Chapter 4
brENT
When pressed to decide on a career, I announced I wanted to be a writer.
I’d made that decision when I was four. Not because I was pressured to choose a career path, but when I asked who made the books I loved to read, I was told that Dr. Soos wrote them.
He’s the author. A writer of stories and the creator of magical worlds.
As I grew, and books grew up around me, I maintained wanting to be a writer. My parents were relatively supportive of this venture, as long as I wrote ‘good, Christian novels.’ At eleven, I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. They didn’t seem to care about what I brought home from the library.
I suppose that narrative was really driven home once I came out at twelve. Suddenly, having a female partner and being a good Christian were worked into everyday conversations. Including my future career in writing.
Which meant that when I was fifteen and discovered romance, I didn’t bring those home.
They stayed in the library, and I read there.
There was no way my parents were going to view them as acceptable, even though my high school library didn’t have queer romance.
It broadened my view of the world, making me realize that there were a lot of different genres to write in as opposed to the few that we were exposed to.
When I was kicked out and had to move in with my aunt, I still maintained that I wanted to be a writer.
It was the first time someone sat me down and we discussed what that meant.
How uncertain being an author was. Finding an audience and writing stories that people want to read.
There are a lot of different avenues, but none of them guarantees a payday.
She was completely supportive of my chosen career, and together, we made plans and talked about what strategies I could use and how I could make some money before I hit it big.
One of the most encouraging things about my aunt was that she never put a downward spin on it. There was never an if I made money attached to my dream. It was always until. She had true confidence in me.
Between losing my family of seventeen years—twelve years if I take into consideration the moment they truly began treating me differently—and losing my aunt who I lived with for fourteen months, losing my aunt was by far the most difficult of the two situations.
My parents were good, loving parents as long as I followed the narrow path they set out.
Otherwise, it was disappointment and scolding.
Now, years later, I find it ironic how much they preached the importance of being a good Christian to me and yet they simply weren’t in practice.
When I pointed this out to my aunt, she laughed and told me, ‘Welcome to the world of Christianity, where the culture is primarily do as I say, not as I do.’
I still believe in God, but I don’t believe in the God that my parents were always on about.
I’ve read the Bible many times, and I know that at least fifty percent of what comes out of their mouths is in direct contrast with what is actually in the Bible.
First and foremost, judging me. There is a specific passage about no one else judging others. That’s not anyone’s right but God’s.
Yet, look at the world around us. Look at my parents. Judging me for arguably being the way God made me. One of us is living authentically as we should, and it’s not all those judging me for ‘liking outside plumbing.’
My eyes scan down my short story, and the reason I began musing over my past and career choice is made obvious. My ten-thousand-word story is a mix of all kinds of genres, including spiritual. It’s like I’m trying to prove to my parents that I can be all things.
It also reminds me that I might need to pivot somewhere in this story because it’s wildly all over the place, and I’m not sure it’s meeting the quality needed for a final story for class.
Not with as chaotic as it is. When I see the fourth quote directly from my parents against my protagonist, I know that’s the problem.
This story is about me overcoming their judgment while maintaining my spirituality—but with dragons and romance thrown in to boot. For a short story, there’s a lot crammed in. It’s going to need to be redesigned entirely.
Awesome.
Lyric pokes me, and I look in his direction. “Read this? Tell me if it’s crap?”
I set my tablet down in favor of taking his. It’s a short poem, one of three, that he needs for his final. He came to me panicking a couple months ago, stating that he didn’t realize he had to write poetry for this class. He thought he’d just be studying it. Honestly, he’s come a long way.
“It’s not crap,” I tell him and hand it back.
Lyric doesn’t take it. He shoves it at me again, giving me a hard look. Laughing, I take his digital pencil and make a few notes before handing it back to him. He grins and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Thanks.”
He settles back into his chair with the end of his pencil between his lips, and studies my notes. I glance up at Hayden, who’s studying us and watching Lyric with hearts in his eyes. After a beat, he meets my gaze and sighs, rolling his eyes and looking down.
I think this is some weird love triangle or maybe a square.
Hayden has a crush on Lyric, obvious to everyone except Lyric, I think.
I’m quite confident Lyric has a thing for me, though I haven’t said anything because you don’t want to be that person who assumes and you’re wrong.
But I’ve gotten this feeling more and more over the last few months.
And me? I have it bad for Rafe. Like, seriously bad. We’re not talking months but years—from the first few times we met as initiates for OXL. I’m not going to call this obsession, but unrequited love.
Or at least that’s what I think of it as.
I always thought he was straight, but his words, ‘You don’t know me as well as you think you do,’ have not stopped scrolling through my head since he said them.
His straightness—yep, totally a word—is what’s kept me in check.
Kept my heart solidly in the pathetically in love with my straight best friend cliché.
There was also safety in that as well. No chance of heartache. No chance of losing my best friend. Because I would never be the kind of asshole who tries to turn a straight guy bi. I would never be the friend to make it awkward and tell him I have a crush on him.
To what purpose? What would I truly accomplish by telling my straight friend this? It’s a recipe for disaster. With Rafe, I know it wouldn’t turn ugly, but that’s not always the case. There is no sexuality more fragile than a flustered straight person.
But if he’s not straight? Fuck me. I can’t think about it. I can’t. Because thinking that he’s bisexual means that there’s hope. Possibility.
It means I could be left with a broken heart. I could lose my best friend. Not because he’s an asshole but because he doesn’t feel the same way, and that screws everything up.
Hayden puts down his tablet and yawns. “Fuck, I’m tired of reading this.”
Lyric nods absently. I’m not sure he’s paying attention. I smirk.
“How many more finals do you have?” I ask.
“Two. Why they wait until the Monday before break, I can’t imagine. It’s stupid,” Hayden complains.
