Mom and dad tried to engage me in some form of family activity for about the first two weeks after I finished my finals and then things went back to how they had been before Pete left. They didn’t bother me, I didn’t bother them, and no one said a word that wasn’t necessary.

Mrs. Brown visited the house unannounced once or twice a month to check up on me. More often than not she checked in the afternoon when I was typically up at Chris’ place working out or hanging. I assured her I was doing well and my life was more-or-less back to what I thought normal should be. She always figuratively patted me on the head and moved on.

The late weeks of summer saw Chris and me become inseparable, much to my mother’s displeasure. I spent one or two nights a week over at his place. On the nights I stayed home I put in the required appearances at dinner and spent an obligatory half-hour in front of the television, watching some inane show that had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. The rest of the night was spent in my room in self-imposed isolation, reading the books on my summer reading list for English or talking with Dawn about anything and everything. She had lost her antagonistic edge and treated me like a person instead of her pain-in-the-ass big brother. It was strange to me at first because I expected a nine-year-old brat instead of the eleven-year-old girl she was then.

No matter how painful life at home was, I never even considered going back to live with the Forns full-time. Spending time there as a friend was one thing, but living there full-time would have reminded me of my folly. Staying over was stretching the limits of my endurance as it was. When I did sleep over, we slept in the family room at my request. Chris instinctively understood why I asked for this concession and never questioned it.

Some nights though, when I was staying over and the nightmares were particularly bad, Chris would drag me upstairs into his room and we would climb into his bed. He would sleep with his arms around me as I struggled to find sleep myself. The nightmares had been growing in intensity since my experience when I was ill, and not even Chris’ presence seemed to diminish the intensity like it had in the past. The only solace I found was Chris holding me in his arms.

It disturbed me that Chris would so willingly take a gay boy into his bed with no thought other than comforting his friend. It seemed unnatural, and perhaps it did to Chris too because he was always pensive after a night that he had held me. He would watch me on those mornings as we ate breakfast, as if trying to discern what monster held me in its thrall. It made him irritable until we had a run or a work out.

Kathlene had to have known exactly what was going on. Her eyes would soften every time she looked at me and she made special efforts to spend time with me when I was over. Unlike the attention from my mother, however, Kathlene’s interest in me seemed to stem from a genuine concern about how I was faring instead of some morbid obsession with my impending demise. It also seemed to me that I had grown up in Kathlene’s eyes somehow. She was relating to me in a more adult manner than she had in the past, but I couldn’t tell you specifically what had changed.

Football practice started in the first part of August, but my mother refused to sign the permission slip and browbeat my father into submission on the matter. I didn’t bother protesting because I knew it would do no good. The result was that I spent yet more time at the Forn residence even though Chris had practice.

I had hoped that football would be a physical release for my growing frustrations, but it didn’t happen. So, I took to working out a lot with dumbbells and other equipment I could use safely when alone in an attempt to maintain my weight. I wasn’t altogether successful.

.Mom began to yell at me for spending too much time at the Forn house, which caused me to spend even more time there. She would begin by telling me how we needed to put our family together again and by not being there I was preventing that from happening. When I wouldn’t respond she would remind me how I had ripped the family apart in the first place with my "idiotic obsession with that boy" and my stubborn refusal to simply put it behind me. I would agree with both points just to end the conversation, but it didn’t change the fact that I was spending more time with Chris and Kathlene than I was at home and that was how I wanted it.

To my great relief school finally began. Some things never change, though. Brent and his cronies started riding me hard about not playing football, but I just took their abuse with a poker face until they stopped and then went on my way until the next incident.

Dr. Lancaster and Dr. Edelstein made it a point to check in with me once or twice a week, as did Coach Navarro and Coach Dalton. At the beginning of the school year the principal and the counselor had called me into a meeting with my parents, Mrs. Brown, Dalton, Navarro and Sergeant Manerra. The gathering didn’t last long, but it did set up some ground rules for what was expected of me and what was required of the school. What it boiled down to was nothing more than that I was to tell them if I was being harassed in Phys Ed or anywhere else, and that if the school administrators suspected abuse, they would investigate and, if warranted, prosecute the offender. My parents were pretty much silent during the meeting. Neither of them knew how to react to what they heard, so they kept their mouths shut since they knew they were out of their depth.

