Chapter 25
Movement catches my attention over Beckett’s shoulder, and all the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. My legs shake with unsteadiness. My eyes burn before my brain catches up with what I’m seeing.
Jaxon, Alex, Jasper, Olly, Mira and Jules, and Finn and Spencer. The tears I’ve been trying to keep at bay finally fall when I see Aunt Sofia. I can’t believe they’re all here. These people, this family, keep showing me, over and over, what love looks like when it’s a choice.
I turn to look at Beckett, and there’s a hint of worry in his eyes.
“Ummm, I hope this is okay …. Please don’t be mad at me. Aunt Sofia started threatening my testicles again.”
I chuckle. “I’m not mad, baby.” I pull him in, kiss the side of his head. “Thank you,” I manage around the knot in my throat.
“What are you guys doing here?” I say, going in and giving each one a hug. I get to Sofia. “We’re gonna have to talk about your aversion to testicles.”
“It’s why I’m a lesbian,” she says, patting my arm like she’s sorry she hates my favorite appendage.
“Don’t be mad at Beckett,” Jules adds. “We all piled on. We wanted to be here.”
“But if you’re all here, who’s at the shop… Dragonfly?” I ask, half protest, half awe.
“You see, there’s this handy dandy thing called a closed sign. Thought I would give it a whirl,” Jaxon says.
Spencer lifts a hand. “And Sarah is working both the lunch and the dinner rush, so I thought it might be nice if she got a break in between shifts.”
“But…”
“Nope. It’s my shop, and I’m allowed to close it for a few hours so I can be there for my best friend,” Jaxon cuts me off.
“And really, it’s helping me out, sooooo…” I roll my eyes at Spencer.
“I love you, man,” I say, giving Jaxon a hug and a slap on the back before wrapping my arms around Spencer and bringing him in for a hug. Finn growls, and I laugh.
I step back and look around the narrow hallway.
The fluorescent lights are harsh, but the faces under them are not.
I clear my throat and scrub at my cheeks.
“Thank you for being here. I don’t… I don’t know what to say.
I don’t think I’d be who I am without you.
We’ve built something together, and I’m proud of it. I’m proud of us.”
Spencer leans into Finn, and he looks down and gives him a loving smile.
Jaxon moves to stand behind Alex, wrapping his arms around him.
Mira hooks her pinky with Jules’s. Olly nudges Jasper like they come in a set.
I look at Beckett’s shiny eyes and feel the ground come back under my feet.
“I look around at all of you, and I know this is the kind of family people dream of, and that I’m lucky enough to have it and celebrate love with the people I love.
” I turn to Beckett. “I love you. I can’t believe you did all this. ”
“I just wanted you to see you’re not alone,” he says.
I look back out over everyone. “I can see that now.”
There’s a metallic clang as the door I’d been pacing in front of for the last fifteen minutes opens, causing me to startle.
“Mr. Domenico De Luca?”
“Yes,” I say, raising a hand. “Here.”
“Perfect. The board will see you now.”
Beckett’s fingers find mine, a quick squeeze that says more than a speech. “We’ll be right here when you’re done,” Jaxon calls. I nod and then follow the worker into the room.
The room is colder than the hall. There’s no color, it’s just a yellow-stained floor and dirty walls. It reminds me of a fifth-grade classroom, but with more bars. I’m ushered in front of a podium.
I feel a light touch against the back of my hand as Beckett moves to sit behind me. Across the table are two men and a woman, pens poised, faces neutral.
The screen on my right comes alive as my father blinks into view.
He looks smaller than he’s ever been in my memory, shoulders caved in, skin that looks like paper that’s been folded too many times.
He looks frail. He was never kind. These things can both be real.
Frailty doesn’t erase harm. Age doesn’t invent remorse.
I feel Beckett behind me like a steady wall. I think about Sofia in the hall, and the way she said my name. I think about Finn and Spencer, and Mazie’s gummy grin. I think about the bench on the deck, about the word love landing in my mouth like something I get to keep, that’s just for me.
