Page 72 of The Last Love Story
The only words that dance though my brain areplease, let this be real. Because all I want is more of this. More little moments. More of whatever it is that’s blossoming between us. More of us.
Despite how crankyI was earlier, the afternoon recording really turned things around. It also got my creative juices flowing, and after a bath, I sat down and typed a bit with my left hand. It was arduous and didn’t last long because I didn’t want to cause issues with my left hand too, but it wassomething.
Justin went to shower after I took a bath, but the shower’s been off for a bit now, and I’m not sure where he is. Knowing him, he’s stealing more books off my computer. Not that I’m complaining. It was incredibly sweet and a lot of fun.
I still feel like I’m taking more than I’m giving in this relationship, but that’s just me.
“Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Justin’s sharp voice rings out as he walks down the hall.
I’ve only ever heard that tone in his voice one other time. When that creep touched my ass in the bar the night we met.
He goes into the kitchen, body laced with tension, as I watch from the couch, unsure what I should do.
“This is exactly why I didn’t feel at home there anymore. I don’t—no. Frankly, I don’t care what you think. My life is my own. Feel free to respect that or get out of it.”
He slams his phone down on the counter, and I scramble off the couch and into the kitchen. He’s facing away from me, hand in his hair, so I walk over and rub my handdown his back.
He jumps at the touch, but then relaxes into it and slowly spins around. “Sorry.”
“For what?” I ask.
He waves toward his phone. “My parents… they just—” He growls. “I’m pissed, but you don’t need that.”
“Excuse me?” I press my fingers into his cheek, turning his head so I can meet his eyes. “You can be here for me and help me and put up with my shitty attitude, but the second you’re a little upset, you apologize to me? Try again. Feel whatever feelings you need to. Better yet, let them out. Talk to me. You said this is what you signed up for, well, newsflash, you didn’t coerce me into it. I signed up for it too. Let me help you.”
His emotion-drenched eyes lock on mine, and slowly, he nods.
Taking his hand, I lead him over to the couch.
Once he’s sitting down, I curl up next to him.
“So, this is one of thegetting to know youthings we skipped over, but I think it’s important that we talk about it now. All you’ve really said is that you’re not close with your parents, and it would be toxic if you tried to be.”
He looks at me with soft eyes, then wraps his arm around me.
“When I left home for college in Chicago—where I met Devon and Kennedy—my parents made it a point to tell me over and over that I chose to leave our family behind. That was never my intention, but as idyllic and peaceful as our little town seemed, it was also small. I wanted to see the world. For some reason, my parents hated that.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
“I understand why a bit more now. Because when I came home, searching for that same feeling of cozy small-town peace, it was harder to find because I saw the world differently. Maybe it wasn’t my town as a whole, but there are a subset of people there who are close-minded and downright hateful at times. Unfortunately, my parents are a part of that.”
“Were they always that way?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. To some degree, at least. From a distance, my relationship with my parents seemed fine. They were always invested in local politics and involved with the church. Though sometimes Mom was a little too involved with everyone else’s lives, I didn’t think much of it. But when I got home, I saw a different side of them.”
He sighs heavily.
“I made an effort to spend time with them, usually with a weekly dinner, but most of them were spent with my mom gossiping about someone in the church. Usually someone who needed love and support, not judgment. Dad wasn’t any better, mostly talking down about some group of people or another. My mom was trying to control my life because she didn’t agree with most of my choices, and my dad was disgusted that I love romance and narrate romance. He kept flipping between asking if I was gay or suggesting I have a porn addiction.”
My brows shoot up. That’s horrible. And the absolute worst bullshit stereotype about the genre and people who enjoy it.
“Seeing them be so damn hateful ripped that feeling of home away. I grew to resent them for the way they treated people. The way they treated me. I went to say goodbye to them before the signing, since I knew I might not come back after, and there was an anti-trans sign in their yard. I drove around the block three times before I finally forced myself to park and go in, disgusted by that sign. And when I said something, all I got was a guilt trip about how the city changed me which led to a guilt trip about me leaving again. That phone call tonight was more of the same. When I see the relationship you have with your dad or Devon has with his parents—hell, the relationshipIhave with his parents—it kills me that I couldn’t have the same thing.”
Leaning up, I kiss his cheek.
“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry you have to deal with them because you deserve so much better. Just know if you ever want or need to go back there, I’ll be right by your side.”
He shakes his head.
