Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He pats Travis on the back, and Malcolm excuses himself as he trails behind his brother.
I can only imagine how Travis felt growing up with the two of them, who I’m sure he loves, but seem more connected at the hip than he does with either of them. Hell, their names both even start with the letter “M.” It’s like his mother was trying to single Travis out.
As we reach the front of the line at the bar, Travis orders a cocktail and drinks it quickly, as though he needs it to work up the courage to face his parents. I sip on mine, but as we step out of line, I notice he’s still distracted.
“It’s gonna be fine,” I assure him. But that doesn’t seem to help. Judging by the look in his eyes, I don’t even think he heard me.
I take his hand.
“Hey,” I say.
His gaze shifts to me. It’s the first time he’s made eye contact with me since we got here.
His tension dissolves. And as always, I love being captured in his gaze.
“I’m right here if you need backup.”
He almost looks shocked by my words. Like I snuck up on him. He must be really out of it.
“Thanks,” he says curtly, scanning my face.
“Do I have toothpaste on my lip?” I ask, licking my lips.
He chuckles.
Even though I don’t know why he’s acting this way, I’m glad he’s starting to relax a little.
I keep trying to think of something to say. Some way of putting him at ease, but that’s the best I’ve got. I keep his hand firmly in my grip.
When he finally turns away, he looks around and something catches his eye.
I follow his gaze to a woman who stands outside the French doors that lead to the terrace. Her hair in curls, she wears an olive-colored dress. Clutching a purse close to her, she stares at us. And judging by the shocked—maybe even horrified expression on her face—I can tell this must be his mother. A man steps onto the balcony behind her. He has that same blond hair as Malcolm and Martin, but his is much thinner—with a few long gray strands in it. He plays on his phone before he notices the woman and follows her gaze to us.
That’s them. They have to be.
Travis’s hand shakes against mine. I doubt it’s from nerves, though. More likely the pent-up anger he’s held in for so long—toward his mother, toward his father…well, stepfather.
I want to soothe him. I want to pull him out of this. To shake him and tell him that they don’t matter. That nothing they think about him matters. But I’m distracted by the foul expressions on their faces.
Suddenly, it hits me.
We’re still holding hands.
I would pull away just to protect Travis—so he wouldn’t have to deal with their judgment—but a lot of good that’ll do us now.
“I’m still here,” I whisper so he knows he’s not alone.
I’m not even sure he can hear me.
He looks like he’s checked out. Like he’s back at that night when they walked in on when he was so vulnerable and made him feel so ashamed for who he is.
“Trav,” I say.
He snaps out of his daze and turns to me.
“This is gonna be even more interesting than I thought,” he says.
“Like Martin told you, if they have a problem, they need to leave. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
He grips my hand. “You’re right. I’m not going back to that night. They’re not going to make me ashamed of who I am ever again.”
“Come on. Let’s just have fun.”
I smile at him, and it takes him a moment, but he smiles back. “Yeah,” he says before guiding me around the party. He doesn’t let go of my hand even as we start chatting with Malcolm and some of his friends. I glance around occasionally as we socialize, noticing that his mom and dad keep eyeing us as they make their way around, laughing and chatting up other guests like nothing’s wrong, but clearly, they’re not okay with us being here.
After we meet Liz and her friends, we head to the front yard for a breather. When we head back through the house together, Travis’s mom and dad step inside through the back door.
“Travis,” his dad says, his face reddening, as though he’s been holding in all his hostility and rage while he and Travis’s mom put on their most hospitable performance for the rest of the party.
“Yes?” Travis asks, and I can tell by the tone in his voice that he wants this encounter to happen.
“We need to have a talk,” he says.
“By all means.”
His dad leads us into an adjoining room.
I’m amazed at how brave Travis is, willing to stand up to his parents who he knows hate him for being gay.
I admire him for that. I’m a fucking coward. Here I am worrying about what my parents will think of me when he already knows what his think and is still willing to get into a fight with them about it.