Chapter 17

Power.

Fuck. Is that what I’ve been giving Trevin all this time?

The thought pulls me up short. My already aching stomach goes haywire, much like my brain as I struggle to process. Jesus, am I really so dim? I know I’m not acing classes, but I’m passing. It’s not like I’m even trying to be a brain surgeon. Lofty plans and I have no relationship whatsoever.

“I have no idea why the hell you married me.” Insecurities not buried too far beneath the surface spill free. My tone is low, ashamed. I’m not even looking for an ego boost.

“The hell are you talking about?” Bentley’s voice is riddled with confusion. “Why on earth wouldn’t I want to marry you?”

Is this what I’ve become? A self-pitying dipshit who seems to spend his life screwing up and making one bad decision after another? Not that marrying Bentley fits into that category, but maybe I put too much pressure on him. Forced his hand.

Nausea swirls in my stomach. I can’t look at him.

“Sammy, whatever the hell you’re thinking, stop.” Soft fingers touch my chin and gently tilt my head. “Please look at me.”

My eyes snap to his. I’m not that much of an asshole to not do as he asks.

“Now it’s your turn. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

A heavy throb of my heart takes my breath away, and my body tenses. If I tell him what’s going on in my mind, what if he agrees and I lose him? Or worse, what if he stays because he feels sorry for me?

“Please, baby.”

I close my eyes. I can’t deny him anything. I respect him too much to even contemplate trying.

“I feel like a fool.”

Bentley clamps his jaw together, a fierceness forming in his gaze as he stares at me, but he doesn’t say a thing, giving me space to talk.

“It’s a lot, you know?”

This time, he bobs his head and says, “I know,” before lifting my knuckles to his lips and pressing a kiss against them.

The gesture, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, soothes me. My eyes sting, but I don’t hide away from Bentley.

“I’m not sure why or even how you can love me after everything I’ve done and put you through. The last thing I want is to put ideas in your head that’ll have you running….” I trickle off with a humorless laugh.

Waiting patiently for me, Bentley strokes his thumb over my skin. I focus on his touch, his calm assurance. I don’t think there’s been a time when I’ve been so serious or so lost for words. The whole situation feels alien, as though I’m losing myself.

“Can we tell the guys? Just them,” I clarify. He knows I’m referring to our housemates. It goes without saying that includes their boyfriends.

The thought pulls me up short.

“You think there’s something in the water at the house?” I’m totally teasing, but I latch on to it like a lifeline. The fact that I even feel like joking is an emotion I want to cling to.

“What are you talking about?”

“The whole fucking household is riding the queer train.” A smile pulls up my lips, feeling so fucking good. “How epic is that?” My brows shoot high when I think about what Tyron said in the car. Fuck, was that seriously just a couple of mornings ago? “Tyron’s got that statistic he spouted about so damn wrong. Five of us on the team.” I snicker, falling into the familiar sensation of ease. “He’s going to lose his shit and compile his own study or something.”

Bentley’s smiling, his gaze searching, but he lets me have this.

We share a laugh, enjoying the momentary reprieve from the weighty discussion. It’s moments like these that make it crystal clear why I fell in love with him.

When our laughter settles, I release a steadying exhale. “Telling the guys means we can be ourselves at home. Not quite sure how I’ll cope if I’m unable to kiss you whenever I want.”

“Yeah, I feel the same.”

My heart turns into a pile of goo.

“And, Sammy.”

His tone garners my attention. It’s a little sterner than I’m used to. Gotta say, I’m not hating it.

“Nothing will make me run. Ever. Okay?”

Whatever is meltier than goo, that’s so me. Now. Right this second.

“We take this a day at a time. Perhaps see what your folks have to say about Trevin.”

I wince, but he’s also right.

I may be twenty-two, but I’ll absolutely always be my parents’ kid.

“Mom’s going to be pissed.”

“Probably, but only because she’ll hate that you went through all this by yourself.”

True.

“And coming out to anyone else, we can do on our terms, but know I’m ready, okay?” He tilts his head, a slow grin forming. “If ever you decide you wanna hold my hand or smother me in kisses, doing the whole PDA thing, you have at it. This is me giving you all the permission you need.”

My mouth stretches wide, happiness blooming in my chest. PDA with Bentley is absolutely something I want. Desperately. When I’m ready.

“You know I’m faster than you, right?”

“Uhm… barely,” he challenges, glee lightening his eyes.

