Page 78 of Captivated

Nate shook his head. “I ran away from the camp when I was fifteen. I hitchhiked my way to a nearby city, where I wandered the streets until I was picked up by the authorities. By that point, I’d made it as far as Idaho.”

Zeeb’s admiration for Nate’s resilience knew no bounds.

“They put you through hell, didn’t they? We’re talkin’ physicalandpsychological abuse. I did some research too, after Sol spoke with me this morning.”

Nate nodded. “All in an attempt to reshape my identity. We were under constant surveillance, where any sign of non-conformity, even the smallest gesture or expression, was met with punishment, shame, or manipulation.” He snorted. “‘Mental conditioning’, they called it, designed to convince me my natural inclinations were wrong, sinful, or deviant.” Nate swallowed. “They employed what they calledtoughlove, coupled with religious guilt and emotional manipulation to try to erase any trace of who I really was.” He shivered. “When the authorities picked me up, it was a moment of both relief and fear. Relief because I was free, but fear because I had no idea how the system would treat me. Would they understand my history? Would they care? Would they send me back to my dad? Or the camp?”

“They didn’t, did they?”

Another shake. “There was a woman at the precinct. She wasn’t a cop, but I got the idea she dealt with a lot of kids. She took me to a youth home, full of kids who had no place else to go. One thing they all had in common? They were all LGBTQ. Theplace was run by a gay couple, Owen and Simon. That’s where I met Derek—Dad.”

Zeeb couldn’t stay in his seat a moment longer. He got up and went over to Nate’s chair, crouched in front of it, and took Nate’s hands in his.

“You’re one hell of a survivor, you know that?”

Nate huffed. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve been in therapy ever since I got out of that godforsaken place.”

“But you’re here,” Zeeb protested, tightening his grip on Nate’s hands. “You haven’t given up. You’re fightin’ it, and that’s fuckin’ awesome.”

The feel of Zeeb’s rough, callused hands on his was a welcome sensation. Nate made no attempt to pull free.

“Can we talk about yesterday?” Zeeb’s voice was low, and it didn’t feel as if he was pushing.

Mark’s sweet face rose in his mind, and he swallowed.

“I went to see someone,” he said. “Or their parents, anyway.” He took a breath. “I met Mark Omerod in the camp. He was the one that guest was talking about, the one who… who killed himself. A couple weeks ago, apparently, but it only hit the Ontario news yesterday.”

Zeeb’s breath caught, sharp and quiet.

“Jesus.” Zeeb rubbed the back of Nate’s hands with his thumbs in slow circles, and it was kind of soothing. “Nate, I’m?—”

“Don’t—” Nate blurted. “I mean, thanks. But don’t say you’re sorry. Everyone’s sorry, but that doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring him back.”

Zeeb nodded. “All right.”

They sat in silence. A hawk cried out overhead, then faded into the hush of dusk.

“I keep thinking about the last time I saw him,” Nate said quietly. “He was sixteen, and he’d been there two years. Whatever they were doing to him, I remember he cried the whole time. They said he was faking. Weak.”

Zeeb didn’t flinch, didn’t press, but simply listened.

“I told him to hang on. That it’d end eventually. That we’d get out.” Nate’s voice cracked. “I was wrong.”

Zeeb gazed at him, something raw and aching in his eyes. “You survived.”

“I don’t know if that counts,” Nate whispered.

“It counts to me.”

The words hung there between them, fragile but real.

Zeeb didn’t move right away. He didn’t speak. But Nate could feel the shift in him, like the moment before a storm breaks, charged, silent, too big to name. He watched the side of Zeeb’s face in the dying light, the way his jaw tightened, the flicker in his throat when he swallowed hard.

“You know what the worst part is?” Zeeb said at last, his voice low and gravel-thick. “I thought I’d been angry before. Thought I knew what it felt like.” He let out a ragged breath and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “But I didn’t. Not until right now.”

Nate blinked. “Zeeb?—”

“No. Don’t. Don’t try to soften it.” He turned, his eyes bright and wet. “You were kids, Nate. Just kids. And they put you through that? Made you feel like you were the broken one?”

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