Page 109 of Beautifully Conflicted

“He walked away without saying much of anything.”

My body tenses. “You’re defending him?”

“Not at all. Just pointing out that he didn’t actually say he’s disowning you.”

“You’ve heard the expressionactions speak louder than words,right? Walking away is a pretty definitive action.”

“Yes, but as your boyfriend, it’s my job to cheer you up, so I’m looking for the bright side.” He kisses the top of my head.

“It’d be better if you didn’t give me false hope.”

I can feel Damien’s jaw shifting as he considers that. “Okay, I see your point. But what should I say if I shouldn’t try to cheer you up?”

“You don’t have to say anything.” I try to snuggle closer, seeking more of the skin-on-skin contact that’s just as soothing as any words. “Just being here like this is all I need.”

“That’s easy enough.” He gives me another quick kiss. “How’s your knee? Do you need to change positions, ice, stretch it out?”

“No, I’m—” The heavy thud of a fist hitting the door interrupts me, and after tensing, I prop myself on an elbow to look at Damien, asking who it could be with my eyes.

“I never had visitors before you, remember? I have no idea who it could be.”

“What are the odds its one of the guys coming to check on us?” My voice ticks up hopefully.

“You know them better than I do, but I sort of assumed they were more prone to texting than house calls.”

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“Should I get it?” Damien cups my cheek, searching my face for signs of distress. I know if he sees any, he won’t move a muscle. And as much as I dread the thought of another talk with my dad, I figure the wondering what he has to say will be worse than just getting it over with.

“Yeah, best not to drag it out.”

I push myself to sitting so I’m a little morepresentable, though it’s not until I hear the door open that I realize neither of us ever bothered with shirts. In addition to the fact that I can’t change that now, I sort of take pride in the fact I didn’t let my dad’s reaction change how I act with my boyfriend.

“Where’s Mom?” I ask when only my dad rounds the corner after Damien.

“Booking me another room.”

“She kicked you out?”

“It’s a day of ultimatums,” he mutters, darting an uncomfortableglance at Damien. “Could I speak to my son? Alone?”

“Whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of him.” I hold my hand out, and Damien takes it as he sits next to me, wrapping his free arm around my waist in another silent show of support.

“Alright.” He rocks from heel to toe, a seemingly nervous gesture I’ve never seen him make until now. “I came to apologize.”

“Is this Mom talking or you?”

“Me, although she’s the reason I’m talking to you today instead of a few days or weeks from now.”

“No wonder you’re so stubborn,” Damien says under his breath, but not so quiet that both my dad and I don’t hear it.

Ignoring him, I look at my dad. “Well?”

“I’m not sure how well you remember my parents, but they were… like me, I guess. And when I had a friend in sixth grade that they thought would corrupt me, they sent me to a summer camp that wouldcorrectmy way of thinking.”

“Oh my God.” Damien swallows uncomfortably.

“I know what you’re thinking, and it wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t abused or mistreated, just counseled and lectured and preached at until I believed I had very nearly sinned.”

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