Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

He punches the steering wheel again. “You are not gay, Will. You are a child. You’re just confused!” He turns his attention back to me. “How dare you not tell me this?”

I close my eyes, wishing this was over.

“Don’t you blame her. She’s the only one who supports me,” Willow cries.

“I am your father!”

Tears roll down my face and I wipe them away as discreetly as I can.

“So, let me get this straight. My daughter confides in you with some ridiculous pubescent revelation, and you decide the best way to handle it is to lie to me and take her to a gay nightclub.”

I shake my head quickly. “It wasn’t like that.”

“That’s exactly how it is,” he screams like a madman.

“We weren’t even going there, Dad. It was just near the car and I wanted to see if Lola was in there. Brielle went in to find her for me. I was supposed to wait in the car, but the doorman left, so I snuck in,” Willow blurts out. The stress begins to get to her and she starts to cry.

Julian grips the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, and his eyes fill with tears.

Oh, he’s hurt.

"Julian," I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

Willow begins to sob in the backseat.

“It wasn’t my secret to tell you,” I whisper.

“She’s not. Your. Daughter.” He hits the wheel again. “Get it through your thick head. She will never be your daughter.”

I watch him as we drive in complete silence. Sadness hits me like a freight train.

“You’re right,” I whisper. “She’s not.”

I stare through the front windscreen with my heart in my throat. Willow’s soft sobs can be heard through the car.

What am I doing here?

This isn’t my family, and no matter how much I love them, I will always be an outsider.

He was right. We are on different paths.

Love just isn’t enough. I can’t change what I want and he can’t change what doesn’t want. This is never going to work.

The tears roll down my face as we pull into the driveway.

Willow gets out of the car and slams the door. She disappears into the house and starts up the stairs before either of us can chase her.

“Willow,” Julian calls. She stops and turns on the step to look down at him. “You are not gay. You are confused.”

“Let her work this out for herself. Don’t judge her,” I say quietly.

“What?” He turns on me sharply. “What did you just say?”

“I said don’t judge her!” I cry, the last of my patience fading away. “This is not a decision you can make for her. She is not a criminal in your courthouse open for judgement.” I shake my head, disgusted with him. “She’s a young girl going through a very confusing time and she needs your goddamn support.”

He glares at me, contempt oozing from his every pore. “When she’s eighteen we’ll talk about it, and not a moment before.”