After a few minutes, I pick it up and scroll to the only contact I need right now.
Dad.
I hesitate just long enough to wonder if he’s busy, if he’s in a meeting or on a call with one of his clients. Then I hit the button anyway, and he picks up on the second ring.
“Damien?”
Just that. No questions. No breathless, distracted multitasking my mom used to do. No lectures, no waiting. Just a voice that’s always been steady, even when mine shook. I know he doesn’t expect to hear from me often but is always glad when I call. I don’t call enough, I know that.
“Hey,” I say, swallowing hard. “You busy?”
“No. Just got home from the gym. What’s up?” There’s a pause on the other end before he asks, “You alright?”
I don’t lie to him. “No.”
He exhales slowly. “Talk to me.”
I close my eyes, tipping my head back against the headrest, and let the words come. I exhale through my nose, hand tightening on the wheel. “Noah’s back. He’s living at the Sin Bin now.”
There’s a beat of silence, and when my dad speaks again, it’s gentler. “I figured that might be coming. Ryan mentioned something a few weeks ago. Said the dorms were overbooked.”
I blink, surprised at that bit of information. “He told you?”
“He asked if I thought you could handle it. I told him only you could answer that.”
I stare out at the sky, the colors blurring together. “I punched him today.”
“Noah?”
I reel back. “Jesus, no, Dad. Ryan.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second, and I can practically see him narrowing his eyes over the line. “And why did you hit Ryan?”
I close my eyes briefly before responding, “I was pissed. He said some shit I didn’t want to hear,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s just—Dad, Noah’s everywhere, and I keep fucking it up. I can’t look at him without remembering everything I gave up, and everything I didn’t say.”
He lets me spiral without cutting me off. It’s something he’s always been good at—making space for the mess without stepping in too early. Finally, he says, “Did you think seeing him again wouldn’t break you open?”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see him again,” I admit, voice barely above a whisper.
“Well,” he says, calm as ever, “you did, and now you’ve got a choice. You can keep avoiding the truth, or you can face it. But either way, you need to deal with what you’re carrying before it hurts you more than it already has.”
I grit my teeth, hands flexing on the wheel. “You know why I left. How am I supposed to look him in the eye and not say anything? How do I live with him, walk past him in the hallway, eat dinner at the same fucking table, and not tell him what his dad did?”
“You think I don’t still remember the look on your face when you showed up on my doorstep with nothing but a duffel bag?” My dad’s voice sharpens just a fraction. “I know what it cost you, Damien, but Noah doesn’t. And whether you tell him or not…that’s a choice you’ve got to make, and one you have to live with.”
“I didn’t want to lie to him.”
“You didn’t,” he says. “You made a choice and did what I asked you to do, but it’s been four years. If that choice is still eating you alive, maybe it’s time to stop carrying it alone.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know how to start.”
He sighs softly. “First, tell me what happened with Ryan.”
“He started talking about Noah, about how I’ve basically been a ghost since he showed up. He’s not wrong, but I couldn’t handle it.” I flex my hand and wince. “I lost it and hit him harder than I meant to.”
He tuts at that. “Did you apologize?”
“Yeah.”
