He talks about six months again, but this time it’s less about the drama and more about the daily grind. About being thankful his mother didn’t kick him out. About being thankful his little brother still texts him a lot.
“I’m thankful neither of you gave up on me,” he says, eyes bright. “Even when I deserved it. Your support makes me strong enough to handle this.”
The weight of those words lands heavy in the room. I feel like I’m seeing them through new eyes. This tiny, worn-down house is full of people who keep choosing each other, over and over, even when it hurts.
Then it’s Brody’s turn.
He sucks in a breath, staring at the photo of his dad for a long moment. Then he looks at Davis.
“I’m thankful I get to have my brother back,” he says. “I’m proud of you. So proud. Seeing you fight for yourself every day… it’s helped me more than I know how to say. If coming home was the price for that, it was worth it.”
Davis blinks hard, jaw clenched.
Brody turns to his mom. “I’m thankful for you,” he says. “For always accepting us as we are. I know we don’t have a lot to show for how hard we all work, but I also know I’d rather have what we have than all the money in the world. And I know I don’t need a fancy degree from some prestigious school to succeed.” He swallows. “One way or another, I’m not giving up on my dreams. Because you taught us to believe in ourselves.”
Mrs. Miller presses her fist against her mouth, eyes shining.
Then, to my utter shock, Brody looks atme.
“And I’m thankful for this infuriating, stubborn, uptight guy,” he says.
I fake a scoff. “Rude,” I mutter, but my heart’s pounding.
He gestures to my button-down shirt. “You’re wearing a button-up in our living room with only one button undone at the top, Becky. Loosen up a little.” He flicks the collar.
Then he looks up at me through thick blond lashes and smiles. “I can’t help feeling like everything that’s happened led me to you,” he says quietly. “In the beginning, you annoyed me and pissed me off. Then I thought you needed me. I thought you were just fun to play with. But somewhere along the way, I fell in love with your pretentious ass.”
My lungs forget how to function.
He swipes at his eyes, cursing under his breath. “I think I’ve cried more in the last week than I have my entire life,” he grumbles. “But I don’t care about anything else, not really. Knowing I didn’t lose you, that’s the only thing that matters right now.” He looks down at his hands. “I’ll work hard and do my best to be patient. And for the record, I don’t expect you to come out. Not for me. I know you can do better, you deserve?—”
I don’t let him finish. I’m already moving before I realize I’ve decided to. I slide off the couch and onto my knees in front of him, cupping his face in my hands, and kiss him. He makes a soft sound in his throat and leans into me, hands clutching at my wrists.
When I pull back, his eyes are wide and wet and fixed on mine.
“You’re the one who deserves better,” I tell him. “You’re hardworking and kind and generous. You make me a betterman. You’ve been so patient with me—too patient—while I was an unkind, scared coward too afraid to show what I thought was weakness.”
I take a breath that feels like it opens up a new chamber in my chest.
“I’ve realized something, though,” I say. “Loving you is the strongest thing I’ve ever done. It feels like gaining a level of strength I didn’t know existed. I am proud to belong to you, Brody. To beyours. And I don’t care if everyone knows it. I’ll wear a collar if it makes you happy.”
His jaw drops a little, then he chuckles. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he whispers.
I laugh a little too excitedly and kiss him again. We get so caught up in each other that I don’t notice Mrs. Miller and Davis quietly getting up until I hear the creak of the floorboards near the doorway. I break the kiss, blushing so hard my ears hurt, and glance over my shoulder.
Mrs. Miller is standing with her hands on her hips and a smirk that looks suspiciously like the one her son wears when he’s planning something wicked. Her eyes are damp.
“Don’t let us stop you,” she says. “We’re going to the Christmas meeting. We’ll be home around four.”
Davis gives Brody a look that is equal partsI’m happy for youandI’m never going to let you live this down.
And suddenly, we’re alone.
The house is quiet. The winter light filtering through the blinds casts soft stripes across Brody’s face. My knees ache a little from the rough carpet, but I don’t move.
“I mean it,” I tell him. “I don’t want to hide. I don’t really know how to come out, but I already told my father.”
He looks at me as if he might have heard me wrong. “You did not.”
