Their Boy (The Game 2)

I scratched the side of my head and tried to circle back. “So, the outfit… I don’t know if I’m trying to keep my parents alive or if I’m attempting to give my mom’s spirit some peace, but I follow some of her rules. And I know it’s silly—”

“It’s not, sweetheart,” Lucas murmured. “It’s not silly at all. You lost your entire family, and you were so young. You still are. You hadn’t learned how to manage on your own because no one had taught you. We do what we can. You do what you can.”

Maybe. I wasn’t sure.

More often than not, I felt incredibly dumb. I’d been eighteen when I lost my parents, and yes, I’d lived a sheltered life, but I couldn’t do shit. Rosa had taught me how to boil freaking water. I couldn’t drive. I couldn’t pay bills. Vincent had taught me how to start the dishwasher. I mean, I had people for everything. Richard managed the money. So…for me to wear the same style of a Gap shirt because my mom preferred me not to be kidnapped…when, instead, she could’ve been the one to give me a SmarTrip Metro card…yeah, it felt silly.

Sometimes, I got angry.

Then I felt suffocated by guilt.

She’d done her best. My parents had loved me… They’d been there when I came out at thirteen. Mom had taken me to my first Pride parade. We’d been escorted by two security guys, but still. And Dad had personally dropped me off outside the movie theater for my first date, though not before giving me a very awkward version of the birds and the bees discussion. He’d picked us up too and witnessed my first kiss.

The words kept tumbling out of my mouth, and Lucas listened. At one point, I caught him gesturing to Colt. A subtle shake of his head, presumably telling Colt now wasn’t a good time.

I forgot where I was, and I saw my parents before my eyes. I wanted to yell at them and hug them and say how much I missed them, and I wanted them to be here. A stupid drunk driver had taken their lives—and, sorry but…thankfully, also his own life. I balled my hands into fists and drew in a long breath, trying to calm down.

I wanted to yell at my mom for the stupidest things. For not letting me go out past dark when she’d had a “bad episode.” For not allowing chips and soda in the house.

“I’ve never had Cheetos,” I blurted out. “My mom’s job broke her, and because of that, I’ve never tried Cheetos. Or Taco Bell. Funyuns—first time I tried those last night.” Colt had brought them, or so I assumed, because he’d devoured half a bag. Lucas hadn’t touched them. “They were gross, but now I know.”

Lucas smiled sympathetically and offered a hand, silently asking if I wanted to get closer. I definitely did, and I was sick of talking. Sick of my issues. Sick of my weird ways of trying to keep my parents around.

“I agree with you.” Lucas spoke in between kisses in my hair. “They are gross. So is Taco Bell, in my opinion, but Colt would have them on speed dial if the one near us delivered.”

I chuckled tiredly and relaxed in his embrace.

“I’m going to tell you a short story,” he said. “Second year of college—I was struggling to pick my major. My father had high hopes that I would one day take over the family business, but I already knew real estate wasn’t going to be for me.”

I scooted down to be able to look up at him better. “You picked marketing, right?”

He nodded. “It didn’t stop my dad from wanting me involved in his company, and I tried it for a few years after I graduated. He created a position for me that wasn’t entirely necessary for such a small agency. But in the end…I had to go my own way. And he was disappointed. He didn’t say it outright, but I could tell.” He touched my cheek. “You know what would’ve disappointed him even more, though?”

I shook my head.

“If I’d stayed with him and been miserable,” he replied. “Considering how protective your parents were of you, I think it’s safe to say they wanted what’s best for you. They wanted you to be happy.”

I chewed on my bottom lip and nodded hesitantly. “Are you saying I should do what I want?”

He smiled and released my lip from my teeth. “I’m saying that sometimes a parent’s personal dream doesn’t go hand in hand with what they ultimately want for their child. My father hoped I’d want to get into the family trade, but not as much as he wanted me to find my own way.”

I hummed and rested my head on his chest, processing what he’d told me. I felt Lucas was right, but… “I don’t know where to start,” I confessed. “Somewhere along the road, I’m not sure whose fears I was following—my mom’s or my own.” In one way or another, I’d been hiding for four years. “I hate making decisions, so whenever I remembered my parents saying something, I just went with that.”