More by Sloan Parker (best ebook reader for chromebook .txt) 📕

“When I went to the club, I wasn't ready to get involved, not after Gregg. I wanted a fuck, nothing more. Then when I met you two, I could see who you were and how much you needed.” He gestured to Matthew. “He needed someone to give him room to find himself and be confident without feeling like he had to be what others wanted him to be. Someone to need him. To accept him as he is. To appreciate him, cherish him.”

Matthew stared at Richard for a moment, then shot out of the bed and sprinted for the bathroom.

Richard pitched forward and peered into the small room. “Kid?”

Matthew darted out and threw a box of tissues on the bed. “This has the potential to get all emotional, and we're naked. Tissues are better than sheets.”

Richard shook his head and chuckled.

A hyena-like laugh gripped me. My shoulders shuddered, and my eyes filled with moisture, a release of tension hidden beneath the laughter.

Matthew grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my eyes. “See?”

That brought out another laugh from Richard.

My life would never be dull with them.

I breathed deep, and my head struck the headboard. The exhaustion of dealing with emotional shit had settled in every nerve, every muscle. And I hadn't said anything yet. But telling them too much could mean more trouble than I'd ever want to expose them to. No. Telling them wasn't the problem. Staying with them was all that my father cared about. What would he do to keep me away from them?

The laughter died off, and Richard spoke again. “When we talked about trying this, I could see your nervousness, Luke, your reluctance. But when I stopped you at the door and you didn't leave— you sat there shaking— I knew you needed us. Like we needed you.” He reached for my hand. “Why were you scared when your dad called? Why did you leave tonight?”

I closed my eyes and let the words flow, let the story I never told surge out of me.

“When my father found out I was gay he stopped talking to me, stopped looking me in the eye, and, I guess, stopped loving me. He hated that I was gay. Hated me for it. His work had a lot to do with what people thought of him. He's always been seen as this conservative man. He didn't think he'd survive the scandal of having a gay son. He told me to keep it to myself, asked me not to say anything. I was a kid. I didn't want to hurt him. I did what he asked.

“He told me it was a phase— that I'd get over it. That one great lay with a woman, and I'd forget about my sexual experiments.” The last remnants of my earlier chuckles escaped my chest. “My senior year of high school, he offered to buy me a hooker. He couldn't accept it— couldn't accept me. But they were still my parents. They came to my high school graduation. They helped me get into college. They even paid for school at the start. My mom would call me, but I rarely saw my dad once I left for college. He wanted nothing to do with me. I thought we'd ignore each other. I thought he'd leave me alone. I guess I didn't know him.

“My freshman year, I fell in love with my roommate. I'd slept with other boys in high school, but Tim was the first one I cared about, the first one I loved.

“Right before final exams, my father came to my dorm room. I don't know why. It didn't matter. What mattered was what he learned after a few minutes in our room. He looked at Tim and me and knew we were more than roommates. He didn't say a word, just turned and left. Two days later, he came back.”

I said the rest and was back at college again, reliving every moment...

"Tim. Don't stop."

"No. This will go on, Luke. I won't let it stop."

I opened my eyes at his words. Did he mean them the way they sounded? I didn't get a chance to ask.

The strong scent of a familiar cologne washed over me. At first, my brain couldn't reconcile the vision. It was in such contrast to what my body felt.

But there he was. My father stood next to my nightstand.

I retreated up the bed and dragged Tim with me.

Tim stared down at me, his face contorted in a mix of passion and confusion until he caught sight of my father. His dick slipped out of me, and he scrambled to my side.

My father whirled his arm upward. He jammed a cool metal object against my face. A handgun. The barrel dug into the flesh of my cheek.

"Don't move, son.” The smirk of his lips and the rage in his eyes kept me still, not his words. “You"— he tilted his head to Tim—"get dressed. Your parents are waiting downstairs."

"My parents?"

"They want you to come home for the weekend. They need to talk to you."

"I'm not going anywhere without Luke."

My father inched the gun to my temple, scraping my skin, pressing harder. I scurried backward until he had me wedged between the gun and the headboard.

"Stop.” Tim got off the bed and grabbed my father's arm. “Don't hurt him."

My father backed up and spun the gun toward Tim. He held the stance for a moment then aimed the gun at me again. “If you don't go downstairs and talk to your parents, things will get painful for Luke. I'm disgusted with what I just saw, and I really don't care what happens to me if I shoot his ass."

Rapid breaths spilled out of Tim. He held up his hands. “Okay. I'll go talk to them. I'll be right back.” He threw me a look I took to mean, I have a plan. Please be careful. He dressed and came back to the bed. My father scurried closer and