Page 29 of Troy

“He said he broke you,” Troy whispers, “he didn’t tell me who he was. Ben told me his name.”

“Yeah? That doesn’t bother me anymore; I was going to leave and never go back there. But, I planned to do it on my terms, not beaten to a pulp and left to walk out of the house with just a backpack with some of my belongings. Corrie watched me from the top of the stairs.” Halting again, my eyes close at the memory of that night.

“He didn’t mean to; I really believe that. But if you know his name, you will also know who our father is. Well, you’ll know the public persona. Ferdie Deschamps is a wicked, twisted man who hides his bigoted, homophobic views behind the upstanding-Christian-family-man façade that he has had people fooled for decades with.”

“What happened? Can you talk about it?” Troy’s lips brush my temple as he speaks.

“Corrigan is five years younger than me and the perfect son: my parents doted on him while I got the other side of my father’s attention. I was always the one who received the punishments—since I was the eldest, I should have been looking after him—my father has a thick, leather belt with a heavy, metal buckle. It hangs in his office on the wall behind his desk. I was terrified of even being in that room; if I was called to him in there, I knew what would happen.” Even after all these years, a shiver of icy fear runs through my body at the thought of it.

“Why did your mother allow this? What age did this start? My God, Raff, he can’t be allowed to get away with this!” Troy cries out, his anger palpable.

“Because, when she first tried to stop him, he beat on her. I think she simply decided to let him beat me rather than her. She did call him off the last night, I think he would’ve killed me if she hadn’t. It was her who left my bag by the door for me. Maybe she thought I would be better off away from him.”

“You still haven’t said what started it.”

“Yeah that, Corrie decided to out me. He implied I was doing more than playing football with my team mates, leaving enough insinuations that he, my father, could work out what he meant.”

“Really? How old was he?” Troy asks.

“Twelve, he was twelve and a nosy little shit sometimes.” I manage a chuckle at the thought of the skinny, little boy listening in on everything he could.

“What happened when you left? Where did you go? I tried to look you up after speaking with you but could find nothing prior to your college education.”

“You looked me up, eh?” I smile when a pale pink blush covers his cheeks.

“Yeah, your voice got me hard with that one, short conversation. Even you acting like a dick didn’t stop me.” Troy lets go of my arm to run a fingertip down my cheek and over the seam of my lips. Even talking about this shit doesn’t stop me from separating my lips and licking his finger before sucking it into my mouth.

“Yeah? I was called Sawyer when I lived at home. But, when I left, I managed to find a cab prepared to take me: I was covered in blood and bruises and had vomited, too. I went to my great-aunt’s house, knowing she would not only pay the cab but take me in. She did and never asked why this had happened. She cleaned up my injuries and held my hand through the nights when my nightmares felt like real life and I was back there, with my father.”

“So, why Rafferty McMahon? I love it, don’t get me wrong, you totally rock your name. You have to admit it’s unusual, though.” Troy’s smile penetrates my heart, spiking my pulse.

“Yeah well, she had a boyfriend when she was young. Her family never allowed it but she held his name close to her heart. She refused to marry after her parents turned him away, saying he wasn’t good enough for her. So, as you can guess, his name was Rafferty McMahon. I took it with pride and joy, making her happy. She dealt with all of that for me as I was still underage, allowing me to finish high school by having a tutor. I worked hard and managed a full scholarship and left for college, but returned to her for every holiday. She died just a few years ago; thankfully, she wasn’t ill. Just, one day, she was here and the next she wasn’t, passing away peacefully and with the same dignity she lived her life.”

“You miss her.” It wasn’t a question.

“I do, I loved her very much. She never questioned my sexuality, always supporting me and my choices.” I chuckle, “I remember her fussing over a man I took home for Thanksgiving one year, I think she liked him more than I did.”

“Do I need to be jealous, should I chase this man down?” Troy laughs. “So, the question now is: what do you want to do about your sibling?”

“Oh, that’s easy: I want to see him. I want him to know that I don’t blame him. In a normal family, a loving family, my sexuality wouldn’t have been an issue and that conversation would have been joked about. The blame lies solely on my father and I hate that man. I mean, really hate him. But Corrie? I think I would like to meet the man he has become and get to know him. I’m horrified by his injuries but proud of his strength to overcome them.”

“I have his cell phone number and his address; we can arrange to see him again.” Troy lifts his head to look at me. “Are you prepared for him to turn you away? He may not want to bring up the past again.”

“I’ll have to be, won’t I? I hope not, I would like to catch up with him. As long as there is no chance of my father ever being around, because I don’t think I would be able to control myself around him. I think prison orange would clash with my hair!” I can’t believe I manage to laugh about him, then I realize it’s because of Troy. I gaze at his beautiful face, watching his expression change from happy to concerned.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Have I said something wrong?” Troy’s hand strokes down my chest then rests on my waist.

“No. In fact, you’ve done the opposite. You’ve healed me, you’ve given me the chance to trust, to love.” I smile, moving my head to reach his mouth and plant a chaste kiss on his full lips. “I have hated my parents for so long, and now I realize I don’t have to; they don’t deserve to have any of my thoughts. I would like to see Corrigan again, though.”

“Oh, Raff, sweetheart. You have fixed me, too. I never thought I would love again, but with you it is so much more, it’s everything. You are my everything.” Troy rolls to cover me, his body crushed along my own, his hands snarled in my hair. “I love you, Rafferty. I will love you forever.”

Then, sitting up to straddle my hips, Troy slides down and we make love to each other again. Unrushed this time, but still giving each other everything we can. And when I come it’s deep inside him while chanting his name. The only name I will ever cry out again.

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