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“I don’t care anymore.” I shrugged. “I don’t care if your God loves me or if you do.”

The nurse looked up, and my father went completely still.

I felt tears slide down my face, but strangely, I wasn’t ashamed of them. “I spent my whole fucking life terrified that God hated me because you told me He did.”

“I never⁠—”

“You did,” I barked. “You made sure I knew. But… I don’t care anymore.” I gestured a shaky finger to my chest. “I love me.”

That shut him up. Completely. I almost laughed. Because apparently that was the most blasphemous thing I could have said to the old fuck.

“I love who I am, Xavier.” I wiped at my face, a web of wires coming with me. “I love being loud. I love being gay. I love that I wear stupid fucking clothes and flirt too much and make people uncomfortable just by walking into a room.”

My father’s face twisted up in disgust.

“And I love him.”

Daddy Dearest knew exactly who I meant. “Darius is confused. He’ll see the right path soo⁠—”

“No, you’re the one who’s confused.”

My phone buzzed and my heart jumped. But I didn’t look at it yet.

My father continued to stare at me. “Think carefully about what you’re throwing away.”

“You.” I smiled, and I saw my father actually crack. Like a man who’d shown his hand at a poker table and didn’t know where to go from here.

He straightened within a minute. Back to the pastor. His mask of indifference firmly in place when he nodded. “I’ll pray for you.”

“You do that,” I told him.

He walked towards the door, stopping before his foot crossed the threshold. I looked at him. His expression almost gave way to his dark soul. Almost. But men like Pastor Carter could build entire churches out of almosts. Then he left. The door shut. And I peered down at my phone.

One message. From Dee. I held my breath.

Dee the Dipshit:

Alvy. Is the window open for me, baby?

For a second, I was eight again. Looking across the space between our houses. Watching the light in his bedroom. Waiting for him. Climbing through his window because it had always been open for me after that day.

Then ten. Then fourteen. Then all the years between.

Every time I’d wondered. Every time I’d hoped. Every time that stupid fucking window had meant more than either of us could ever say.

I threw the blanket off. The nurse immediately moved to my side. “Absolutely not,” she said.

“I need the window.”

“You need the bed, especially after that… with your… family member.”

“I need the fucking window.”

“Mr. Carter⁠—”

I grabbed the IV pole and stood. Pain shot through my entire body. My knees buckled, and the nurse grabbed me around the waist.

“This is insane,” she mumbled to herself.