Somewhere around the middle of September, Kathlene called Chris into the house from the weight room where we had been working out. This was unusual so I knew something was up. I finished out my routine using dumbbells since we were almost done anyway, and then went into the house. Chris was on the phone talking to his brother, David. I went upstairs and took a shower before dressing in sweats for the short jog back home. Chris met me at the stairs, his face alive with excitement.

"Guess what, Bri? David’s coming home for a whole month! He’ll be here tomorrow!"

I smiled the best I could and said, "That’s great, Chris." I tried to appear happy for him, but a hole began to grow in my gut.

David’s presence meant that I wouldn’t be spending any more time at the Forn house. He and I didn’t like one another at all, and if I had the choice, I would do anything I could to avoid being in his company.

"What’s wrong, Brian?" Chris asked.

I had let my smile slip as I had realized the consequences of David’s stay at home. I couldn’t tell Chris what I thought about the brother he idolized. It would hurt the friendship I still clung to for my sanity. I couldn’t risk that.

"David doesn’t like me, Chris. You know that," I said cautiously.

"Why do you keep saying that?" He demanded.

"Because it’s true." Thinking quickly, I added, "I think he feels… I took his place in your life."

"That’s stupid," Chris said with disdain.

"Maybe, but that’s how he acts. It’s just better if he and I don’t spend time together."

"Brian…" Chris began, but I interrupted him.

"Chris, you don’t get to spend any time with him anyway, and I want you to. If I’m around, I’ll be in the way and you’d feel obligated to include me. I don’t want that. I want you to enjoy your time with your brother and not worry about me. Okay?"

He nodded reluctantly and then engulfed me in a tight hug.

"You’re the best, Bri," he whispered, and after a moment he pushed me out to arms length and said, "Brian, you know how I feel about David, but I don’t think you understand how I feel about you." His serious expression buttressed the tone of his voice.

"Chris, I do understand, and that’s exactly why I want you and David to spend the time he’s here together without me getting in the way. He deserves it, and so do you."

Chris stared into my eyes for a moment and then pulled me into his embrace again.

"I love you, Brian," he said. "Don’t you forget it."

"I love you too, Chris," I whispered.

Chris squeezed me tightly to him. My body began to react spontaneously to the his closeness. Before I could embarrass him or myself, I pushed away from him with a weak smile and was shocked to see a tear running down his cheek. He brushed it away absently and returned my pathetic grin, suddenly overwhelmed with an emotion I could not determine.

"I need to go," I said abruptly and pushed past him. "Bye, Chris," I said softly and then raised my voice to yell, "Bye Mom!"

From the kitchen, Kathlene called, "Bye honey! Love you!"

Tears formed in my eyes and began to fall down my cheeks. I made no effort to hide them other than turning away from Chris.

I replied to her in a soft voice she had no chance of hearing, "I love you, too."

Without waiting any longer, I bolted for the front door and was running down the street before Chris could follow.

Someone was looking out for me that night. It seemed God was sad too, because the rain He sent mixed with my tears, hiding them and my heartache from the world long enough for me to put my emotional mask back in place for my family.

Although He had looked out for me, God wasn’t through with me. The next day after school I found my father was already home from work. He was about an hour earlier than normal and I just knew something unusual had happened.

"Brian, we need to talk."

I took in his somber, tense demeanor and felt my stomach drop. The last time he had said that he told me that my mom’s mom had died. He led me into his bedroom and shut the door behind us, leaving Dawn standing in the hall wondering what was going on. Dad handed me an already-opened envelope. The return address was for a law firm in Portland, Oregon.

"Open it," my father commanded.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Read it and find out," he responded.

His expression was troubled and anxious as he watched me open the envelope which contained two pieces of paper and a return envelope. The letterhead matched the return address on the outer envelope and on the response envelope. I began to read the letter. I had only gotten to the subject of the letter when I couldn’t stand any longer. I staggered back and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

The subject read, "Hearing Regarding Custody of Peter Daniel Jameson."

I stared at my dad for a moment and then read the body of the concise communication. They wanted to call me as a witness in a custody hearing for Pete at the end of October. Anger flared but outwardly I remained calm.

"They want me to testify." I said, still shaken to the core of my being.

