Page 98 of Gorgeous

What? What the fuck does that mean? Before I can ask him, Theo jumps out of the truck and sprints to my mom hollering, “Mama Jameson!” Her entire face lights up, wrapping Theo’s ass in her arms and kissing him on the cheek like they have known each other forever. Like he’s her son.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

His words sink in. It was all Anniston’s idea. She’s been keeping tabs on my parents. I can only assume when my dad steps out, shaking Theo’s hand and showing him something on the porch that has Theo nodding, that I realize they’ve been taking care of them, too.

My stomach flips, but it’s not nerves. It’s guilt. I’ve been so fucking selfish in my self-loathing that my friends, my family, had to step up and take care of my parents for me. I hate myself. I don’t deserve the Jameson name given to me by these people. I deserve to be called a Davis.Theywere selfish.Theyare the family I deserve, not the ones standing on the porch, staring back at me, waiting.

“Come on, Jameson.” Theo hollers from the steps. “Mama Jameson made peanut butter cookies and I don’t care how traumatic your birthday has been. I will eat every single one of them without remorse.”

She made my cookies.

She knew we were coming.

Fucking Theo.

He knew where I was heading because he’s been here before, and from the relaxed stance he’s sporting, he’s been here many, many times.

A spark hits me in my soul. Like flicking a lighter, Anniston and Theo, even Breck, have been trying to spark it within me. Waiting. Hoping. Praying for the old Cade to return. And in the driveway of my childhood home, I finally catch flame.

Whatever I’ve done, whatever sins I’ve committed, it’s time to own them. It’s time to make amends.

It’s time to live up to his name.

My name.

The Jameson name.

I take out my phone and pull up Anniston’s number, typing the only thing I can manage.Thank you. We’ll be home soon.She’ll know what it means.

And then I send one more before I get out, to Breck.I’m sorry.

I toss my phone in the cup holder and get out of the truck. I stand awkwardly with my hands in my pockets until my father takes a step down the stairs. With weighted steps, I follow the path of the driveway, my father matching me step for step until we meet in the middle.

The man who looks nothing like me, with his gray hair and blue eyes, slightly shorter by a few inches, stands tall in front of me. His chin quivers as he takes me in, his tired eyes roaming over all of me as if checking that I’m in one piece. I straighten, waiting for the anger, the backlash, the pain of killing his only son when he holds his hand out for me to shake. “Welcome home, son.”

An ache I feel on a daily basis spreads along my chest, up my forehead, and I know without a single doubt that this man in front of me is not blaming me. His eyes are glassy, his cheeks puffy, his arm slightly trembles in front of me as I take him in one more time before I clasp his hand in a firm grip like he taught me. “Dad.”

The man that taught me how to be a good man yanks me to him, enveloping me in a tight hug, his chest silently heaving against my own. We stand there for a minute, me savoring his strength, and him … well, I don’t know what he’s savoring but he stands there and allows us to get it together before he pulls back and looks me in the eye. “Now go hug your mother. We’ve been worried sick.”

He steps back and salutes me, and it’s all I can do to keep my composure. With less than perfect form, I return his salute, and bark out, “Yes, sir,” which puts a smile on his face.

We turn and walk quietly to my mother. Theo went inside at some point and got a cookie, because he’s shoving the majority of it in his mouth with a smug smile on his face, but I don’t charge him or flip him off like usual. Instead, I have eyes for only one person. And she’s standing there, holding her chest with tears streaming down her face.

“My boy,” she says softly, her hands twitching like she wants to reach out and touch me but isn’t sure if she should.

“Mama,” I return, a sad smile forming. I hope she knows how sorry I am for being such a bastard. I swallow when I’m within her reach. “Mama, I’m so sorry—”

Anne Jameson snatches me by the collar and pulls me to her chest, nearly knocking the breath out of me. “Happy Birthday, baby,” she cries into my neck, my arms flexing around this woman for the first time in five years. After a few pinches, like she’s checking to be sure I’m really in her arms, she pulls away, swiping at her eyes. “Come inside before Theo eats all your cookies.”

Laughter bubbles out of me as my mom disappears through the front door with my dad. I place a hand on Theo’s shoulder and stop him before we go in. I don’t know what I want to say to him, this whole day being a clusterfuck of emotions. “I, uh …”

Theo blinks and then arches a brow, shoving the last of the cookie in his mouth with a shitty grin. “The porn collection in your closet is rather eclectic. Tell me, did you try the one where she sixty-nines you from—”

I punch him hard in the shoulder, cutting off the rest of what he wouldhave said. The bad part is I knew exactly what he was referring to which means he’s definitely been rooting around in my room. But instead of being angry, I feel peaceful. I feel complete. Like for once, the hollowness that usually embeds itself in my chest is full.

I push past Theo, stepping foot in the house I never thought I would see again, and throw behind me to my brother, “Stay out of my fucking room, Von Bremen.”

After spending the night at my parents’ and enduring a small birthday celebration with all my favorite foods, Theo retired up to my room—probably having phone sex with Anniston—and gave my parents and me some much-needed privacy. To talk. To cry.

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