“No. I’m not married. I would’ve told you that when I called you. I’m not even seeing anyone.” At that news, her expression became cunning. “What is it?” he asked.
“It means there’s still a chance.”
Dread crept through him at the implication of her words. “A chance for what?”
“You people can get married now, and you haven’t. You don’t have a…a boyfriend.” Her lips pursed. “So that means you’re not so sure.”
“You people? Really, is that how you think of me? And what am I not sure about?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing…and yet he could.
“Being homosexual,” she hissed. “Did you have to make me say it?” Distaste dripped from her words. “My son, being with other men.” She shuddered. “The thought of what you do together…makes me ill. I’m positive that’s why I had a heart attack. It’s not normal. It’s wrong.”
“Then don’t think about it. Because there’s nothing wrong with me loving another man.” Maybe the lack of sleep was affecting him in more ways than one, but he refused to allow her to put him down. “I told you before, Iamnormal, whatever that means in the twisted dictionary of your mind. Maybe I don’t want to be married. Whatever I want and decide, it’s my choice.”
She pushed herself up to sitting, her cheeks pink. “But you’ll stay now.”
“Why? Do you accept who I am? Or you think because you’ve been ill, that means I should forgive almost fifteen years of neglect from you?”
“I’m your mother. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? I gave you life.”
“And I’m your child. You’re supposed to love me no matter what. But you can’t do that, can you?” He brushed at his wet lashes. “You gave me life, but that doesn’t mean you get to decide how I live it. Or who I love.”
“I need you.”
“No, you don’t. You have everything here. Nothing’s changed since I left, including your attitude. All these years, it’s always been me who reached out, never you. You say you need me? You have a funny way of showing it because in over fifteen years, it was always me who made the first call. I was the one who’d call at Thanksgiving and Christmas. There was never an invitation to come home. You never knew when I had a bad case of the flu and was home alone with a high fever, or in the hospital when Ibroke my leg skiing. You never once bothered to call me to see if I needed you.”
He would not let her destroy everything good in his life—the career he’d made for himself, his friends, Hogan, Millie, and maybe…Harper. His agent was more than someone who made money off him. Tens of thousands of fans read his books and loved them enough to make them bestsellers. People cared about him.
“I have to go. Bye, Mom. I hope your recovery goes well.”
She made no move to stop him.
At the bottom of the steps, his father waited. “Leaving so soon?”
Ignoring his father’s question, Colson said, “Let me ask you something. Did you ever give a damn about me?”
His lips curled in a sneer. “I saw weakness in you early on, and when you revealed who you were, it all made sense. In this world only the strong survive.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,Dad. I’m not weak. I’m strong as hell. Because I can live knowing I have two of the coldest, most unfeeling people as parents, and yet still have room in my heart to love. But I didn’t learn that from you. Grandmother and Grandfather taught me.”
“Two old fools. They never should’ve given you all that money.”
“But they did.” He narrowed his eyes. “And while it enabled me to have this extraordinary, easy path in life, I’ve been selfish and not given back. As soon as I get home, I’m going to set up a trust for gay, houseless youths and make sure my grandparents’ names are front and center.” His grin broadened. “And yours as well.”
He walked out and down the path, past the large circular driveway, and called for a car. By the time he reached the main road, the car was waiting, and he sank into the seat, grateful for the air conditioning cooling his overheated face.
If it wasn’t so sad to see how enraged his father became as he spoke—veins popping out, his face almost purple—it would’ve been funny. Of course, he had no intention of disgracing the project with his parents’ names. But he’d long thought about what to do with so much, aside from yearly donations. Now he had a plan.
At the hotel, he was shocked to see it was only eleven o’clock. With no reason to remain, he packed up and checked out. On the train ride home, he tried to read, but his mind kept wandering. As it was the middle of the workday, he debated calling Harper, then decided he didn’t—couldn’t—wait until the evening.
“Detective Rose.”
“Hi.”
“Colson?” The deep voice dropped a pitch lower. “Is that you?”
“Yeah. I know you must be busy, but—”
“No, it’s okay. I-I’m glad you called. How’s your mother?”