“Uh-huh, whatever you need to tell yourself, sweetheart, but for the record, I am.” I arch my brow at him, and he chuckles. “It means if ever I piss you off enough to run”—he parts his lips, no doubt to argue with me, but I carry on before he gets the chance—“I’ll catch you.”

Bentley launches at me with a low laugh, smothering me with kisses.

All too soon, we stop. My family, I’m sure, is waiting for us. Plus, there’s dessert to be had.

In unspoken agreement, we stand and straighten out our clothes.

Gripping the door handle, Bentley turns to me. “Earlier, you said you wanted to talk. Was there something more?”

A soft huff of breath escapes with a smile. “It was exactly this. I wanted to talk to you about telling our parents.”

“No shit?”

“Right!”

He presses a gentle kiss to my mouth. When he pulls away, it’s hard to remember to breathe.

How it’s possible Bentley loves me in such a way that it’s impossible for me not to see and feel will probably always blow my mind. While I don’t quite understand it, there’s not a chance I’m going to fight it.

Lovingsnuggling in Bentley’s arms is the only explanation for me being able to sleep last night. Usually, even a hint of nerves jab at me like annoying gremlins with tiny little spears. And yes, I’ve visualized them a lot, especially when it’s four in the morning.

They’re ugly fuckers.

But not last night.

Despite my bouncing knee as I become the worst big brother, wishing my siblings would hurry up and go out with their friends, I slept so well. Hell, I didn’t even have a hangover.

I wouldn’t have drunk much anyway, since we’ll be heading back on the road to college after lunch, but also, me and booze and Bentley is a combination that’s just asking for trouble.

“What’s wrong with you?” Malik studies me intently, his frown letting me know he thinks I’m odd.

“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

Bentley snorts at my side, and I flip him off, admittedly only because Mom’s back is turned.

Malik, apparently the most mature of us all despite me being nine years older, shakes his head at me.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I swear I’m usually nicer to my brothers, but neither of them will leave and give me space to talk to Mom and Dad.

Narrowing his gaze at me, Malik twists his lips. Immediately, I realize my mistake.

“Why do you want me to leave? What’s going on?” He quirks his brow. “Just how badly do you need me gone?”

I swear, this kid’s going to be a gazillionaire, likely from extortion. Okay, more likely from smarts, though I’m sure to be successful at extortion, you need a brain. Either way, now that I’ve pretty much told him I want him to take a hike, there’s no way he’s going anywhere—not without an incentive, at least.

Mom’s making coffee while talking on the phone to her best friend. Dad is somewhere, probably enjoying a moment of peace after yesterday’s full house. I just hope he’s not in his office. There’s no guarantee it doesn’t smell like sex.

I absolutely need to strip the futon and shove the linen in the washing machine before Bentley and I leave.

“Depends on what it’s going to take,” I answer.

An assessing smile forms as he eases back, spoon still in hand from his second bowl of cereal. As we know, he’s smart. He’s not going to ask for cash. My folks work their asses off, but there’s not a lot of cash floating around. I managed to score a basketball scholarship, the lucky duck I am. It’s the only reason I didn’t have to go to the local community college.

While I work over the summers, that cash helps me avoid piling on too much student debt.

Malik’s gaze flicks to Bentley. I follow suit. Bentley sits a little straighter, eyebrows high.

After a beat, my brother drops his spoon in his empty bowl and sits forward, urging us to do the same. Confused and amused, I do so with ease, wondering exactly what this kid is going to say.

“After you graduate, wherever you guys are living, I want to stay for the summer and work with Bentley, earn some cash to buy an Alienware Aurora.”

Shock reverberates through me, making my ears ring. Not because he wants a new gaming PC or that he’s willing to work hard for it.

At my side, Bentley’s still. He’s waiting for my response, maybe even my reaction.

I clear my throat. “We’ll finish a month before your school breaks for the summer. Why do you think I’m not going to be home?” In truth, we still have no idea what we’re doing. Bentley is the only one with a realistic job offer. It makes sense to take that, and I’ll find something close by.

Malik rolls his eyes at me, legit disappointment pouring out of him as he shakes his head. “Seriously?” he huffs, and damn if I don’t want to fidget under his gaze.

“What?” My question is weak.

“All I want is a yes or a no. Can I stay the summer with you guys?” He focuses on Bentley. “And pick up a laboring gig with you?”

Bentley doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, of course.”

“Great.” He stands up, gives us an up-nod, and clears his bowl away. He nudges an oblivious Denzel, who’s at the table with his earphones on and staring at his phone.

