“But was it just a fantasy? Or was there something else behind it?”
He meets my eyes fully now. No judgment.
“If there’s more,” he adds, “you can tell me. Not as my stepbrother. As my boyfriend.”
I don’t answer right away.
Instead, I pull him closer, resting my chin on his head, breathing him in—safe, warm, real. The mask had been armor. Distance. Control. A place to hide everything I hated and wanted all at once.
And for the first time, I realize I don’t need it anymore.
I swallow hard, my throat tight, chest aching like it’s been cracked open.
“I’ve… I’ve never talked about this with anyone,” I say quietly.
My voice doesn’t sound like mine anymore—too raw, too exposed.
“Not really. Not like this.”
Jamie doesn’t interrupt. He just shifts closer, his hand warm against my back, steady. Patient. Like he already knows this is going to hurt.
“But,” I continue, forcing myself to breathe, “I have a boyfriend who looks at me like I’m not broken. Like I’m worth listening to. And I know you won’t judge me.”
I let out a shaky laugh.
“So I guess… I can try.”
I stare straight ahead, because if I look at him, I might not be able to keep going.
“My dad was always there, but he wasn’t reallythere,” I say.
“He cared about results. About appearances. About what I could become for him. Not who I already was.”
I shrug helplessly.
“I learned really early that if I wanted his attention, I had to be impressive. Strong. Perfect.”
My jaw tightens.
“I didn’t really have friends growing up. I didn’t know how to talk to people unless it was about sports or winning or being better than someone else. And then my mom—”
My voice cracks, and I stop. Breathe in. Out.
“When my mom died, everything inside me just… snapped.”
Tears blur my vision before I can stop them. One slips down my cheek. Then another.
“She was the only one who ever asked me how Ifelt,” I whisper.
“After she was gone, the house was so quiet. And I was so angry. All the time. I didn’t know where to put it.”
Jamie’s hand tightens on me.
“And then I started realizing I wasn’t straight,” I say, the words heavy even now.
“I didn’t have language for it at first. I just knew I was different. That somethingabout me didn’t fit the life my dad had planned.”
I shake my head.
