Page 80 of The Heartstrings of Harry
Harry held his hands up, trying to calm him. “Andy—just listen—please, let me explain—”
Dad shoved past him into the house, eyes blazing, steam practically coming off him. “No. No, fuckthat.Tell me right now—why the hell are you two standing there in your underwear like you just spent the nightfucking?!”
“Dad—” I started, stepping forward, voice shaking, but it didn’t matter. He was already working it out in his head, the pieces snapping into place whether we wanted them to or not.
“How long?” he hissed, glaring at me now. “How long’s this been going on? How long have I been stupid enough to think that I could trust my best friend with my son?”
“Dad, it’s not like that?”
“Oh no? Then what is it like? Tell me. Tell me everything. Because this looks like something I don’t wanna know about. This looks fucked up on every level.”
Harry moved between me and Dad, steady, palms out, voice calm but strained. “Andy, I swear—we were going to tell you. We didn’t want you to find out like this.”
“Tell me what?” Dad shouted, eyes wild. “That you’ve beenfuckingmy son?”
“Dad, we’re not just… messing around,” I said, my throat so tight the words barely made it out. “We love each other, Dad.”
Harry nodded beside me, his voice soft. “We’re in love.”
Dad stared at us like we were speaking a language he didn’t understand.
“Love?” His voice cracked on the word. “Jesus Christ, Dean—you couldn’t find anybody else? You had to go and spread your legs forhim?For my best friend?”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Harry shook his head, desperate. “Andy,please—”
But Dad was already moving. His hands balled into fists, chest heaving.
“Andy—wait—” Harry tried reaching out a hand, but Dad’s fist came fast and hard.
The punch cracked against Harry’s jaw, knocking him back to the floor with a sickeningthud.
“Harry!” I dropped down beside him, grabbing his shoulder. “Harry—Jesus, are you—”
He touched his lip, wiped away a smear of blood, then sat up slowly, blinking through it. “I’m okay,” he breathed.
Dad stood over us, glaring down, breathing hard, his face twisted with something between heartbreak and rage.
“We’re done,” he spat at Harry, voice shaking. “You and me—we’redone.”
Then he turned that same look on me—his eyes hard, his mouth drawn so tight it looked like it hurt.
“As for you…son… I don’t even wannalookat you right now.”
The words knocked the air clean out of me.
“Dad—”
But he was already gone.
Storming out the door, slamming it behind him so hard the walls shook.
The house fell dead quiet, except for my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
I sat there on the floor, my hands still on Harry’s shoulder, the sting of Dad’s words cutting deeper than I could’ve ever imagined.
We’d wanted to tell him.
