“I’m fine.”
“Gage—” Adele started.
He stood up. “Look. I need y’all to digest all this, get cool with it, then call me when it’s safe to bring him around, okay?” He started to walk off when his dad stood up.
“Gage!”
“Let him go,” Kash said, tugging Adele back to his seat. Gage stared at his dads.
“None of us are against this, for the record,” Adele said. “The only thing that matters is that you’re safe and happy. But clearly, this is a delicate topic for you, so when you’re ready to talk to us about it, we’ll be here.”
What? When he was ready? Like this was all his fault. That all the coddling and shit was because they were afraid he’d break, and now he was being judged for it?
“Fuck you guys,” he snapped. He heard his dad suck in a breath, but he didn’t let him finish. “You know, you’re such a shitty-as-fuck dad sometimes? You never trust me. You’re always waiting for me to fail. I spent my entire childhood terrified of making a mistake and proving you right, so you know what. Double fuck you. I’m leaving, and don’t fucking call me.”
He stormed off to his car and didn’t look back.
A few miles down the road, it hit him: he’d fucked up. He’d let himself get too in his feelings and lashed out. He told his parents and his uncle, the people he loved most, to fuck off. He’d told his dad things that in the moment felt like the truth, but he knew they weren’t. They were displaced pain and this strange need to hurt someone else because he was hurting.
And fuck him for taking it out on one of the few people in the world who didn’t deserve it.
Jesus Christ.
His dad was never going to forgive him for that one. There was no apology he could give to make up for what he’d said.
He was at a stoplight when he realized he was struggling to breathe, and the edges of his vision were foggy. Pulling off, he noticed he was near the museum, and he wasn’t sure if he’d driven that way on purpose or if the universe was trying to save him from himself. But whatever the case, he darted out of the car and started running.
The tightness in his chest was getting worse, and he couldn’t see much beyond haze when the food truck came into view. His ears started to ring as the panic attack began to engulf him, and he made it to the side of the truck, pounding on the side door.
“Lucas! Please, God, tell me you’re in here!”
The door flew open, and it wasn’t his best friend. It was Frankie. He was wide-eyed and, for a moment, looked furious until he set eyes on Gage. Within a moment, Gage was yanked inside, and the door was shut. Then he heard the familiar sound of the window being closed up, and the inside of the truck dimmed.
Lucas was there in a second, his arms coming around Gage as he gasped for air.
“I can’t…I’m…I can’t breathe,” he managed to get out. He was wheezing hard.
Lucas held him tighter. “Where’s your bag?”
“Car.”
Without asking, Lucas shoved his hands in Gage’s pockets and came out with the keys, holding them out. “Gage has a bag under the passenger seat of his car. It has emergency meds and his inhaler. Go grab it, baby. Please.”
Gage’s knees gave out, and Lucas hit the floor with him, pulling him against his side and letting Gage bury his face in his neck. He was struggling to exhale, his breath a harsh wheeze. It hadn’t been like this for him in so long.
He hadn’t had a panic attack like this in…shit, he couldn’t remember. It was near the beginning, when the texts had started coming in. And then in the weeks before he got the paternity results. And before that, it had been school, when he was trying to figure out who he was and what he wanted to do with his life.
When he was facing the side-eyes and the rumors about him because he looked different from his dad, and because he didn’t know where he’d come from.
He was supposed to be moving on, not falling deeper into the pit.
“Recovery isn’t linear,” Lucas whispered, making Gage realize he’d been talking out loud. “Don’t do this to yourself.” He began to rock Gage gently, and though he still needed his inhaler and probably a Xanax, his heart no longer felt like it was trying to break free of his ribs. “I’ve got you, okay? I’m here. I’ve got you.”
The door swung open a second later, and Frankie came back through, holding up Gage’s bag. “Is this it? Blue bag?”
Lucas snorted as he held his hand out to feel it. “No fucking idea what color it is.” He ran his fingers over the top. “This is it. Grab him his Xanax and his inhaler.”
Frankie got the inhaler out, but then he started pawing through Gage’s pill bottles. “I have no idea what any of these are.”