I’m not the kid who listens for footsteps anymore. I’m the man who built a life, and I’m here to protect it.
The room doesn’t feel like a trap now. It feels like a choice.
I lift my chin, lay my paper on the podium so the pages don’t shake in my hands, and meet the board’s eyes—not his.
“Members of the Parole Board, my name is Domenico De Luca, and I’m here to oppose parole for my father, Lorenzo De Luca, who is incarcerated for money laundering.
I am here, not writing from anger, but for the life I’ve built since he went to prison, and from the daily fear I still carry about where I would be if he hadn’t.
“I left home at sixteen. I finished school, learned a trade, and have worked steadily ever since. I pay my bills, my taxes, and own and maintain a safe home. I keep a clean record. No one did this for me. People showed me a door, but I’m the one who walked through it and did the work on the other side.
Today I have a stable job, a home that is mine, and a community that relies on me and that I rely on in return.
“I’m in a committed relationship with a partner who is kind and steady. I’ve developed an amazing group of friends with whom I share meals and plans. We look after each other the way a real family should. This is my family—my chosen one—and their safety is my first responsibility.
“The crime my father committed is often called ‘nonviolent.’ In our house, it didn’t feel that way.
Money was used to control, isolate, and frighten.
People came to our door at all hours. There were threats behind jokes.
There was constant instability. That harm does not end with a sentence date; it changes how you live.
“Since his incarceration, my father has not accepted responsibility.
In letters, he minimizes what he did and asks for help without acknowledging the damage he caused.
He has not made amends. He has not shown the insight or accountability that would make me believe things would be different if he were released.
“Every day I think about the other path, the one where he never went to prison. I know what that life would’ve looked like for me: more fear, more pressure to be useful to his interests, less chance of ever becoming the man I am now.
His incarceration gave me the possibility of safety and growth.
I used that possibility. I built something good. I’m asking you to help me protect it.
“Releasing him would not simply be a matter of forgiveness or a ‘second chance.’ It would bring back the same pressures and risks that defined my childhood, and it would put my partner and my chosen family in harm’s way. I cannot accept that for them.
“For these reasons, I respectfully ask the board to deny parole. If the board considers release despite my request, I ask that you impose the strictest conditions available: a no-contact order with me and my family, a stay-away radius from my workplace and home, mandatory supervision, and any other safeguards you deem appropriate.”
An eerie laugh echoes through the room, making my skin crawl.
“I always knew you were a shitty son.”
I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes forward. He’s not worth my attention.
“Family!” he continues. “Those people aren’t your family. You turned your back on your real family. You’re just fooling yourself. They don’t care about you. What could you possibly have to bring to the table? Nothing.”
I suck in a breath; his harsh words bring every fear I have to the forefront. My stomach turns and I want to vomit, until I feel a gentle touch that holds the weight of the world. I don’t hear him stand up, but I feel his presence behind me before he threads his fingers through mine.
“You are so very, very wrong, Mr. De Luca. Domenico”—I roll my eyes, and I see the corners of his mouth lift—“has everything to bring to the table. He has integrity. He’s a man of his word, and he shows up even when it’s inconvenient.
When a friend calls at two a.m., he’s the one who shows up with a set of keys and a calm voice.
On moving day, he’s there early and leaves last. He’s accountable.
When he misses, he owns it. No excuses. He apologizes, changes, and follows through.
His words today stayed with the facts. He didn’t ask for revenge.
He asked for safety. And courage. He chose a life that doesn’t look like the one he was handed.
He chose boundaries. He chose kindness. He chose to be here today. ”
I stare at Beckett, heart beating out of my chest. No one has ever…
All these feelings hurt so bad, yet feel so good. Pride builds in my chest.
“You asked what he brings to the table,” he finishes.
