Page 34 of Breathless

“What?” He popped a small bacon wrapped scallop into his mouth and moaned. “Okay, that’s good. We should have ordered more of those instead of the omelets. And I’m not lying. At every family gathering, it gets dropped in that those stubborn Irish suckers survived against all odds to make him a father.”

Thoreau was laughing and nodding as he handed Wyatt his third beer.

Fiona looked pale. “Speaking of Hugo,” she threw out, “I’ve always wanted to know how he came out to your parents. Was it as easy as I’m assuming? Did they already know?”

Thoreau’s forehead wrinkled as he studied her. He obviously knew something was off, too. “That’s actually one of my favorite Hugo stories,” he finally replied. “Only because it was so skillfully done.”

Looking relieved, Fiona leaned her elbows on the table. “How did he do it?”

“During dinner, naturally. That’s where it all happens at our house. Hugo started a conversation about his day at school, and he kept bringing up all these old authors, inserting quotes from their work so seamlessly it wasn’t obvious at all unless you knew what he was doing. I was too young to remember it, but I hear it was something to see.”

“Were they quotes about being gay?” Wyatt asked, frowning in confusion.

“Not a single one.” Thoreau grinned. “That would be too obvious. But all the authors were either outed in their lifetimes or rumored to be gay in their biographies.”

“Brilliant,” Fiona breathed.

“Only if you knew the life stories of every one of them,” Wyatt muttered.

“Exactly. By the end of dinner, I’m told my mother was hugging him with tears in her eyes, and my father practically beamed with pride for the rest of the night. Hugo knew exactly what he was doing, going at it like that with those two. Played them like a pair of violins. Like I said. Clever.”

“We get it.” Wyatt set his beer down on the table with more force than necessary, wanting to move on.

Thoreau’s smile slowly faded. “Not how it happened at your house?”

“Our houses weren’t even in the same universe.” They stared at each other for a moment, then Wyatt forced a careless shrug. “We weren’t big readers. We could clean a gun and make the neatest bed you’ve ever inspected. We saw crime scene photos and we all had more than our share of ride-alongs. Other than schoolwork, there wasn’t much time left for reading.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, Wyatt,” Fiona said softly.

He rubbed the back of his neck, still not looking either one of them in the eye. “Yes, I do. We’re sharing and it’s my turn. Everybody already knows how badly Elder handled Rory’s situation. Brady was smart. He left to join the Marines instead of dealing with him, and Younger kept his secret until he and Hugo started officially dating. By that time the old man was dead.” He tilted his head. “I honestly can’t remember James stepping out of line once, but he still got some of the worst of Elder’s temper. Noah and I were the only ones who slid under the radar. We got some flak for sneaking in late. Regular shit like that. Nothing like our brothers. We were lucky.” He huffed out a ragged breath. “We’re always lucky.”

Fiona got to her knees and moved closer to him, taking his hand. “You don’t need to feel guilty about that.”

“I’m not guilty. I’m pissed,” he argued. Although…okay, maybe she was right.

The understanding in her eyes made him look away again. “Younger talked to someone who told him he’s got something like survivor’s guilt. He thought Brady, Noah and I might… He said we weren’t abused, not like Rory and James, so we feel responsible for not, you know, protecting them.”

Wyatt swallowed, glancing over at Thoreau. “It never occurred to me to stand up to the old man. Noah and I didn’t let the bullshit he spewed touch us, so I didn’t know how much damage he’d done until it was too late.”

“You did stand up to him,” Thoreau spoke quietly but with conviction that commanded their attention. “By choosing each other, choosing happiness instead of repeating his mistakes.”

Wyatt scoffed but Thoreau wasn’t finished. “Your brothers? They have exactly what and who they want. They’re all safe and loved. You know I’m right, Wyatt. They’re happy now. That’s how you beat the bully. You live the better life. Make better choices.”

His words struck a chord in Wyatt, and he took a deep breath, feeling…lighter. Because Thoreau was right—his brothers were safe and they were loved. They hadn’t let what Elder did fuck up their lives, so he shouldn’t either.

“What do you want, Wyatt?” Fiona asked suddenly. “What better choice would make you happy?”

He ran one calloused thumb over her cheek, staring at her soft lips and wondering why she kept so many things to herself. “I want to hear your story.”

She blinked at him. “My story?”

“It’s your turn. I don’t even know if you have any brothers. Or sisters. Or parents. We’ve known each other for a while now. I should know something like that, shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, either,” Thoreau admitted. “I’ve asked, but Fiona always changes the subject.”

“My life isn’t very—”

“Fiona,” Wyatt interrupted. This felt more important than the plan. More important than anything else that had happened between them. He wanted to understand her. Know her. He needed to. “Give us something.”

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