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“Restore him.”

Like I was the fucking stain.

The whole time, I thought about that window across the street. With the boy who was more interested in pretending that he liked girls than he was in me anymore…

“Mr. Carter?” Trevor’s voice brought the field back, and I realized my father had been talking.

I hadn’t heard any of it. Fuck. I hated that. Hated giving him even one second of myself.

I tossed the pom-poms towards one of the girls and shook off the uncomfy memories clinging to my ass like a dingleberry. “Break until lunch!” I called out.

The campers scattered quickly, but Trevor stayed and so did his friend Mason.

I looked at him. “Go.”

He hesitated, peering over at Mason, who was watching the others leave.

“I’m fine, my dude.”

His eyes said he didn’t believe me. Smart kid.

“Go terrorize the dining hall before D’Angelo eats all the pudding. Save me a cup, ‘kay?”

That worked. Mostly. Trevor and Mason jogged off after the others.

My father waited until we were alone. Then his voice dropped. “You embarrass yourself deliberately, don’t you.”

I shrugged. “You came all this way for that observation?”

“You think everything is a performance.”

“Everything is a performance. You taught me that.”

His face changed. The micro-difference showing the evil lurking inside. “I taught you discipline.”

“You taught me how to lie convincingly.”

“I tried to save you.”

I smiled. “From what?”

“You know what.”

“Say it.”

His jaw flexed and I stepped closer.

“No, really. Come on. We’re adults now. No Bible language. No euphemisms. Save me from what, Daddy?”

He looked towards the cabins. Checking for witnesses. Always. “Your lifestyle.”

I laughed under my breath. “Ah, I see. Pastor Xavier Carter. The big man’s bitch boy, here to save my gay soul.”

“Your choices are abhorrent.”

“My cock-loving choices?”

His face flushed, and I felt powerful for exactly three seconds. Then he lifted one hand. Not even towards me. Just a small movement. Probably to point or maybe adjust his sleeve.