"It seems so," my father said in a bland voice that spoke volumes.

"I don’t want to" I said, terrified to open up that chapter in my life again.

"You have to. They’ll subpoena you if you don’t."

"Why should I? I haven’t heard anything from him and he knows where I live. He hasn’t even tried to stay in touch. No letters, no phone calls… nothing," I stated irritably.

My anger was quickly turning to rage. The very idea that Pete wanted me to do him a favor after two-and-a-half years of silence pissed me off to no end. Dad shifted uncomfortably as a thin sheen of sweat covered his face.

He cleared his throat and said, "That’s, uh, not exactly true, Brian."

My heart skipped a beat. I sat in shocked silence as the import of his words struck me. I struggled to my feet, my fury redoubling.

"That isn’t true? What the hell does that mean?" I shouted.

"Be silent! If you want to hear this you will be silent while I speak!"

I forced myself to stay as calm as I could while he continued.

"The reason you haven’t heard from him is that we have been keeping you out of contact with him, which is what our counselor told us to do."

I felt my body tense and my rage grew ice-cold. It took everything I possessed to maintain a calm façade and not attack him outright. He might have known what I was thinking because he took a step backward, putting more space between us. If nothing else had come out of my time at Chris’, at least my father respected my physical strength. I wanted nothing more than to unleash that power, but I held myself in check with difficulty.

"We weren’t sure if or when he would ever come back," he continued, "so rather than let you hope for something that most likely would never happen, we helped you to believe he wasn’t coming back and that he’d forgotten about you."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. They hadn’t learned anything from what had happened before. All this time I thought they were getting better and making a real effort, but I was wrong. They made me believe Pete was gone from my life forever when in fact he wasn’t.

My father took a shoebox down from the closet. It was stuffed full of letters and held closed by a rubber band. After a moment’s hesitation he handed it to me. I took it with shaking hands but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the anger or the unreality of the situation.

As I removed the band, my father said, "Those are the letters he has written. The last one was dated September third. He tried to call you as well, but we told him you weren’t home."

A quick count showed that there were over thirty unopened letters in the box. I looked at my father, attempting to keep my face expressionless.

"Now that you know what we did and why, neither I nor your mother want to hear anything more about this."

He opened his bedroom door and ushered me out. The door closed behind me as soon as I passed the threshold. Clearly the matter was closed in his mind. I stood where he had left me, staring blankly ahead, unaware of anything but the shock that Pete hadn’t forgotten about me.

Hugging the shoebox to my chest, I stumbled into my room and shut the door behind me. I sat on the bed, placed the box next to me, and sat back. All I could do was stare at the letters spilling out of their overloaded container. I felt like the box was a snake ready to strike me if I made the wrong move. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to open the letters Pete had written, afraid of what would happen to me or what I would do as a result of the reading. After hoping for so long and then finally letting go of what I thought was a dream envisioned in a nightmare, I was terrified to open myself up to the possibility that Pete was still in love with me, and that I might still love him.

With a shaking hand I picked up the envelope sitting on top and saw it was postmarked September first in Beaverton, Oregon. I set it aside and quickly dumped the contents of the box onto my bed. As I sifted through them looking for the first letter Pete had written to me, my fury reasserted itself full force. My hands began to shake so much that I couldn’t hope to read anything.

My rage found an outlet through a primal roar. I dumped the contents of my backpack on the floor and stuffed the letters and a jacket into it. I opened the door just in time to surprise my father. His face was flushed with anger.

"That is enough! You go back into your room and stay there until I say you can come out!"

I stood up as straight as I could and glared into his eyes.

"You know what? Fuck - you," I said with all the vitriol I could muster. "You don’t give a fuck what I want, and I don’t give a fuck what you want, so shove it up your ass."

He raised his arm to stop me, and I did stop.

"If you touch me, you’ll regret it. I’m not twelve any more."

Through his anger I saw a twinge of fear. He let his hand fall and stepped aside, allowing me pass. I was at the front door when I heard his voice.

"Brian, wait. Don’t leave. We need to talk this out."

"Uh-uh. You had your chance and you told me to shut up. I have nothing to say to you anyway. Goodbye. Have a nice life."

"Brian!"

