Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
He was strong. He was loved. He was worth loving.
And it was not his fault that his parents were assholes.
“How dare you. You foul ingrate. Keep your disgusting ways away from Lars.”
She brought her hand up to slap him. He saw it in slow motion, like he’d done so many times before. Her slap was so familiar he had to stop himself from seeking it out like a normal child might a warm hug. Those fingers, so long and slim, like his, were always adorned with rings. And they hurt like nothing else ever had in his whole life. As she swung back, the raindrops gathered between the jewels, making them glitter and shine even more. And he tensed.
He prepared like he’d always done. The instinctual reflex a body naturally does right before trauma is inflicted. But then he breathed.
He was strong.
He was loved.
He was worth loving.
Looking straight into her eyes, eyes that were almost mirror identical to his own, he caught her wrist just as she was about to make contact.
“No.” He gritted his teeth, seething with anger because these people were supposed to protect him. They were supposed to nurture him and forever support him, no matter who he loved or what he wore. And they’d failed. They. Had. Failed.
Not him.
It wasn’t his fault. He squeezed the delicate bones until his mother gasped.
“Let her go,” his father warned, his accent so much thicker than hers. Ansel didn’t pay him any attention. The man had stood on the sidelines his entire life. He’d always let her run the show. He didn’t deserve to be acknowledged now.
“You don’t get to touch me,” Ansel continued. Staring into his mother’s shocked eyes, he noted, with a manic happiness, the tinge of fear he found there. His voice was quiet but full of anger. “You don’t get to speak to me. You don’t even get to think about me, ever again.” He stepped closer so she was forced to look up at him. He was taller now, and wearing heels that made him tower over both of them. “From this moment on, you have no control over my life.”
He shoved her hand away from his face. Then he spun on his toes and walked away.
* * *
He was thirty. The big three-O. Almost seven weeks ago, he’d met Ansel for the first time.
When Fitch woke up on Friday morning, it took him a few minutes to realize that it was his birthday. There had been so many other things happening in his life, his birthday just sprang up out of nowhere. Until his sister called.
She begged him to go to breakfast, her treat. She said Pop had already told what was left of the crew he’d be taking the day off. News to him. You’d think they’d have asked if he even wanted to celebrate. Especially considering how much work there was to be done. After his big confession, most of the newer guys had quit. He’d tried not to take it personally, but it was hard. He was a good boss. He had always treated everyone well, the pay was fair and the work was regular. But hell, now that they knew he liked cock they couldn’t stand to look at him anymore.
He should probably be grateful. He didn’t want to be around homophobes anyway, but losing so many hands meant he had to work ’round the clock to keep the pace up and meet the deadline. He didn’t want to burden those who’d been loyal by piling it all on their shoulders, though he’d offered overtime for anyone who wanted to help, and some had taken him up on the offer. He should really do some work today. The last thing he wanted to do was dwell on his birthday.
Fucking thirty. Christ.
He absolutely was not happy about being another year older.
He met Meg at a local spot and enjoyed a plate full of clog-your-arteries goodness, listening with half an ear to her stories about campus life and her latest date with Tara.
As much as he loved his sister, she could prattle on and on without end and he just wasn’t in the mood to pay attention. Especially when she wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t heard before. He forked another bite of grease into his mouth thinking of his phone conversations with Ansel over the past few days.
On Tuesday night, Ansel had told him about his encounter with his parents and, honestly, he’d almost dropped the phone and started a rampage. The last time, fuck, last time...
Fitch blinked at his eggs trying to remember that his lover was tough, not a fragile victim he needed to protect. Something Ansel had confirmed by how succinctly he’d handled the situation, displaying courage and those mighty balls Fitch loved so much. He only wished he could have been there to witness the looks on their faces. From what Ansel said, they’d been shocked stupid.