“What did he do?”
“He pulled out his coloring books and would only use the color pink. My dad didn’t like that. He took the pink crayon away and broke it in half, and Charlie freaked out. Pretty much the way he would now.” I smiled at the thought of grown-up Charlie dealing with someone who thought pink was a girly color and shook off the reverie before continuing, “I’d just gotten home from work. I was saying hi to Gray, who was in the next room working on a commercial jingle when we heard this feral scream. We ran…and my dad had Charlie’s wrist in a vise grip. He hit him. Not hard, but I went…ape-shit crazy.”
“Fuck. I would too,” Trent said softly.
“Gray pulled Charlie away so he didn’t witness my epic meltdown. It’s one of the many times I’ve been very grateful to have Gray in my corner, sheltering my kid when I couldn’t.”
“He’s a good friend.”
“The best. Knowing I had support enabled me to make some changes. That episode was a big fat fucking wake-up call that toxic people don’t change. I could not, would not ever put my child in the care of anyone who wouldn’t accept him as he was. I would not let history repeat itself. If Charlie wanted pink crayons, I bought a case of pink crayons. If he wanted to try makeup, I bought it. Dresses, costumes, boas…yes, yes, yes. No one was ever going to marginalize him or make him feel wrong or less than for the things he loved. Especially not my parents.”
Trent rubbed my arm soothingly. “You’re shaking.”
“I know. I just—I don’t think I can accurately describe what it felt like to watch myself in this tiny person. To see the fear in his eyes. It fucking killed me. It was me all over again. I couldn’t let that happen…not to Charlie, not to Ollie. I might not be anyone’s idea of a parental role model, but I love my kids and I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect them. At twenty-four, I was big enough to stand up to my bully, who happened to be my father…so I did.”
“That must have felt good.”
“Not really. Let’s just say our relationship was tenuous after that episode. It took a total nose dive when I publicly came out a few years later. My mother was gone by then, and my father didn’t want anything to do with me. But…” I held my hand up and smiled…one of those ugly twisted grins I knew went nowhere near my eyes. “He was sure to cash my checks.”
Trent stopped abruptly and narrowed his gaze. He reminded me of a Hollywood badass a la Stallone or The Rock—you didn’t want to be on his bad side.
He tossed his to-go cup into a trash bin and glowered. “Fuck him.”
My smile was small, but it was real now. “He’s dead, Trent. And I’m okay.”
“Sure, but you deserve to be better than okay. You deserve to know that your worth isn’t tied to the things you own.”
I went perfectly still, very aware that he’d struck a raw and weak spot. Jesus, was I really so transparent? “Thank you. I think my only real goal as a parent was to be nothing like mine.”
Trent grunted. “I’ve met both of your kids, and they’re good people. That Charlie dude is feisty as hell, but he’s a fighter like you. And Oliver seems very well-adjusted for someone who lives in the rarefied world of movie stars and rock gods. You must be doing something right.”
I opened my mouth and closed it. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”
He angled his head slightly as he reached out to lower my sunglasses. “C’mere. You look like you could use a hug.”
Trent pulled me into his arms in the middle of a busy London park and held me close.
And damn it, I liked being held by Trent far too much. He was strong and solid and kind. He told it like it was…no matter how ugly the truth was. Under that bad-boy façade was a sensitive soul who sought justice in a world that didn’t always cooperate. No wonder he hadn’t made it in Hollywood yet.
My heart felt light on our walk back to the hotel. I wasn’t used to that feeling at all. I was the guy who juggled dozens of balls at a time. Stress and anxiety were my constant companions. Most of the time, I didn’t mind. They came with a rush of adrenaline and a sense of accomplishment that meant my dream was on track. Baxter was a hit.
This wasn’t about Baxter, though. This was me.
I’d given away pieces of myself, unthinking, and I felt surprisingly…whole.
If I wasn’t careful, I could get addicted to Trent Mackay.
“The biggest problem with Claymation is that it takes forever.”