I ignored my father’s cry. I took off at a run and headed toward the fort Pete and I had carved out of the brush several hundred yards from the house. I stepped into the road to cross into the field and just about had a heart attack. A car coming straight at me had slammed on its brakes in an attempt to avoid hitting me. It skidded to a halt less than two feet from me. In a fit of rage I slammed my fists down on the hood and glared at the driver. It was only then that I saw the person behind the wheel was my mother.

I stood and spat with a sneer, "Bitch!"

She got out of the car, a cross expression on her face.

"What did you say, young man."

"I said fuck you!"

She called after me angrily and trailed me as I walked into the field, following my path through the tall, wet grass.

"You come back here, mister!"

I spun on my heel. "Why? So you can betray me a third time? I’ll never trust you again." With a grim smile I repeated, "Goodbye. Have a nice life."

I turned and walked away, listening to my mother order me to return, then ask, and then beg. When I made it to the tree line she was crying. I really didn’t give a flying fuck.

By the time I made it to the fort my adrenaline level was dropping and I began to shake uncontrollably. I sat on the damp ground, heedless of the moisture saturating my clothing. Somehow I managed to open the zipper of my book bag and pull out my jacket. Putting it on presented a small challenge. I didn’t try to zip it because I knew it would be futile.

I set the open backpack in my lap and began pawing through the letters to find the first one. When I located it and pulled it out, all I could do was stare at it. In spite of my shaking hands I could see that it was postmarked about a week after Pete was taken away.

While I stared at the envelope in my hands, another adrenaline surge inundated my body. My anger surged again and began to turn into a hate so profound even I didn’t fully understand it. My parents had kept these letters from Pete a secret even after everything that had happened. They could have given them to me at any time. They knew why I was living with Chris and Kathlene, yet they didn’t send them to me. They knew how much I was suffering. They knew how depressed I was. They knew everything. I’d almost killed myself over Pete and they still kept the letters hidden. What’s more, when their choice backfired, they blamed their therapist. They didn’t take any responsibility at all!

The adrenaline had steadied my hands a bit, and I opened the first letter as if it contained something incredibly fragile. It must have taken me more than a minute. Again my hands started trembling, but this time it was caused by emotions I had convinced myself didn’t exist. Feelings that I had suppressed for so long broke free of their prison inside my mind and laid waste to my consciousness, leaving me unable to breathe. I managed to put the letter back in my bag somehow before I wrapped up into a ball and cried.

When I had sufficiently recovered, I pulled out the first letter again with steady hands. It was a short one-page letter. I recognized Pete’s boyish handwriting instantly.

Dear Brian,

I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. You were right. I couldn't believe she would do this to us. I miss you so much. I hope you are OK. I saw you fall down in the driveway.

We are staying at my grandparents’ place for now, at least until mom can find us an apartment. Gram and Gramp are nice people. They have a farm with horses and a motorcycle that I can ride when I want to get away. I haven’t met anyone our age yet. I’m so bored I can’t stand it.

Mom has flipped out. She keeps talking about how you turned me gay and how she’s going to fix that. It scares me sometimes, but I don’t think she’ll hurt me.

I miss you so much, Brian. I can’t tell you how much. I cry all the time, and I don’t really want to do anything. I’m not hungry and all I want to do is sleep, but mom won’t let me. She calls me lazy among other things. God, Brian, I’m crying as I write this. It hurts so much not being with you! My stomach aches and it’s hard to keep food down.

That was close. Mom came in and wants me to go look at an apartment with her. She didn’t even knock. If she found out I was writing to you she’d kill me.

Brian, I know things don’t look good right now, but we’ll find a way to be together. It may take us awhile, but we will. I’m not giving up, and I hope you aren’t either. I love you, Brian. I will always love you. Keep me in your heart as I keep you in mine. Don’t forget me. We’ll be together soon.

Love Forever,

Pete

I searched my heart for a reaction to the letter, and all I could find was shame. Pete had kept me in his heart even though I hadn’t responded to his letters. I had given up on him.

With a sigh, I fished out the next letter and read it, then the next and the next, absorbing every word, trying to remember what it felt like to be in love with him. I lived Pete’s life through his words. My emotions took a roller coaster ride as the tone of his letters changed. I smiled when he spoke of his now-foster family, and got so angry when he wrote about the beatings he received at Curt’s hand.

