Wicked Lies Boys Tell

Dad turns his stare on Penn. His features soften for him. Pity gleams in his eyes. “You’re throwing your life away for my son, Penn. When this gets out…”

Penn stiffens, his back muscles flexing. “My dad doesn’t know.”

“See to it that it remains that way,” Dad says to him coolly. “I’m disappointed that you let my son get inside your head and corrupt you.”

“He didn’t corrupt me,” Penn spits out. “If anyone corrupted anyone, it was me corrupting him.”

Rage burns hot in my gut. “He didn’t corrupt me. I love him,” I tell my father bravely. “I always have.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I feel stronger. Braver. Taller.

Dad’s head cocks to the side as he rakes his eyes down my face in revulsion. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“What?” I hiss.

Penn shoots me a panicked look.

“I said get the fuck out of my house. You’ve ruined a good boy and are threatening to ruin my name. Get the fuck out of my house before you do any more damage.” His face reddens to the point I think his head may explode. “And leave the car. You take the clothes on your back and leave.” Then, he turns his attention to Penn. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d run, son. Get as far away from my fucked up son as you can get. Marry that damn girl for all I care, but don’t let my son take you down a path you’ll never come back from.”

With those words, he storms off.

Fire burns in my chest. A cacophony of shame, fury, relief. Then, Penn launches himself into my arms, hugging me tight.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he assures me, kissing my neck. “I fucking promise.”

I swallow the huge ball of emotion in my throat. My dad may have made me cry when I was a kid, but not now. Not ever again. “He can take away everything,” I mutter, “but as long as I have you, I know everything will be okay.”

That’s the damn truth and I’ve never felt surer of anything in all my life.

Penn

I drum my fingers on my steering wheel as I sit parked outside Fenway Ink. It’s the butt crack of dawn, so no one is here being that it’s before eight in the morning and a “closed” sign is hung in the window. Some of my tension bleeds away the moment Cope comes into view. He unlocks the door, steps out, and then locks it behind him.

This morning, he looks good.

Broody, but good.

He’s wearing a black beanie that’s drawn low over his eyebrows and a black fitted Henley that hugs his broad shoulders while also highlighting the sexy curves of his biceps. His jeans are holey—like to the point I could fit my whole hand inside the hole on his thigh—and his black Doc Martens are scuffed and ruined. My dick twitches at the thought of accessing him through one of the holes in his jeans. This morning he looks every bit a cast-aside, bad boy rebel. Yesterday, his appearance was a lie. Today, he is the truth.

And I war with being both happy and terrified.

Who the hell kicks their son out because he’s bisexual?

I thought America had come a long way when it came to same sex relationships. But, apparently, in Backwoods, USA, we still do things the old way. Everyone’s sitting around thumping their Bibles, reminding the sinners that God made a penis to fit inside a vagina. That its purpose was for reproduction. That anything but is considered unnatural and wrong.

Anger simmers in my veins, just below the surface, lashing to get out.

Who the fuck says we want to reproduce? Our parents sure did a shitty job. I’m not ever hoping to make that same mistake.

The door opens and Cope slides in. His scent—a mixture of cigarette smoke and his body spray—fill my car, making me yearn to bury my nose against his neck and inhale him.

“Been smoking?” I ask as I put the Jeep in reverse.

“Yeah,” he grumbles.

He’s stressed. We both are. His dad kicked him out, cut him off, and is shunning him.

Reaching over, desperate to touch him, I grip his thigh with a comforting squeeze. His hand covers mine.

“I can tell you’re worried,” Cope says, not meeting my eyes as he looks out his side window. “But don’t. Dad’s too embarrassed of me to say anything to anyone.”

“I’m not worried,” I growl. It’s a lie. I’m uneasy as hell, wondering if my dad’s going to show up out of nowhere to kick my ass. Where Cope got kicked out, my dad will want to kick my teeth in.

“Liar,” is all he utters.

We thread our fingers together. Despite the uncertainty in our lives, we have each other. Tethered to each other in the middle of a brewing storm.