“What?” he grunts, tearing out one of his pods.

“Butt up. We need to clear out,” Malik instructs.

Fascinated, I look on as Denzel gets up without resistance and clears his bowl before leaving the room, Malik hot on his heels.

“The fuck?” I hiss and glance at Bentley. His lips are pinched, his eyes lit with amusement. “He knows something, right?”

Bentley bobs his head, finding it hard not to react. And I get it. He wants to know my thoughts.

“It’s fine. That he didn’t come right out and say anything means he’s respecting that we’re keeping this quiet.” At least, that’s what I figure. We may have different bio dads, but we were all brought up by the same father. We know the importance of family and protecting and respecting each other.

Movement at the doorway draws my attention. Dad with a coffee mug in hand. His gaze drifts to me, and he smiles.

“All good? Malik said it was time I topped off my coffee and you wanted to talk to me and your mom.”

Lips parting in surprise, I drag in a breath.

Malik did what?

Bentley’s attempt at covering his snort of amusement is weak at best. I flash him a wide-eyed look, and any brewing panic dissipates immediately. His smile is soft, but it’s the way he’s staring at me—all love and understanding—that reassures me.

I’ve got this.

Before I can respond to Dad, who’s yet to drift to the coffee machine, Mom’s conversation ends.

“Gemma has more leftovers for you to take back to school with you. She’s going to drop them over before lunch,” she says, stepping to the table with the coffee pot. “You’ll need to put them straight in the freezer when you get back.” After filling up Dad’s mug, she turns to us with a smile. It freezes on her face. “What’s going on?”

The pot wobbles in her hand, and Dad is quick to take it off her and place it on the table.

Speaking directly to Mom, Dad says, “The boys want to talk to us about something.”

They share a look, and my pulse picks up speed.

We’re doing this. Now.

Have I rehearsed this conversation a million times? Absolutely. It doesn’t make this any easier.

“So….” That’s all I’ve got until Bentley moves his hand onto the table. It’s subtle, barely a flex of his fingers, but I latch on to his offer—and his hand—like the lifeline it is.

Mom’s the first to react. Eyes wet with tears, she sniffs, a smile blooming. Like the incredible father and husband he is, Dad loops his arm around her, his gaze never straying from me.

“So, yeah, I’m gay, and we’re married.”

A gasp and a whole-body jerk from Mom, and perhaps I could have slipped in the second piece of information a little more delicately. I have no doubt—especially after what she said to Bentley yesterday—that’s what this reaction is about.

Her “You’re married?” complete with what I’m sure is hurt cement it.

There’s no backtracking. Not that I want to, but I don’t want her to feel like shit either.

“Officially day four. It wasn’t exactly planned.” When Bentley squeezes my hand, I immediately glance at him. My pounding heart settles a little, and I turn back to my parents. “But it’s the best decision I’ve ever made. I love Bentley.”

When Mom’s whole face softens, I know I’ve said the right thing. Is she still pissed and likely upset that she couldn’t share our wedding day with us? That’s a given. She’ll forgive me, though. Our marriage, our wedding, is all about me and Bentley and what’s right for us.

The moment Mom fully recovers, she’s practically dragging me out of my chair to hold me tightly, wrapping me up in one of her impossibly strong hugs.

“I love you so much, Sammy. I’m so proud of you. Thank you.”

Unable to speak from the tickle in my nose and the emotion clogging my throat, I hug her back and nod. What she’s thanking me for, I’m not sure. But what she’s not doing is lecturing me. I’ll take it as a win.

She pulls away, her palms cupping my cheeks. I peer down at her. Love shines up at me. It settles into my chest, warm and happy. I latch on to the feeling, aware I have more to share with her.

“I have a feeling this is also you officially moving out.” A tear trickles down her cheek, but she’s smiling. “I’m not sure when you grew up so quickly and to be such a good man, but I really am so proud of you.” She casts a glance at Bentley, who’s standing at my side. Dad’s next to him, having given him a hug while I’d been close to losing my cool with Mom. “I’m so happy for the both of you.”

A whoosh of air escapes my lungs. “Thanks, Mom.”

She steps out of my arms and hugs Bentley as Dad gives me a giant hug. He may not be as tall as I am, but he still manages to make me feel safe and protected.

“You happy, son?” he whispers as he pats my back.

“So goddamn happy.”

Pulling away, he nods. “Then this is wonderful news.”

