“It’s a gay slur,” I whisper before hiding my eyes again.
“I don’t know what slur means, neither, but it’s clear whatever the hell it means, it upset you. Did he hurt your feelings, Ezzy?”
Hearing someone else call me Ezzy feels like a jump start to my senses, waking me up from an endless sleep. I lock eyes with Pete and nod my head. “He used to hurt my feelings a lot. Then he found out I like guys, and they kicked me out.” I bite my lip, wanting to say the worst thing he did—what he did to Mom—but I can’t get the words out.
Pete glares at my father, but I’m still hiding behind Ladonna, so I can’t see Dad’s reaction. “My brother loves that boy, and you hurt him. I ain’t going to do shit to you, but if I were you, I’d get myself right with whatever maker I believed in, because I’m pretty sure Johnny’s going to end your life.”
A car’s horn honks, startling us all, and when I turn around, there’s a small, silent Prius, slowly creeping closer. In the front seat, Bubba’s big, blue eyes are searching the land, and when he finally spots me, his eyes fill with tears.
“Daddy,” I whisper, and the moment his door opens, something snaps inside me. I find myself running, leaping into his waiting arms, melting into his chest. His lips are kissing all over my forehead, and he’s telling me what a good boy I am, and how much he missed me. I look up at him, my cheeks just as wet with tears as his, and I lean in, kissing him gently on the lips.
“Ezzy,” he murmurs before kissing me again. “Oh, Ezzy.”
I hide my face in his neck, listening to his breath as it rattles in his chest. He’s holding me so tightly, I’m worried he’ll crush my bones to dust, but oh-fucking-well. Crush them. Break every bone in my body, and I’d still come back, asking for more. Because this is Bubba. My Bubba. My Daddy.
Something metal presses against me, and when I look down, I realize Bubba is on crutches, and his leg is just kind of hanging there, not moving.
“Bubba? Are you okay?”
“I will be, baby. I’m so much better now that I’ve got you.”
“Put me down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
His lips slam against mine, leaving me breathless as he slips his tongue into my mouth. We’re essentially tongue-fucking each other, and Johnny’s whole family is around, but I don’t give a shit. Daddy’s kissing me. Daddy still loves me.
“Ez,” Johnny whispers, and as his hand touches my back, static sparks up and down my spine. “Baby.” His lips journey up and down the back of my neck, his hand roaming all over. “God dammit, Ezra.”
“Jonathan,” I whine, lifting my head to look at him, but he just touches his forehead to mine, giving me the most intense stare I’ve ever seen in my life.
“That was you, last night, wasn’t it? In my dream.”
“You remember?”
His hand cups my cheek. “I remember every single second we’ve ever spent together.”
It’s clearly a lie, because there’s lots of stuff he doesn’t remember, but that’s not what matters right now. All that matters is this. Them. Back in my life, right where they belong.
“Missed you,” I whimper.
“I missed you, too.”
“Where were you? I waited for you to come find me. I waited so long for you to find me.”
“I know,” Johnny says. “You waited so well, Little Dick. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, bro.” His lips are all over. My cheeks and forehead. My chin and nose. When his lips rest right against mine, my father groans in the background, but I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck about his externalized homophobia. Not when I’ve got the homosexual dream playing out in front of me.
“Fucking sick,” my father mutters. “A bunch of goddamn deviants, the lot of you!”
Johnny rears back his arm and slaps my father in the face, open-handed, so it’s even more of an insult. What grown man wants to be backslapped in front of his wife, unable to defend himself?
“If you ever say anything like that again, I’ve got a shovel and a whole lot of land to bury your ass under. Don’t test me, motherfucker.”
“Where did I go wrong?” Ladonna laments. “I’ve got one son complaining about mother-effer-dom, and now this one is dropping emmer-effers like it’s acid at a swinging sixties rave.” She stares at my stepmother, her cheeks red with embarrassment. “I hope you won’t think poorly of them. They’re good boys, you see, they just get a little emotional sometimes.”
“Men,” mom agrees with a chuckle.
“Can’t live with them, can’t erase them from the history books.”
I shake my head. “She’s just as awful as my dad, Momma Ladonna.”
