Ever since he left for college, the whole place echoed. His room still smelled like cologne and clean laundry, but the door stayed shut. He took his big speakers, his guitar, and his posters. All he left behind were a few old hoodies and a silence I didn’t know how to fill.
He always said he couldn’t wait to get out. Couldn’t wait to follow in Dad’s footsteps and become a lawyer. Work the same hours. Wear the same suits. Talk in the same cold, quiet voice.
I hated that he meant it. Every word. As if it was some badge of honor to become the exact person who made this house feel like a tomb.
I hated more that everyone expected the same from me.
College. Law school. Long hours in some stuffy office with no windows. Memorizing rules, toeing lines, pretending to give a shit about contracts and real estate and whatever else Dad buried himself in.
But I didn’t want any of that. I wanted out. Just… not like that.
I didn’t know exactly what I wanted yet. Not really. But I knew it was different. Everyone kept telling me who I was supposed to be, but no one ever asked what I actually thought.
I wanted to live in a place that didn’t go quiet the second the sun went down. I wanted noise and people whomeant itwhen they asked if you’re okay. I wanted to build something that felt like mine and not some legacy someone handed me.
I wanted to be around people who laughed too loud and left the lights on and stayed up talking about nothing for hours. Iwanted honesty, even if it hurt. I wanted somethingreal, even if it broke me. People who didn’t tell me who I should be or who they wanted me to be, and just let me be who I am.
And if I could picture my future clearly, Tru would be in it.
Still beside me.
Still choosing me.
But I didn’t tell anyone that. Not even him. Because none of that sounded like what I’msupposedto want. I didn’t know how to say it out loud, but I think part of me already knew. Tru was the only thing I ever really wanted. And God help me if I ever admitted that truth.
The problem was, every time my dad saw two guys holding hands on TV, he’d scoff and say it was wrong. A phase. Not real. They were probably just confused. And words I wanted to say got stuck in my throat. So, I stayed quiet, swallowing pieces of myself one by one, until all that was left was the secret I couldn’t stop wanting.
The only time I saw Dad anymore was over at Tru’s house, which was almost funny, if it didn’t feel like such a slap in my face.
He’d show up occasionally, saying he waschecking in on me. But I could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually looked me in the eye. He barely spoke to me.
It was all aboutCharlottenow. Tru’s mom.
He talked to her in that voice, the nice one, the lawyer one, the one that didn’t sound close to anything he ever used with my mom. He cleaned her pool. Fixed her door hinge. Last week, he even took her car to get washed.
When I asked why, he just said, “She does a lot for you,Son. Nobody does anything for her. She doesn’t have a man around to help with these things.”
I didn’t buy it for a second.
Charlotte didn’t need a man. She didn’t ask for help. She just gave—and yeah, she did a lot. But she always had. She did before he noticed her. Before he started hanging around as if he belonged.
Tru and I could clean her pool and wash her car and fix her door hinge. We could help her bring the groceries in and take the garbage out. Why did she need him?
The thing was, I liked it better when it was just me and Tru. His mom was the only adult who treated me like I mattered.
Now my dad’s here. Standing in the kitchen, laughing, smiling, doing things he never did for us. Forme. The only place I felt seen was at Tru’s house, and now even that didn’t feel real anymore. And no matter how many goals I scored or how many good report cards I brought home, I didn’t make him proud.
He was proud of my brother.
He was interested in Charlotte.
And me?
I was just the kid he didn’t have time to love. My dad forgot about me a long time ago. I just didn’t expect him to forget while I was still standing right there, hoping he’d notice.
CHAPTER 5
TRU
