Page 86 of Cheater and the Saint
“What’s wrong?” I asked, cutting right to it. He could try to skirt around the issue all he wanted, but I wasn’t in the mood for bullshit. Not after the night I’d had.
“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
“Just fucking say it then.”
“Mom called me.”
An anchor dropped into my stomach. Our parents hadn’t reached out to meorHeath in years. Once Heath stepped up and took me in, they’d disowned him, too. It was a sacrifice he’d said he’d make again and again if given the chance.
After the hellish night I’d had, Heath calling to say he talked to Mom didn’t bode well.
“Dad’s sick,” Heath said, breaking the silence. “Like really sick. Stage four lung cancer, and it’s aggressive. Doesn’t sound like he has long. A few months at most.”
Still, I said nothing. I couldn’t. That man had been nothing but cruel to me ever since discovering I didn’t fit into his perfect little box of what a son should be, yet, the news he was dying still came as a shock.
“Leo?”
“I’m here.”
“She asked if we’d come over for Thanksgiving,” he said. “Dad’s able to be home, and it’s probably the last time we’ll get to—”
“Have you forgotten that he hates me?” I interjected, skipping right over sadness and going straight to anger. It was easier to be angry. “Mom hates me, too. Why would I go back there? To be bitched at one last time, while he’s still able to tell me how worthless and repulsive I am?”
“Leo, I don’t think that’ll happen.”
“So you think dear old Dad suddenly accepted in his heart that I’mnotan abomination?” I clenched my fist and refrained from punching the wall like I wanted to.
I squeezed my eyes shut as a memory broke free.
“I got a call from a friend this morning that said you were seen kissing that Brooks boy down by the creek yesterday.” Dad leaned forward and said in a low voice, “If I ever catch you doing it again, I don’t care if you’re my son or not. I’ll take you out back and put a bullet in your skull.”
“I don’t fucking know, Leo,” Heath said in a thick voice, and I realized he was crying. “Maybe getting sick made him rethink what he did. Maybe he wants to see his sons again before he dies, so he can make up for lost time. Whatever the damn reason is, I don’t care. But Mom said he wants to see us.”
My face felt hot even though it was freezing in the dorm, and as I went to grab a mug for my coffee, I realized my hand was trembling. I placed it back on the counter and tried to control my breathing like Saint did when he was having an episode.
“I… I don’t know if I can,” I said, feeling my throat start to close up.
“Promise me you’ll think about it, okay?” he asked in a shaky voice.
“I’ll think about it,” I humored him, suspecting it was a lie. I didn’t want to see Dad. “Are you and Tabby about to get on the road?”
“Yeah,” he answered after clearing his throat. “We’re eating breakfast at the hotel, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Have a safe trip.”
“Will do.” He paused. “I love you, little brother. I can’t put myself in your shoes and even begin to imagine the pain Dad put you through. Whatever you decide to do, I understand, all right?”
“I love you, too.”
After we hung up, I stared at the countertop. Numb. I didn’t register that the front door opened until I heard Saint behind me and felt his hand on my shoulder.
“You okay?”
When I turned around and looked into his blue eyes, the tears I’d held back started falling, and I pulled him against me. A surprised little grunt left him, and his arms came around my waist. He reached up and held the back of my head as I buried my face into his neck.
The tears fell silently down my cheeks, and I held Saint as close as our bodies would allow.
Saint didn’t say anything for a while; he just held me and let me hold him in return.