Pete sent me cards on my birthday and Christmas. They each had a letter as well, sometimes good, sometimes sad.

The second to the last one mentioned that his grandparents had died in a car accident and how he was suing his mom to be emancipated from her because of the abuse. One thing struck me in all his letters though. No matter what happened there was always a note of hope. Starting with the third letter, Pete always signed off with the same sentence:

People say distance doesn’t matter if we love with our heart, but I can’t tell because you’ve stolen my heart away from me.

Love Forever,

Pete

By the time I was done crying, it was just about dark and rain was beginning to fall. When I finally left the fort, I was planning to go to Chris’ place even though David was going to be there, but I didn’t make it that far.

"Hello, Brian. Are you feeling okay?"

A man’s voice from behind scared me so badly that I jumped. I spun around to face the owner.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I shouted as the rage I carried emerged again.

Danny took my blast in stride, as if he expected it. He was in his uniform and rain gear leaning against a tree near where the fort was with arms and legs crossed.

"I just found out, Brian. Your dad just told me over the phone what happened. This is the logical place you would go if you weren’t at Kathlene’s. Hearing you made it easier to track you down, of course."

He stood straight and I took a step back, keeping a wary eye on him.

"Come on, Brian," Danny said softly. "I’ll get you cleaned up and then we’ll figure out what to do."

"No! I don’t trust you!" I said vehemently. "You’ve already betrayed me once. I gave them a chance and they betrayed me again! How do I know you won’t do the same thing? Huh?"

"I told you that if I could change what I did back then, I would. Brian, I love you too much to lie to you now, and I promise that I’ll tell you anything I find out about Pete. I mean that."

"Why? Why do you love me? I’m nothing to you!"

"You are my friend’s son, you are my godson, and you are my friend. You’re my family, Brian."

I ignored his statements.

"Why are you out here? To make sure I don’t off myself?" I asked caustically. "To spy on me? To tell my parents that I’m weak and cry like a baby?"

"Brian…"

"Well, when you talk to them, tell them I am dead. As far as I’m concerned, they don’t exist any more. They can go to hell for all I care."

"I get the idea, and I even share your sentiment. It’s obvious you aren’t going home tonight…"

"Not ever!"

"…so, do you want me to drop you off anywhere? The Forn house?"

I just stared at him, trying to figure out his game, and having no luck.

"No? Okay. Just so you know, my place is open to you if you need it. Give me a call and I’ll pick you up anytime, day or night."

I kept staring at him, trying to decide if I should give him the chance to betray me or not. It wasn’t like he meant much to me so if he did betray me I could handle it.

"Alright. See you, Brian."

Danny turned and walked back toward his car parked not fifty yards away.

Do I trust him? I asked myself. Can I give him a chance?

I made a snap decision.

"I don’t have any clothes," I said.

He stopped and turned to face me. "What?"

"I don’t have any clothes… or my books for school. I don’t have anything except these."

I held up the bag full of Pete’s letters and started to tear up again, but I willed myself to stop. Crying would do me no good now, as if it ever did any good at any other time. I mentally castigated myself for being too weak to control my emotions at such a critical time in my life.

"Are you okay, Brian?" Danny asked as he took a hesitant step toward me.

I instinctively backed away from him and he stopped. Anger and hate filled my mind as I stood there contemplating my situation. As the seconds ticked by, my breathing quickened and my pulse pounded in my ears.

"Brian, you’re starting to hyperventilate. You need to calm down. Come back to the car with me. We’ll go get your stuff and you’ll stay with me until things calm down."

My words came out in gasps. "I’m not… going back there. I hate them!"

I let Danny come another step closer to me. He was just out of arm’s reach. I looked at him fiercely as my breathing slowed, but it became ragged. An ache inside of me freed itself from the iron grip I was trying to maintain over my emotions. It lodged in my gut and began to grow. As the pain increased, I found that my ragged gasps for breath had morphed into sobs that shook my body.

"Come here, buddy," Danny said compassionately and opened his arms to me. We met half-way, his arms closing around me as I buried my face into his chest and cried again. The pain in my stomach increased into an agony so intense it made me weak. If Danny hadn’t been supporting me I would have fallen to the ground.