It’s hard to swallow as a fresh wave of emotion threatens to unravel me. I suspect Dad knows it, as he squeezes my arms and steps away. Bentley’s then at my side, but I need him to hold me.

Turning into him, I sigh at the comfort of his warm embrace. A shuddery breath later, I whisper, “I’m good.”

His grip softens, and we make eye contact. “You ready?”

I bob my head before turning back to my folks. “You might want to sit down for this.”

Confusion transforms both of their features as they do as I ask, surprising the hell out of me, truthfully. It’s rare that Mom’s not firing questions my way.

Whatever she sees in my expression is enough to have her staring at me in wide-eyed expectation.

With a deep breath, I settle as close to Bentley as I can without sitting on his lap. His presence helps soothe some of my fear. My discomfort.

And I tell them. Everything. Even the parts that have my tears spilling and Mom sobbing. Dad’s fists clench as I share each word, his emotions playing out like a building storm.

Their disbelief and anguish are palpable as I recount every harrowing detail of that night. And my shame. My guilt.

While they knew Trevin had hurt me, all they’d been told was it was in the process of me trying to stop him from killing Jamaal. I’d been in the way. The hero they thought I’d been was all bullshit, a pile of ash washing away with our mutual tears.

Not that that wasn’t exactly what I’d been trying to do. But the first punches that night were Trevin’s on my face as he kicked Jamaal off his knees so he could get to me first.

Mom’s gentle hands reach out to comfort me despite the way her jaw tightens with restrained fury. At her side, Dad remains a silent sentinel, his struggle almost tangible.

As I finish speaking, there’s a heavy silence in the room, broken only by the echoes of our shared pain. Their love presses into me, their support enveloping me. But fuck if I don’t feel the weight of their anger.

Not at me. That I know with certainty, with a conviction that’s been forged out of love and protection.

Dad’s the first to speak. “Sammy, we love you.” His swallow is loud in the otherwise silent room. “You mind if you boys head out to the store to get some milk while we process everything?”

I’m out of my seat immediately, Bentley joining me. “Yeah, sure.”

Before we can leave, Mom bounds out of her chair and is in my space, hugging me with a fierceness that takes my breath away. This is why Dad wants them to have a moment. Mom is likely to storm out, jump in the car, and drive at breakneck speed to get to the prison. If given the chance, she’ll do damage to Trevin.

That he managed to hurt me… yeah, that’s not something I’m sure Mom will be able to come to terms with easily.

Nor should she, I suppose.

All this time, she thought she’d kept me safe. That shit is likely going to mess with her head. I hate to disappoint her.

Since Mom’s never so much as raised a hand or a wooden spoon to me, her disappearing in a fit of rage hurts my gut. I kiss the top of her head and whisper, “Love you, Mom.” Like a fire’s been lit under me, I latch on to Bentley’s hand, and we make our escape.

Apparently, I need the space as much as my parents do.

The cool air makes my teeth ache as I drag in a breath once we’re outside.

“Here.”

I startle when Bentley thrusts my jacket into my hands, and I take it gratefully.

“Let’s walk.”

We don’t hold hands, but our shoulders brush, the soft sound of fabric creating a soothing rhythm.

For a few minutes, we walk in silence. While my head’s buzzing and I’m emotionally drained, I feel better.

“You think my mom’s losing her shit and Dad’s having to hide the car keys?” The humor I attempt doesn’t quite catch, but Bentley shoots me a gentle smile.

“Possibly.” We cross the street before he asks, “Did that pan out like you expected?”

I tuck my hands in my coat pockets to stop from holding his hand and shrug. “Not sure. Yes and no.”

He remains silent and nods, giving me the space to try to center myself. It’s going to take more than a walk to the store to buy a bottle of milk we don’t need, but it helps.

“They took our marriage better than expected. Mom didn’t launch into wanting to throw us a party.” An uncomfortable ache settles in my chest, knowing we’ll never have that. “It’s a good thing, I suppose, since we haven’t told them we’re keeping our relationship on the down-low.”

Though, based on everything I told my folks about Trevin and how I’ve felt, I don’t think it’s technically necessary. My eight years of silence is telling enough.

“And how do you feel?”

We slow down when the store comes into view. There aren’t many people around, since it’s still early and this is our local store, not one of the big chains.

How do I feel? This one is easy.

“Relieved.” I turn and face him. We’re so close, the white puffs of our warm breaths collide. “Maybe uncertain. Not sure what comes next, you know?” He nods. “I’ve been keeping this a secret for so damn long, letting it eat at me.”

