him instead of the memories, but because it wasn’t the same with my dad as it had been with Joey’s. He hadn’t hit me or verbally abused me, but he hadn’t loved me the way a father was supposed to love his son either. He hadn’t nurtured me, or cared for me, or ever put me first.
“I always want you with me, Jojo,” I replied, and he smiled.
We got out of the car, walked up the rickety steps. I knocked on the door. No one answered. I knocked again.