Page 71 of Beautifully Devoted

“I knew it,” Cam grunts beside me. “He wants to cash in on your success.”

“Think of it as collecting a debt,” my dad shrugs a listless shoulder. “I took care of you, now you take care of me.”

“Mom’s the one who took care of me,” I say.

“She paid the bills. I watched you.”

“You watched him when it served your purpose, like getting you out of a shift at work or playing the starving kid card so you could get a meal. Otherwise you dropped him off and left him, which is why he came home with me every day.” Cam’s jaw is locked so tight I’m worried he might break a tooth, and even though it’s my psyche at stake here, I find myself rubbing Cam’s neck to loosen him up. “You remember that, right?” he asks me. “Don’t let him convince you he’s owed anything.”

“I won’t,” I tell Cam, though truthfully, I didn’t remember any of that until just now. My memories were about going to the park and getting ice cream and shit. I’d sort of forgotten what came next was a fight between him and my mom when she found out.

What else am I remembering incorrectly?

“I thought you might be too young to remember all I did for you,” my dad drawls, “so I brought an incentive.” He pulls his phone from his pocket right as I have a flashback of Bennet talking about a guy in a leather jacket at the bar.

“You’re the one who took the video,” I say as he hits play.

“What do you kids call it nowadays? Gay chicken?” he asks as video Cam pulls me in for a kiss that’s every bit as scorching as I believed it would be. “Kind of a stupid game for a prospective NFL star to play if you ask me. People might believe it’s real. Especially if I post this.”

I can’t explain whether it’s anger over my dad trying to use my boyfriend against me or a desire to prove that I’m nothing like him, but something gives me the courage to fight back.

Facing Cam, I give him a little wink as I tilt my head toward the phone playing our video. “Told you that shit would be hot.”

“You trying to call my bluff?” My dad pockets his phone with a scowl. “It won’t work. Fifty grand or I post it.”

“What makes you think he has fifty grand?” Cam asks as I say, “Make sure to tag me. I’ve been wanting to find a copy of that shit ever since I heard someone filmed it.”

“Don’t play brave, son. You know what could happen to your draft prospects if people think you’re queer?”

“The NFL’s official position is that they’re accepting, so if my stats are good and they don’t take me I guess I have a case, huh?” That’s a bluff—I have no idea what’ll happen if I try to get drafted with a boyfriend, but since Cruz is in my same boat I’m sure we’ll figure it out.

“You really want to test that theory? Fifty grand and you’ll never have to find out,” my dad says.

“What kind of prick tries to blackmail his own son?” Cam scowls at him.

“The kind who never got to do what he wanted in life since he got saddled with a kid,” my dad spits back, convincing me once and for all that my memories of the guy are clouded by the childlike hero worship tons of kids have for their dads. Now I know better.

“Look old man,” I start. “Do whatever you want with that video. It wasn’t a game and I’m not ashamed of it. People will either accept that I’m with Cam or they won’t, and I really don’t give a shit which way they lean. I’m happy. That’s all that matters”

I move to get in the car when my dad blocks my path. “Maybe you should take a day or two to think about that, just so you don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Before I can respond a giant fist grabs his shirt and lifts up, so he’s forced to rise on his toes if he wants to breathe.

Fuck, that’s hot. I mean, I always liked how Cam made me feel safe, but under the boyfriend lens, I realize it’s sexy on top of being sweet.

“Come anywhere near him again and you’ll be the one to regret it,” Cam seethes. “Now, get the fuck out of here before we call the police.” He shoves my dad hard enough that the guy has to take a few steps back to avoid going down, but Cam sticks to me like glue until I’m inside to make sure he can’t get close to me again.

He rounds the truck and drives through the open space in front of us so we don’t get close enough that my dad can claim we hit him. Which after that conversation, I’m inclined to think he’d do.

Damn, I really had blinders on as a kid.

I’d sort of suspected that after a decade of silence, but having it confirmed is…freeing. Not that I’m magically healed of the fear that I wasn’t good enough or that I’ll end up like him, I just have a better grasp on the fact some of those fears are rooted in memories that are flawed.

Hopefully, one day, when it sinks in that his actions had nothing to do with me, they’ll be gone for good. For now, it’s a lot to take in, and I think I’m still in a mild state of shock about it.

Several blocks later, Cam finally loosens his grip on the wheel and casts a quick glance in my direction, where I’m sitting just as rigidly as he is.

“On a scale of one to ten how fucked up was that?” he asks.

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