Troy's eyes land on them. Something ugly spreads across his face. "Oh, this must be them. The couple." He laughs, mean and sharp. "Dad's buddy mentioned you two. Said there were queers openly dating in the frat now. Disgusting."
"Get out." Drew's standing now, too, laptop forgotten. "You're not welcome here."
"I'm not talking to you." Dad doesn't even look at Drew. His focus is locked on me. "I'm talking to my son. Who apparently forgot everything we taught him."
"I didn't forget." My hands are shaking. I shove them in my pockets. "I just realized it was all bullshit."
Dad's face goes red. "Bullshit? Bullshit? Your grandfather built our family name. Your mother dedicated her life to raising you, boys, right. And you're throwing it all away for what? To take it up the ass from some?—"
"You need to leave." My voice is harder now. "Right now."
"Or what?" Troy steps forward, chest puffed up. "You gonna make us, little brother? Finally gonna hit back?"
The front door opens again.
Sebastian walks in, backpack over one shoulder, clearly expecting a normal afternoon. He takes two steps, registers the scene, me squared off against my father and brother, the frat brothers forming a loose wall of support behind me, the tension thick enough to choke on, and stops dead.
"What's going on?"
"This doesn't concern you," Dad snaps without looking. "Family business."
Doc's eyes find mine. I see the question there. I give a tiny shake of my head. Don't.
But Doc's gaze has already moved to Troy, to the aggressive stance, to the way my brother's hands are curled into fists. I watch Doc's expression shift from confused to assessing to something cold and sharp.
"You must be the father." Doc's voice is pleasant. Dangerously pleasant. "I've heard so much about you."
Troy turns, looks Doc up and down, and laughs. "This him? This is your boyfriend?" He looks back at me with theatrical disbelief. "Seriously, Gavin? He's fucking tiny."
"Troy—" I start.
"What, did you pick the smallest twink you could find so you'd feel big?" Troy's still laughing. "That's pathetic, even for you."
Dad's fist connects with my jaw before I even see it coming.
My head snaps to the side. The room erupts, shouts, movement, someone yelling "HEY!" But I barely register it. I turn back to face him slowly, deliberately.
He's breathing hard, knuckles red, waiting for me to cower. To flinch. To be the scared little kid who used to hide in his room.
I don't move.
"That's the last time," my voice is quiet, steady, "you ever hit me."
Something flickers in his eyes. He's realizing, maybe for the first time, that I'm not fourteen anymore. That I've got inches and pounds on him. That I could break him if I wanted to.
I don't want to. I don't need to.
I'm not him.
Troy starts forward, fists raised. "You don't talk to Dad like?—"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
Again, I didn't even see someone move. Doc dropped his backpack.
One second, Troy is moving towards me, the next he's face-down on the floor with Doc on his back, one arm wrenched up at an angle that makes me wince. Troy yelps, actually yelps, struggling uselessly against someone half his size.
"What the fuck! Get off me?—"