“What would they do on that last class day if not finals? The curriculum would be over so…?”
Hayden shakes his head. “Take your logic and shut up,” he mutters.
I grin.
“You going home for Christmas?” he asks.
I’ve learned to hate the days right before breaks.
I get this question a lot. Usually, I just lie and nod.
But as much as I don’t like to share my personal life, I don’t feel like lying this time.
Almost as if admitting the truth to Rafe unlocked something in me, and I suddenly feel like I need to own my truth.
“No,” I answer, but don’t volunteer anything else.
Lyric looks up at this. “No? Where are you going? Secret boyfriend?”
See? The way he’s looking at me right there. The tone of his voice when he asked about a secret boyfriend. Those are contributing factors to why I think he has a thing for me.
“I don’t know yet. Rafe invited me to hang with his family, so I might do that.”
“You can come home with me,” Lyric says with a wide smile. “My family is great. We can sleep under the stars and watch for Santa.”
“Thanks for the offer.” I look at Hayden. “What about you?”
Hayden nods, shrugging. “Yeah. Nothing exciting. We go to my grandparents’. The little kids all get showered in gifts, but once you reach eighteen, you get socks, underwear, and a new jacket.”
Lyric laughs. “It’s not about gifts, you know.”
“I know. Even as a child, I thought it was unfair. I remember watching my older cousins, and I always felt like they were left out. Like them being older aged them out of the season, as if they didn’t matter as much. It still bothers me.”
“Why don’t you be the change, then?” Lyric suggests. “Get together with your older cousins and propose that you spoil each other. Go to the dollar store or something. It’s about thoughtfulness more than money.”
Hayden tilts his head, and at first, I think he’s going to dismiss it, but then his smile splits his face. “Actually, I think I love that idea.”
“It’ll serve as an added benefit that you guys matter too,” Lyric points out. “Make sure you have some responses ready for when someone asks what’s going on or why you’re doing that.”
“Definitely, thanks.” He turns to his phone and begins tapping away. “Not that I want the littles to be left out, but I think I’m just buying for the older cousins this year.”
“You haven’t done your Christmas shopping yet?” I ask.
Hayden gives me an amused look. “No. I always do it on the twenty-second. Then I stay up late on the twenty-third to wrap it all.”
“That sounds stressful,” I say.
“I was going to say awful,” Lyric says.
Hayden grins. “We all have our own traditions. Last minute is mine.”
I don’t have traditions. Not anymore. I think about the ones I had as a child and… I’m not sure I’d ever resurrect them in my life again. I don’t want my parents to ever have a place in my life moving forward. Not when I have kids. Not when I begin my own family traditions.
In my opinion, they’re everything a parent shouldn’t be. I don’t want to replicate that at all—even the good moments, because they feel superficial now. Their love felt as if it were conditional. As long as I was exactly how they wanted me to be, they’d love me with their whole hearts.
Otherwise, I have no place in their lives.
That’s not the kind of love I want my future kids to be surrounded by.
My heart jumps when Rafe pokes his head into the room. Fuck. Has he always been so gorgeous?
“Hey. Mo’s here.”
The three of us abandon our studies and get to our feet to follow Rafe out of the parlor.
From what we know about this house, the primary structure—already a mansion for its time—was built in the mid-1800s. Before the 1900s, there had been additions built three separate times and then a fourth in the 1940s. Which means it’s a damn maze.
I love all the twists and turns. There are plaques on the walls where the additions begin, sharing a bit of history as you go, but what’s always captivated me was just how many rooms there were on the first floor.
Does one family ever need that many entertaining rooms?
Or was it all about options and needing to impress?
To be fair, human nature hasn’t changed. So many people build to impress, even when it means a waste of space and money.
I can hear Mo’s laughter as we get closer. I’m not surprised to hear Mo in the kitchen. We’d planned on decorating cookies, baking pies, and decorating the house tonight. And tomorrow, when she comes over for breakfast, there will probably be a hundred presents under the tree for that little girl.
How one child has captured so many damn hearts is unfathomable to me. She’s an incredible person. So passionate and protective. In my twenty-one years, there has been no other person or circumstance that has made me learn and grow more than having a little girl running around the house.
I’m not the closest to Mo, but she still lights up as soon as she sees me. I receive a big hug around my middle, and her pretty, dark eyes look up into mine with her curls a mess around her face. She smiles widely. “Happy Holidays, Brent.”
I lean down to kiss her forehead. “Happy Holidays, Mo. I’m so glad you’re here.”
She sighs. “Me too. I miss living here.” She lets me go to hug Lyric and Hayden. I think we all miss her. A little spitfire filled with energy and laughter. Yes, we get to plan sex parties again, but I’m not necessarily convinced the trade-off is worth it.
Edin stands beside me, and I wrap an arm around his shoulders. “You guys doing okay?” I ask.
“Yep. You?”
“Meh. Finals. At least I don’t have hockey too.”
He snorts. “Tell me about it.”
“She good?”
“Very good. Thriving, but she misses living here.”
“We miss her. And you.”
Edin laughs quietly. “I’m used to being an afterthought. It’s fine.”
I grin and let him go. “We are glad you’re here, though. It’s weird having one of our frat brothers not living in the house.”
“I know. It’s strange not being here. I love Dak’s, but it felt like we were out on our own… and had more than forty roommates.”
“Look at this new cheer I learned!” Mo says and pushes everyone out of the way, so we’re creating a circle around her.
I look at the faces, and besides a handful that might still be in class or have other commitments, we’re all here. For Mo and Edin. That’s what family is. My chest feels warm and sappy.
My eyes meet Rafe’s, and he gives me a big smile. My heart flutters like a bird’s wings.