Page 95 of The All-Inclusive

“It does, honey.” She touches my forearm, tracing the tightlines of muscle that, only a few days ago, had bunched as I moved over Sara.

As I made love to her the last time.

Closing my eyes, I see Sara’s dark hair spread over the pillow. I feel her moving beneath me, Logan kissing her neck as we cherished the woman we love.

“Trent?”

“Yeah?” I open my eyes to see Mom searching my face.

Wetting her lips, she looks deep in my eyes. “Whatever it is, I love you no matter what.”

“Ohhh-kay.” God, this is awkward. “I love you, too.”

But Mom isn’t done. “I know I was raised with some very strong convictions, and that’s how I raised you. I thought—” She breaks off there, nearly as tongue-tied as I am when it comes to expressing emotion. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re my son, and I love you. As long as you’re happy, that’s all I can ask for.”

“Thanks.” Would she really say that if she knew?

If I showed up at Thanksgiving dinner with Logan on one arm and Sara on the other?

“Yes,” she says softly. “Whatever you’re thinking, I can handle it.”

“Okay.” Part of me wants to believe her. What if she reallycouldhandle it?

The mom I knew growing up—even the one I saw several weeks ago when I visited for my bachelor party—couldn’t have wrapped her head around a non-traditional marriage. Never in a million years.

But this mom? The one who’s had her worldview shaken, her entire life flipped upside down…?Maybe.

Shouts from the other room drag me back from this tender mother/son moment. I hear Beck’s voice raised in anger, and a second voice?—

“Is that—” Mom blanches. “Is that your father?”

I jump off the bed, feeling my hands ball into fists. “Stay here,” I command, already storming out the door. I stomp down the hall and there they are: my father and Beck, squaring off near the edge of the couch.

My father stands, snarling and spitting, hurling homophobic slurs at the man I once watched eliminate six tangos with his bare hands.

Beck stands with his arms crossed, staring my father down with a look that’s almost like pity. I move to his side, glaring at Dad as my cousin and I form a wall between him and Mom’s room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I don’t call him Dad, and he glares like I just called himdickhead.

“My fucking key didn’t work in the door.” He tosses his key ring on the floor like a toddler having a tantrum. “This is my goddamn house?—”

“Not for long, it isn’t.” Crossing my arms, I match Beck’s stance. “We’ve got a restraining order in progress, and it turns out you haven’t paid a dime toward the mortgage since I was six.”

Beck makes atsk-tsksound, shaming my father as smoke pours from Dad’s ears. “The government doesn’t take kindly to that.”

“So Mom’s getting the house,” I inform him. “We already gave you an hour on Thursday to clear out your things.”

“If you forgot something,” Beck says, “we’ll ship it to you.”

I expect Dad to fight for the house or argue against the restraining order, but that’s not the battle he chooses.

With blood in his eyes, he spits on the floor at Beck’s feet. “No one’s talking to you, fucking pansy-ass little fa?—”

That’s all he gets out before I shove him back against the wall. His head hits the plaster and he curses again, but I’m done hearing his insults. “We’re finished here.You’refinished here.”

My father’s eyes flash with hatred. “Don’t tell me you’re a sissy boy now.”

“There’s nothing I need to prove to you.” I know as I say it that’s finally true. I’m done trying to win the approval of a man whose values I can’t respect. “It’s time for you to leave.” Twisting the doorknob, I shove it open into the dark, starry night. “And as long as I’m breathing, you won’t speak that way to people I care about. I’m done hearing you spew your hatred.”

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