Page 114 of Never Will I Ever

“And, yeah, I probably do need to see a therapist—a fucking good one at that—if I’m gonna keep working through all the self-loathing and resentment that’s built up inside me over the years.”

“Then we can do that,” my dad insists, his tone softer than I expected.

“I don’t think you understand,” I say with a watery laugh. “It’s not going to change who I am. I’m still gonna be gay. So you can either get on board with it or—or…”

I trail off, the alternative not clear in my mind. Him cutting me off feels like the most obvious, and if that’s reality, I’ll live with it. But I wouldn’t put it past him to weave in some darker scheme into the mix.

Clearing my throat, I drop my hands and lower my gaze. “I don’t expect this to change overnight. In fact, I…I don’t expect anything at all from you. Other than maybe a trip to the best conversion therapy center money can buy. I’m sure those still exist, if you look hard enough.”

My father’s knuckles are stark white as he grips the counter behind him, shoulders slumped forward slightly as he stares at his abandoned coffee on the island.

“Is that really how little you think of me?” he asks, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Just like that, I shatter entirely, tears spilling down my face. “You’ve never given me a reason to believe otherwise.”

His shoulders cave inward, hands leaving the counter to cross in front of him. He’s silent as I stare at him, looking anywhere but at me. At the pain he’s caused. It’s only when he lifts one hand to cover his mouth and raises his gaze that I find his eyes rimmed with red.

And for what might be the first time in my entire life, I watch my father cry.

“I’m so sorry, son,” he says, voice barely distinguishable from behind his hand. “ I’m so, so sorry.”

He loses it after that, arms wrapping around himself and chin dropping to his chest while he leans back against the counter. Like he’s doing everything he can to hold himself together as his shoulders shake with every sob racking his body.

Tears continue streaming down my face too, a physical release of anguish and shame that’s been a long time coming. And while I know this doesn’t change the past, it’s proof that maybe—just fucking maybe—some things can be fixed.

That perspectives can shift.

With time.

Thirty

Kaleb

Two Months Later — October

School has been back in swing for a little over two months, and I can firmly state that senior year isn’t nearly what it’s cracked up to be. Granted, those feelings may be due to a certain blond-haired idiot being noticeably absent from campus, but I do my best not to think about that.

He texted and called me a few times since leaving camp, asking to talk, to give him a chance to explain. As much as my heart wanted to cave and hear him out, what’s the point? It’s only gonna cut the wounds open more.

He’s never far from my mind, though.

The place is tainted with him. All I see now are the good memories from freshman and sophomore year, before things got all fucked-up. The ones where we’d grab a quick bite after morning lifting or go for a few extra rounds in the cages after everyone else decided to head out for the night.

Where I’d catch his easy smile or hear his laughter; two things I became intimately familiar with over our weeks at Alpine Ridge. And despite every fiber of my being telling me to shove it away, to come back to reality… I fucking miss him.

Sometimes I can ignore it. Shove it down and keep on keeping on. But moments like right now, where I’m dressed in uniform and sitting in the outfield in the hours before a game, make it damn near impossible.

Because he should be here. Long-tossing with one of the otherguys or warming up on the mound or—

“Earth to Kaleb?”

I glance up to where Keene is stretching a few feet away from me. His brows draw down beneath his catcher’s helmet, and I realize I must’ve missed something he said.

“Shit, sorry. Can you repeat that?”

My teammate chuckles. “I asked how you’re feeling about the game, but from the way you were just lost in space, I have a feeling that’s the furthest thing from your mind.”

Shaking my head, I meet his dark gaze head on. “Yeah, that’s my bad, man. I’ll lock it in before the game starts.”

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