Page 176 of Headstrong Like Us
Right now, I don’t need that information to do what has to be done. I won’t let Farrow be the bad guy, and that’s exactly what’ll happen if my dad has one-fourth of the picture.
I might not be able to control what you think of me or Farrow—but this is different,my familyis different. My dad deserves to see the full image.
I have to tell him about Kaden.
Maybe we should’ve done this from the start. Maybe we were wrong to think we can handle everything and we’re supposed to bear it all. Because I know I can’t bear this anymore, and I won’t let Farrow carry the weight either.
“We’re in private,” my dad says, his face cinched in utter confusion. His deadly gaze darts between Farrow and me. “One of you better explain to me why my therapist looks like a wet mop.”
“I know him,” I say firmly, not hesitating this time. “I met him back when I was eighteen.”
My dad blinks. “Excuse me?” His face sharpens. “I couldn’t have heard you right. Because my son would have definitely mentioned that he knew my new therapist.”
“Dad—”
“Please tell me you ran into each other on the street five years ago,” he says swiftly. “Please tell it was a one-second interaction that lasted longer than Dazzler’s cameo inDark Phoenix.”
Jesus. He’s bringing upDark Phoenix. The one X-Men movie that shall-not-be-named in our household. This is bad. My dad spins to Farrow for answers, but I’m not letting Farrow explain this.
“I slept with him,” I say clearly, deeply, my pulse a heavy drum.
He chokes on a breath. “Recently?”
“No,” Farrow and I say hotly in unison.
“When I was eighteen,” I clarify,fuck. I rest a hand on my burning neck. “I had sex with him. It was a one-night stand.”
The air deadens around us. My dad looks outrightmurderous. “You wereeighteen…how old did that make him?”
“Twenty-four,” Farrow says.
Donnelly is dead. I just think about how Luna is only nineteen, and he’s twenty-seven. Maybe it’s a good thing Luna is still hiding her galaxy tattoo.
My dad nails a glare at a rack of leather loafers.
I need to be honest, so I tell him, “I don’t want to go into the details, but he wasn’t a great lay.”
His eyes veer back to me. “Did he hurt you?”
Fucking Christ. You know what I’m not doing? I’m not telling my dad this was my first anal experience and how fucking awkward it was.
Face on fire, I say, “Not…not really.”
My dad turns to Farrow. “Did he hurt him?”
Farrow stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Like Maximoff said, it wasn’t a great lay.”
My dad bears down hard on his teeth, his cheekbones razor blades at this point. His amber gaze lands back on me. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” As soon as those words leave his mouth he grimaces in realization. “Jesus Christ—you kept this secret to protect me.”
“You were in a bad place,” I explain. “Kaden seemed to be helping, and we weren’t going to rip him away from you for some selfish, stupid reason—”
“No, that’s exactly why you tell me. For selfish, stupid reasons. Because you’remykid, and I’m looking out for you. Not the other way around.” My dad takes a deeper breath, hurt coursing between us. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t talk to me or tell me things because you think it’ll send me spiraling. You’re never going to be the reason I relapse.” He’s said those words before, but today they travel through me. Soaking into my bloodstream.
My eyes fall to Ripley, the little guy against my chest.
My son.
The responsibility I feel for him is immeasurable, and I’ve tried all my life to take that responsibility off my parents. To unburden them.
