Something’s off.
Have I pushed the issue too hard?
I was always too hard on him. By comparison to our uncle, I was the fun parent, but I’m about as fun as a brick wall. I shouldn’t have thrust this on him. I’ve allowed Uncle Jasper to infiltrate and poison our future. My faith is misplaced—subconsciously, because of all his damn conditioning, it’s beenon Uncle Jasper. I need to reroute that energy back to me and Tate. Tate and I should have approached the will situation together, not with me treating Tate as an adversary.
Tate loves me. Of course, he loves me.
I’m not too much to love, because Ace loves me.
And Fuck, do I love him. Nothing else seems bigger than that anymore.
“I know we talked about the end of the season,” I begin. “But if you need more time, you should know that?—”
“No,” he says abruptly. “I’ll have it figured out soon.”
Something about his voice sends a wave of gooseflesh up my arm, and whatever thing I was gonna say to him, halts in my throat. Dies. I don’t know why. Now that I’m taking a closer look, Tate’s not himself.
“Can we save the lecture for another time? I’ve got a lot to do, so if you don’t have anything else to say to me, go find my hockey captain, and touch his dick or something.”
Tate’s not just struggling with shit, he’s protective of it. Whatever he’s got in the works, he doesn’t want me anywhere near it. Fine. He’s an adult … until it all explodes, then he’ll cry to big brother.
“Good idea,” I say. I stand, but as much as I want to storm out on his ass, I can’t.I wanna be strong like you, Luke.“You can come to me about anything, Tate—anything.”
He grunts in the way Ace claims is a VanCourt trait and dips his head back to his laptop.
23
Ace
Does he know he know he wears Mom’s death on his face like that? Or maybe I’m the only one who can see it. The dad before—the one who called in sick to his own office to watch Friends reruns with me when I was sick and booed out the refs on my behalf at games—used to radiate joy. The man across from me now, seated under the bright bistro lights, has tightness around his eyes that never fades. Something always clenched as if smiling hurts.
Other than that, he looks good. Healthy, tan—he just got back from business in Hawaii—and a fit appearance that speaks of his gym dedication. He may not have been an athlete in the way Mom was and I am, but he works out religiously and plays a few recreational sports with friends.
I walked into this Sunday morning brunch on a high. Last night with Luke was the best night of my life. My world flipped upside down and rearranged itself. I’m totally falling for him, and it’s something I’m getting more comfortable with all the time. There isn’t something wrong with me. It was like Momalways said when she talked about “the right person”. For Luke, all the scary shit’s worth facing. None of those fears have left me, I’m just willing to face them.
For him. For us.
Do I tell Dad about Luke yet? Probably not. It’s still too new. And dating your professor is something to gently introduce to your dad, even to a very open one like mine.
Calm down, McKinnon. You’re acting like a second-grader with his first crush.
But we’ve done all our small talk shit, neither of us too keen to tread any deeper and start another argument, and I feel like I want to share something special with him. Maybe it would help us bond again? I miss what I used to have with Dad.
“I met someone,” I say.
He raises a brow because even before Mom died, I didn’t broach relationships. “And?”
“It’s, uh, it’s still new. But I’m seeing him officially.”
Both my parents are bisexual, so that helped a lot growing up. For starters, I didn’t have to “come out” like a lot of people do, and they never assumed my sexuality. When I didn’t relate to either the gay or straight crowds completely, I had them to talk to about it. Bisexuals are a breed all our own, and they were able to teach me the ins and outs. Because of my parents, I could relate and be authentically me.
Dad sets his fork down. “This is serious.”
“I think so. I’d like it to be,” I admit.
Dad sighs, and for once it’s not the tired kind. Those features that were all tight? They soften, and there’s a flicker of that warmth I haven’t seen for months, maybe longer. He’s … smiling and that unseeable connection that used to spark so easily wavers between us. Even when Mom’s death was fresh, we had this—that feeling of “just us, two people who loved Mom,trying to get through the wreckage she left behind”. We were heartbroken, but we were together.
“I’m, uh, I’m seeing someone, too.”
