Page 79 of Awakening the Sheriff

“I will, Dad.”

I ended the call, and Keaton reached for my hand, tears streaming down his face. “Thank god. Your father is amazing. And so are you. Thank you for being here with me through all this. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Those heartfelt words only stoked the fire of guilt inside me, but I couldn’t say anything now. Not when Keaton was already so emotional. No, I’d wait until he had recovered from this ordeal, and then I’d talk to him, confess how I had fucked up.

I was not looking forward to it.

28

KEATON

When I woke up the next day, I was still exhausted from the emotional roller coaster we’d been on. We’d picked Byron up from SeaTac, and I’d had a hard time recognizing my defiant teenager in the humble, teary-eyed boy who’d gotten in the car with us. We’d spoken little on the drive home, Auden’s comforting hand on my thigh grounding me as I tried to process it all. I’d had so many questions for Byron, but it hadn’t been the right time. Little good would’ve come from talking when we’d both been so drained and emotional.

But now we’d slept—though not much, in my case—and that conversation could no longer wait. I needed answers because we couldn’t continue like this. I’d sent Milton to his room for a while, apologizing in advance, though he seemed to understand, and sat Byron down in the kitchen. To my surprise, Byron agreed without any protest. Byron settled in his chair as I prepared tea for both of us, the comforting scent of chamomile filling the small kitchen.

Byron’s attitude had changed. The anger he’d always shown was replaced by something that looked a lot like fear. I didn’t understand why, but I was determined to find out. I poured the steaming tea into two cups and handed one to him, then took a deep breath. “I’m so happy you’re back. And that you’re safe.”

He stared into his cup, swirling the liquid, then looked up at me with uncertainty. “Are you sure about that, Dad?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Maybe you’d be happier without me.”

My heart clenched at his words, and I reached across the table and took his hand. “Byron, I love you more than anything. Nothing will ever change that.” I squeezed his hand, trying to convey how much he meant to me.

He blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. “I want to believe that, Dad, but…if you find out the truth, maybe you’ll feel differently.”

“Nothing could make me stop loving you.” I tried to keep my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at my insides. What could he be hiding that would make him doubt my love for him? “I’ve loved you since before you were even born. Did you know I used to read poetry to you when you were still in your mother’s womb?”

Byron’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “You did?”

“Your mom always thought it was silly, but I didn’t care. I loved you already. And when I held you for the first time, mere seconds after you were born, I felt like I’d been given a miracle, a special gift.” I paused, swallowing hard. “I still feel that way, Byron. No matter what’s happened or what you think you’ve done, you’re my son.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I assured him, holding his gaze. “No matter what, you’re my son, and I love you. Please tell me what’s wrong. What happened in Atlanta? What changed everything?”

A tear slipped down Byron’s cheek, and I knew we were on the brink of a breakthrough. With my heart in my throat, I waited for him to reveal the truth.

For a long moment, Byron stared down at his hands, trembling as he clutched his mug of tea. “Do you remember a boy named Troy from back in Atlanta? He was one of the guys I started hanging out with, the ones you didn’t like because you thought they were bad news.”

I racked my brain, searching for any recollection of the boy. “Vaguely. Why?”

Byron hesitated, then looked me straight in the eye. “I had a crush on him, Dad. That’s why I wanted to hang out with them so much. Because I wanted to be near Troy. And…he seemed to like me too.”

My mind reeled at Byron’s admission, a swarm of emotions and thoughts swirling through me. Shock, confusion, but also a sense of understanding as things clicked into place. I looked at my son, who sat there, vulnerable and scared, and asked gently, “Are you gay?”

“No.” He shook his head, his eyes flicking away from mine for a moment, “ I think I’m bi. Like you, Dad.”

“Ah.”

“We kissed and did some other stuff I don’t want to get into. But he asked me to do things with him and his friends. Like drinking, stealing liquor from his mom, and shoplifting.”

“Oh, Byron.” I had a bad feeling about where this was going, and my heart ached for him and the pain he was so clearly feeling.

“I knew it was wrong, but I wanted to be with Troy, and I thought… I thought he cared about me too.”

It made sense now why Byron had been so angry when we moved away from Atlanta. He’d lost Troy, someone he’d cared about. “I understand now why you were so angry we moved.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I talked to Mom about Troy. She said she understood and that she was upset about moving as well. She said if I showed you how much I hated it here, maybe you’d move back. And if not, she was willing to go back to Atlanta with me.”

“So you hoped that by being an asshole to me, we’d move back?”

---