Mom tries to sit up a little, but she winces, collapsing back into place as a sharp puff of air leaves her.
“Here, let me help,” I offer, standing up and reaching to her.
Once we get her in a position that seems to work for her, I sit back down.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” she murmurs.
“Josiah had heard you weren’t doing well, so we came.” My voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears, and I wish I was able to muster up a little more empathy for her, but I can’t.
Confusion swirls around her gaze for a moment before her brows pinch together. “Josiah DeMille?”
I nod. “The one and only.”
Looking down at her hands for a moment, she fiddles with her thin, bony fingers before glancing back up at me. “Are you two… are you and Josiah together?”
The question takes me by surprise, my chest tightening like someone is squeezing it between their fists. I never officially came out to my parents before I left, but they assumed as much when I told them about my diagnosis.
Not knowing how to correctly answer her, I give her the truth. “I don’t know what we are, honestly. But I think we are. Or at the very least, we’re heading that way.”
Here we go.I practically hold my breath, waiting for the disgust to appear. The hate to be spewed. I wait for her to spit out the very same slur my father used on me all those years ago.
Except it never comes.
When she looks at me again, her eyes are filled to the brim with tears, and for a second, she looks like the mother I used to look up to when I was a small kid. It’s a punch to the gut, as is what she says next.
“I get it now, you know.” A stray tear falls down her cheek, and I hate how pressure begins to build behind my own eyes. “I didn’t before, but I get it now, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to understand.”
She doesn’t specify what she means, but she doesn’t have to. She’s referring to me being queer.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I don’t say anything. Not that I have a chance to because, next thing I know, there’s a commotion downstairs before the sound of heavy footsteps barreling up the stairs reaches my ears. I barely have a chance to stand and turn to face the door before it’s shoved open, my father stepping into the small space, anger rolling off him as he takes me in.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he questions, voice full of the venom that’s permanently seared into my memory.
I square my shoulders, refusing to back down to him. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Josiah comes up the stairs behind him, walking into the room, eyeing my dad, and sizing him up.
Dad scoffs. “You think you can come back after all these years just because your mom is dying? What? Your guilty conscience getting to you?”
My mom croaks out his name behind me, but I ignore her. “Fuck off,” I spit out through gritted teeth.
He reacts quicker than I can, shoving me into the wall and getting in my face. But before he can say or do anything else, Josiah is on him, yanking him off me and stepping up to him. They’re nose to nose, Josiah only marginally taller than my dad.
“Time to go, Segan,” Josiah calls to me without taking his eyes off the man in front of him. Then, low enough that I barely even hear him, he growls to my dad, “Your house or not, you will not lay your hands on him. Not today. Not ever.”
With one more glance at my mom, we leave. We don’t even bother telling Miriam we’re going, although she probably already knows.
By the time we make it to the car, my heart is hammering in my chest, and an array of fucked-up emotions are swarming around inside of my head. I don’t know what to do with them all. Thankfully, Josiah doesn’t say anything, and we ride back to the hotel in complete silence.
This was all too much.
Too fucking much.
And the only thing that keeps replaying in my mind is what my mom said.“I get it now.”
42
JOSIAH
