9
RILEY
Age 18
Grandpa jumped in his chair when I stormed into his office.
“You don’t get to decide my future!” I yelled in a choked voice.
I knew my eyes were red from all the crying I’d been doing on my drive back from Atlanta, but I didn’t care. This conversation couldn’t wait any longer. I’d waited three years for a chance to take back something my grandfather had stolen from me, and now I’d lost my opportunity. Beckett was gone. Tracy was gone. Everyone I once loved was gone. And it was all his fault! All I could do now was think about the future, one that didn’t include them in it. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to include Grandpa’s shipping business either. I was done letting him take things from me.
Grandpa started to stand, but I took another step forward.
“You don’t get to decide what I do with my life. I’ve taken your classes, I’ve tried to do what you ask of me, but it’s not what I want! It was never what I wanted! But you wouldn’t know that because you don’t ask to me, do you? Why bother taking me in if you didn’t even want me here! I was happy, Grandpa! I was happy at the Henrys’ and you… you ruined that.”
“Preston—"
“No!” I spat. “I mean it, I don’t want to take over your business!”
“Preston, stop!” Grandpa yelled, slamming his hand on the desk. I flinched. “Where is this coming from? Where have you been the last two days? You took off without telling anyone. We’ve been worried sick.”
I bit my lip as I slumped in the couch by the wall. “I went to Atlanta.”
“Atlanta,” he repeated under his breath. “Why?”
The hole in my chest became infinitely larger, breaking me all over again. Tears fell, but I didn’t try to hide them this time. Not anymore. I was too raw, too broken.
There was only one word I could give to answer him.
“Beckett.”
There was a slight pause and then I heard him exhale, as if he suddenly remembered the name. “Was he a boyfriend?”
I glanced up in surprise. Grandpa barely paid any attention to me, but apparently, he’d figured out I was gay.
“No, but…” I paused, trying to fight back the storm inside, “he was my best friend and you took him from me.”
Grandpa dropped his gaze, but not before I saw a flash of guilt. The room became thick with silence, each of us at a loss for words.
“Did you find him?” he asked finally.
A choked sob tore from me and I forced myself to reign in my anger. There was no judgment, no condemnation, or even anger in his voice. Only concern and maybe a touch of hope.
“He’s gone. They’re all gone. Beckett, his sister, my foster parents. I couldn’t find any of them.” I drew my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, hiding my face as the heartache became too much. All I wanted now was the privacy of my room.
I heard the creak of his chair as Grandpa stood, then felt the couch dip as he sat next to me. His strong, gentle hand rested on my shoulder. “Tell me about him. Tell me about your Beckett.”
Through tears and broken words, I told him everything. From the moment I saw Beckett looking at me through the window the first night I arrived at the Henrys’, to the night before he left for New York with his sister, I shared so many memories of our time together. I told him how I thought he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever known, and how much Beckett meant to me. How I knew if I had only been given a chance, I would have told him how I felt. I told him about the Henrys, too, and how they were some of the best people I knew. They weren’t perfect, but they did their best to show me what a family was and what it meant to be cared for and loved. I told Grandpa I loved them and wanted to be a part of their life forever. I told him how much I missed them and how it hurt that I wasn’t allowed to talk about them, because they had been some of the most important people in my life. For once, Grandpa listened. For the first time in three years, he actually listened.
His eyes were wet when he finally pulled me to him. “I’m so sorry. I never even considered that you might have had a good experience there. All the stories I heard about foster care, the things I knew could happen… It never once occurred to be that you were happy. I’m so sorry, Preston.”
“I was happy,” I admitted. “I miss him, Grandpa. I miss him so much it hurts.”
***
A ship’s horn sounded in the harbor, startling me as it bounced off the walls of my studio. The paint brush I was holding fell to the floor with a clatter and it felt like my heart went with it. This was my third attempt at finishing the commissioned piece for my client, Mr. Matthews, and I was no closer now than when I’d started three days ago.
I let out a resigned sigh and picked up the paintbrush, noticing the bristles had long since dried. I must have been sitting here for hours, yet it felt like only minutes. Damnit!I really needed to pull myself together.
