Page 17 of Protecting the Nerd

“Have you been to your parents yet?” Brianna asked, which wiped the smile right off my face.

Oh fuck. They would find out I was here in no time. I’d conveniently forgotten about that, probably because visiting them was at the top of my “hell no” list.

“York.” She took my hand. “They’ll hear. I know it’s hard, but it’s better if you tell them yourself.”

“I know.” Then her deeper meaning registered. She wasn’t talking about introducing Quillon or coming out. But to acknowledge that meant discussing it in front of Quillon, and I was so not doing that. “Thank you. I’ll call my mother right now.”

She hugged me again. “Welcome home, honey. We are glad you’re back.”

Oh yeah, she knew all right. “Thank you.”

She sauntered off, leaving us by ourselves. “I need to…”

Quillon nodded.

I fished my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my contact list. The gravity of impending reconnection settled over me like a weighted blanket, smothering me. Shoulders tense and belly clenching, I pressed Call.

“York? Is that you?” My mother’s tone was a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn’t quite place.

“Yes, it’s me.” I tried to keep my voice light. “I’m in town. Can I stop by in a little while?”

The line went silent, a quiet so profound I almost heard her mind racing. “Of course. You’re always welcome.”

My mother had perfected the art of saying one thing and meaning something else entirely. “Thank you. Oh, and I’ll be bringing a guest.”

I ended the call before she could ask questions.

Quillon’s eyes bore into me, his concern almost my undoing. “York,” he said, but I shook my head.

“I’m fine. Let’s focus on what we came here to do.” I forced a smile. Hopefully, it would be enough to dissuade any further inquiries.

He nodded, though I could tell he wasn’t convinced. Silence settled between us, but he reached for my hand again and laced our fingers together. Somehow, the gesture meant more than words could ever have. The gentle squeeze of his hand was a silent acknowledgment he’d heard—and perhaps understood—the words I hadn’t said.

6

QUILLON

The road curled up the mountain like a vine, creeping through the lush expanse of the forest. Countless pines stood sentinel on either side of the road, offering the comfort of evergreens, even when snow still covered the ground. The thrum of the car’s engine reverberated as York navigated each bend with practiced ease, yet he gripped the steering wheel with unmistakable tension—a touch too firm, knuckles whitening with every shift of gears.

I gestured out the window. “Beautiful view.”

York offered a terse nod, his gaze fixed on the unfolding road. “It’s always been a scenic drive.”

Something was wrong, horribly wrong, and my gut told me it had everything to do with his parents…and his brother. My first thought had been that he feared his parents’ reactions to him coming out by introducing me—even though it was fake—but that didn’t ring true. Whatever troubled him ran much deeper. But I wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t push. He’d erected walls, and I wouldn’t bulldoze through them without invitation.

The gravel crunched under the tires as York pulled up to The Lodge, its rustic charm unfolding like a page from an old storybook. He’d grown up here, he’d told me without uttering one word more than necessary. Three stories tall, the log cabin structure blended in with the surrounding forest. York tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he stared at the house, internally battling whatever dragons lay in wait.

“Ready?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

He nodded, a sharp exhale pushing past his lips as if he were about to dive underwater. “As I’ll ever be.”

We stepped out into the crisp mountain air, the scent of pine needles sharp and invigorating. In the background, the gentle clattering of a waterfall echoed. “There’s a waterfall?”

“Yeah, it’s behind The Lodge. The second-floor rooms in the back offer a great view.”

With purposeful strides, York approached the front door, which opened before he could knock or ring a bell. The likeness between York and his mother was evident. She was a tall, wiry woman with silver-gray hair, but she had the same brown eyes. “Hello, York. It’s good to see you.”

York leaned in and kissed his mom on the cheek. “You too.”

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