Page 34 of Courageous Hearts

“Night, Bo.”

I wave to a couple of the other performers as I exit the dressing room. Dee and Jameson are both still at the bar, and I catch their eye, one after the other, as I head toward the door. Dee gives me a little smile and wave in return, while Jameson’s stare lingers. Whether or not he means it to, it heats me, that stare. And I wonder what, exactly, he’s thinking.

Jameson’s lips tip up after a moment, spreading into that crooked, dimple-popping smile I love. He nods my way, and pulse beating a little heavily, I nod back before pushing out the door.

The air outside is cool, a hefty breeze smacking me in the face as I step onto the sidewalk. I’ve only walked a foot when my phone buzzes again. Reaching into my backpack, I pull it free, answering without checking the screen.

“Hey, Coop.”

There’s the tiniest of pauses before a Texas accent says, “It’s your other brother.”

My breath leaves me in a whoosh, and I step to the side, resting up against the exterior of Gertie’s. “What d’you want?”

Diesel sighs. “Honestly? I want us to have a relationship again.”

I groan internally, stepping just around the corner of the building where I’m out of the way of foot traffic, but not so far that I’m concealed within the alley. “I don’t think we’ll ever have that again, Diesel.”

“Why not?” he asks. “Why can’t it be like it was?”

I try to control the small tremor running through my hand, but I can’t quite manage it. I don’t want to do this. Not again. Not after such a good night.

“Diesel, I can’t ignore the fact that you don’t support who I am.”

“Why not? I’m tryin’ to ignore that you’re ga—” Diesel seems to reconsider his words, and honestly, I’m shocked. “That you like men.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” I reply. “You don’t accept me, not really. Puttin’ on a blindfold doesn’t make it not true.”

My own accent comes out in full force once again, and I hate that he puts me right back into the same, angry mindset I had when I was younger. It’s like an automatic response of falling into a preset. Muscle memory.

Diesel is quiet for a moment before he changes the subject. “I think somethin’s wrong with Dad.”

“What d’you mean?” I ask with some trepidation.

“He’s been different for a few months. I dunno. I think maybe he’s sick.”

“Well, did you ask him?” I check.

“’Course,” Diesel says with a huff. “He said it’s nothin’.”

“Okay. Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” I say, slumping against the exterior of Gertie’s.

“Maybe you could talk to ’im,” Diesel suggests.

I scoff. “No.”

“Why not?” he asks a little angrily.

“How would that possibly help? The man hates me. He won’t listen to a word I say.” I don’t bother to point out that I have zero desire to talk to him in the first place, either.

“He’s still your family,” Diesel says.

“No. He’s not,” I snap, pushing off from the wall. Much to my annoyance, tears blur my vision, threatening to fall. I blink furiously, holding them back as best as I can. That man doesn’t deserve any more of my tears.

“If he died, wouldn’t you be upset?” my brother asks.

“That’s not fair,” I fire back, hissing into the phone. “You don’t get to guilt me like that. I don’t owe him anythin’. I don’t owe you anythin’.”

Diesel inhales, but I keep on.

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