“We can work that out together.”

Bentley’s so earnest, I’m tempted to lean in. I hate that I’m not ready. That there’s this big barrier I’ve allowed to form roots standing in my way.

“Thanks, Bentley. Not sure how I’d be getting through any of this without you.” The amount of shit I’ve put us through is hard to make peace with, even though he’s asked me to do just that.

“Always.” As he presses his top teeth into his bottom lip, he searches my gaze.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I suppose I’m just thinking about what Malik and your mom said, about you no longer living at home.”

A bubble of amusement breaks free as I shake my head. “It all seems a bit warped when a thirteen-year-old knows more about me than I do.”

Bentley’s lips twitch. “So, they’re right?” Hope caresses his words.

“I just want to be wherever you are.” I reach out and tug at the sleeve of his coat. “If you take a job with Grady, I’ll be with you. If you find a position elsewhere, then I’m with you.”

Tenderness fills his gaze. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I’ll miss my family, but leaving Tennessee is not a hardship. There are too many ghosts lurking here.

“Let’s go grab the milk and maybe snacks for the drive back.” What I also want is to be in the privacy of my home so I can lean in and kiss my husband.

By the time we get back, Mom’s baking.

The woman is an expert with a paintbrush and a screwdriver, but a baker she is not. Unless it’s from a premixed packet, she tends to stay well clear. Everyone in the house is grateful that’s the way it is.

Honestly, people think my food combinations are strange, but Mom’s baking skills aren’t even about that.

So this—flour on the counter, chocolate chips sprawled right next to the bag, and her stirring fiercely—is majorly disconcerting.

How long were we gone?

“Mom?” My tone is all caution.

Dad’s sitting at the kitchen table, worry in his gaze, but when we make eye contact, he smiles.

“The first batch of cookies will be ready in five minutes.”

“Okay,” I say tentatively to her, putting the milk in the fridge.

“You need a hand with anything?” Bentley steps past the table and close to the kitchen counter.

At his question, Mom lifts her gaze, almost like she’s surprised to see him there. Her shoulders sag as she gives a slow shake of her head. “You’re a good boy, Bentley.”

There’s no lip twitching that she’s calling Bentley, who towers over her, a boy.

“Have you told your parents?” The way she peers at him is like she already knows the answer. Not a surprise, since we’ve been married a total of four days.

“Not yet. I’m going to ask them to come to the game before Christmas. We’ll tell them then. I don’t want to speak with them over the phone.”

“I know they’ll appreciate that.” Mom reaches out and squeezes his arm before casting her attention my way. Fresh emotion appears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry you didn’t feel able to come to me.” I quickly move over to her. “If I’d have known?—”

I tug her into my arms, cutting her off. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Mom.”

While she doesn’t argue with me, I’m not sure she believes me either.

At the sound of the oven timer, we pull away. Bentley’s there, though, opening the door and pulling out the tray with an oven glove. The look on his face tells me everything.

My lips twitch, a bubble of laughter trapping in my throat. A strangled sound escapes as Mom’s brows jump high, but I’m focused on the tray.

The “cookies” don’t look like any type of cookie I’ve ever seen before.

A laugh bursts free, high and a little hysterical.

Making eye contact with me, Bentley winks, a wide smile forming, making him look more handsome than ever.

Dad’s laughter joins in. It’s closer than I expected.

Mom turns. “What the hell?” A snorting laugh follows, the room soon loud with unhinged guffaws as we stare down at her baking attempt.

“They look like mini UFOs crash-landed on the baking tray,” Bentley quips, trying to stifle his laughter.

“I was thinking more like the moon’s surface after a meteor shower,” Dad adds, wiping tears from his eyes.

Mom shakes her head, still chuckling. “Okay, so not the prettiest cookies, but they have character, right?”

“Uh-huh. That’s one way to put it.” I swipe one of the misshapen treats. “Let’s hope they taste better than they look.”

Am I nervous to actually eat one? Absolutely. But how can I not?

We need this. This break. This snap of tension.

As I shove the cookie in my mouth, wincing at the bitterness, my heart fills completely.

I did the right thing, finally telling my parents and trusting them with the truth. Not only that, but sharing Bentley with them is everything.

He leans over and accepts a bite, despite the grimace on my face. A loud crunch and a dry swallow later, he pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my neck.

Yeah, we’re definitely going to be okay.