“Integrity, accountability, reliability, respect, courage, and a community that trusts him because he earns it. He is not the man on that screen. He is the man who made a home where there wasn’t one and invited the rest of us to sit down.
Dom’s childhood… it wasn’t harmless. You—” he says, looking at my father.
Something I’ve yet to do. “Have never taken responsibility for that harm. Dom has spent years doing the opposite, making things safer, steadier, kinder.”
He looks at me.
“So yeah, he brings more to this table than you ever will,” he says.
My father starts spouting off, but I pay no attention, his homophobic words falling flat.
“You are worth so much more than you give yourself credit for.”
“I could say the same about you,” I reply, a smile playing at my lips. He rolls his eyes, but a grin splits across his face from ear to ear.
“Mr. De Luca, you’re not helping your case,” the woman says. “I suggest you keep your mouth shut before you say something that will add even more time to your sentence.”
I finally turn and look at my father. He’s red-faced and angry. “You’re a shit son, always will—” That’s all I hear before the feed cuts.
The chair creaks. Papers shuffle. The woman in the middle closes her file and looks up. “Mr. De Luca, you won’t have to worry for a while. Parole is denied.”
Air rushes out of me. Beckett’s hand tightens around mine, one quick squeeze that says I’m still right here.
Another board member clears his throat. “You turned out to be a fine man, even when you didn’t have to. And it sounds like you have a strong community.”
“I do,” I say. It comes out steadily.
“Good. Go live your life,” the man adds, softer. “We’ll handle the rest.”
As soon as we enter the hallway, Beckett’s hand still in mine, everyone turns to look at us. I still can’t believe they’re all here.
All that love in one narrow hallway. It hits me low and hard.
I’ve spent years trying to be the big, steady version of myself—the quiet weight, the protector who doesn’t flinch. With them, I get to be human. The relief of that almost buckles my knees.
“Hey,” Sofia says, tugging me in. I fold into her hug and breathe in oregano and home. “That’s my boy.”
“Proud of you,” Jaxon says, voice thick.
Spencer adds, dry as ever, “Also, you owe me two hours of staff coverage.” And the laugh breaks the tension like a window cracked for fresh air.
One by one, they pull me close. No speeches, no advice.
I look around and don’t just see couples, I see people who worked for their lives—who learned boundaries, fought old stories, chose tenderness on purpose.
No one got here by being who someone else wanted.
We all did the work and then chose each other.
I turn back to Beckett. He hasn’t let go. His eyes shine, and there’s that little line at the corner that shows up when he’s holding big feelings together with humor.
“You okay?” he asks, low.
“Yeah.” The word feels true in my mouth. “I am.”
He exhales, relief loosening his shoulders. “Good. Because I’m going to keep doing that annoying thing where I show up. Well, I’ll also just annoy the shit out of you in general.”
“Promise?” I ask.
“Promise,” he says, and kisses me.
I didn’t think I’d ever have this part: the intimate kind of love that sits beside you through the worst of times and still tastes like hope.
Now that I do, I don’t want to put it down.
I can’t. It’s not just him either—though my chest hurts in that sweet, stupid way when I look at him—it’s all of them.
The family we made because we wanted to, because we could, because we decided to be the soft landing for each other.
“Greasy and judgmental?” Olly asks, already halfway to a grin.
“Chili fries,” Beckett says. “Nonnegotiable.”
“Ooh, pie,” Jasper adds.
Sofia wipes my cheek with her thumb, like I’m a kid again. “I’m so proud of you.”
I nod, throat tight. “I love you,” I say. And then to Beckett because I need him to hear it again. “I love you.”
He smiles as if he’s just found nirvana. “Me too.”
We move as a group toward the elevators, hands brushing, shoulders bumping, the kind of messy orbit you only get when the worst is over and the fries are waiting.
I lace my fingers with Beckett’s and let myself feel all of it—the relief, the love, the ordinary miracle of having people to go share a meal with.