Page 36 of Loving You

Rod didn’t move, so Bronx straightened his shoulders, somehow looking taller. He met Rod’s gaze and held it. “He asked you to leave. Don’t force the issue. You won’t like what happens.”

Rod scoffed, then held his hand out to Poppy, who reluctantly took it. “We’ll speak about this over dinner tomorrow.”

Monty laughed in spite of the fact that he was about to go down. “I’m not coming to dinner tomorrow.” His knees started to buckle, and Bronx caught him.

Rod either didn’t notice or didn’t care, but he also gave up the argument. Monty knew it wasn’t over, but that didn’t matter to him. What mattered was that he was safe, and he wasn’t going to concuss himself when he went down.

The door slammed as his father left, and the world began to go dark at the edges.

“I’m going to faint,” he managed to get out.

“Let go” was the last thing Monty heard. “I’ve got you.”

Though he preferred it, fainting was harder on him than the cataplexy. In spite of the weird hallucinations, he recovered from those spells a lot faster. Losing consciousness usually came with a nice bout of tachycardia, and it took a while to climb out of the fog and remember where he was. For a while, his doctor had been worried they were seizures, but his neurological testing so far had been negative for that sort of brain activity.

His system was just…dysregulated. He was an internal mess.

He came to on the sofa with Bronx massaging his feet, and he let himself have a few moments to clear his head before he spoke. He was embarrassed yet again, and he had no idea what to say. He didn’t mind Bronx knowing that his relationship with his family was complicated, but he hadn’t wanted anyone to see how ugly it really was.

He swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”

Bronx glanced over at him, then leaned forward and grabbed a mug off the coffee table. “Can you sit up?”

Monty managed it, curling against the arm of the sofa with his toes tucked under Bronx’s thigh. He took the mug—it was lukewarm and smelled floral, like chamomile and jasmine. He sipped it and tasted the faint sweetness of honey.

“Thank you,” he said again.

Bronx smiled at him. “What’s thank you in French?”

“Merci.”

“I think I knew that,” Bronx told him. “I took Spanish in high school.”

Monty grinned. “Gracias.”

“Tell me you’re not fluent in Spanish too.”

Monty hunched in on himself. When he was young, he was mocked for knowing too much. He wasn’t a cool nerd. He was the weird one. He didn’t think Bronx of all people would mock him, but the old scars were still tender. “And Portuguese. A little bit of Italian only because it’s related so closely to the other Latin languages. I, ah…I was lonely and bored a lot when I was younger.”

“You are so hot,” Bronx said quietly. He tilted his head to the side. “Besides Spanish, I only know this one.” He tipped his fingers from his chin in the ASL word for thank you. “I’ve started taking this online class because Frey’s son is Deaf, and he doesn’t use speech.”

Monty nodded. He knew about the kids in Dallas’s friend group. He had a working knowledge of ASL as well because it was the only offered language he hadn’t mastered during his final year at school, so he took two semesters. But he decided to keep that one for himself for now.

“So,” Bronx said after a long beat, “that was your dad.”

Right. His dad. He’d fainted because Rod had shown up to ruin one of the best moments of Monty’s life. It was almost like the man had a sixth sense for when Monty was at his happiest. What god had he pissed off in a past life to deserve this?

He glanced over when Bronx reached out and cupped his cheek, stroking a thumb along his skin. “He didn’t seem like a very nice man.”

“Because he isn’t one,” Monty said, trying and failing not to sound bitter. “I feel bad for his wife.”

“The one he wants you to call Mom.”

Monty felt a little nauseous, and he turned his face away. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to ever be part of that.”

Bronx cleared his throat and looked apologetic when Monty glanced over. “Sorry, sparky, but you’re talking in French.”

Monty’s face heated, and he carefully shifted his legs off Bronx’s lap. The blood began to pool in his toes the way it always did after a fainting spell. His fingers felt a little heavy with it too. He hated how dysregulated his system was.

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