"It hurts," I moaned through my tears. "Oh, God, it hurts."

"I know, Brian," Danny said, close to tears himself. "Let it out. I have you, and I’m not going to let go. Let it all out. You’re safe here with me. Everything is going to work out."

"Mom and dad don’t love me anymore," I wailed, collapsing into him as I lost the ability to speak for the sobs wracking my body.

"Shhh. Enough about that. Pete is out there waiting for you, and you’ll see him soon. It’ll all work out for the best."

I cried until it was fully dark, Danny holding me close as he tried to comfort an inconsolable child. He did what he could, stroking my hair and hugging me, but it had to run its course. When I was done, Danny had shed his share of tears with me.

We walked over to his patrol car with his arm around my shoulders. An occasional sob caused me to gasp, but I was in control of my emotions once more. Before he unlocked the car, he turned me to face him and looked into my eyes with intensity.

"Brian, are you willing to stay with me?"

I nodded miserably. "I don’t have a choice. I don’t want to go home and I can’t go to stay with Kathlene and Chris."

"Why not?"

"David’s home. He doesn’t like me."

"David? Chris’ brother, the SEAL?"

"Yeah."

Danny looked at me hard. "Brian, you know your parents did what they thought best for you."

"Fuck them," I barked. "They should have asked me!"

If Danny was surprised by my reaction he hid it well. "Brian, come stay with me for a week or two. Let the situation settle for a bit, then we'll see where everyone is at. By then you could go home and maybe forgive your..."

"Never!" I interrupted. "I'll never trust them again!"

"...parents. They only did what they thought best for you."

"But they didn't ask me! No one ever does! They treat me like I'm a five year old, instead of being 15. I am old enough to decide how I am going to live my life. My life, not theirs!"

"I understand what you’re saying, but you have to look at it from their perspective, too. They love you…"

I snorted with derision.

"…and they want to protect you because you’re their child. They have a twelve-year-old son who thinks," he continued sarcastically, "he is in love with another boy, and thinks he is gay. All of this comes to light in four days. Then the boy their son loves is taken away, and it devastates him.

"After he gets out of the hospital, he is so angry at the world that he doesn't communicate, isolates himself from everything and everybody, and then begins a campaign of self destruction."

"I didn’t do it on purpose!"

Ignoring my interruption, he continued, "He spends little or no time at home, dedicates his life to working out excessively, plays football, which he has never shown interest in before, solely because it is dangerous and strains his body. He begins to work out seven days a week, worrying everyone around him that he is overdoing it. When wrestling comes around he goes out for it, even though he has no idea what the sport is about. He starves himself to make weight, and still works out seven days a week on top of everything else."

"I don't do that anymore. I only work out five days a week now."

"He also throws himself at his schoolwork for the first time in his life, proving that he can achieve a 4.0 if he only applies himself, but with everything else he does, he is so overloaded that he doesn't give himself time to recover. He drives himself into the ground and then he ends up in the hospital, just days from dying!"

"I'm doing fine!"

Again he ignored me. "Why does he do this? Because he is afraid to face up to the pain and loss he has experienced. He uses all the activity to run away from it. He won't go to his parents or other friends because he thinks he can deal with it himself. Instead of handling it, he suppresses all of the emotions from that painful separation, and then suppresses everything else because he’s afraid that if anything slipped through, it would destroy him."

I shuddered as the truth hit home and the shaking resumed. He was right about me, right down to my core, and I knew it. Danny let his words soak in for a moment and then continued in a less severe tone.

"What he has to realize is that all this pain and hate that he’s bottling up inside will eat him up. It will ruin his life. He needs to talk about it; to uncover it and let it out. He doesn't feel like it's safe to do that, though. And maybe it's not. He may not have anyone he trusts that much."

"So how does 'he' find someone to talk to, someone he trusts? Everyone he knows has betrayed him, and the people that haven't can't help him."

Seeing he had my attention, Danny remained silent for a moment, framing his reply. "The only way I can see that could happen is for him to take a chance and trust."

I growled deep in my throat.

"Maybe not his parents. Maybe not me, ‘cause I betrayed him too. We'll figure it out. Let’s go get you some clothes, okay?"

He took a right turn, nearing my house. Rage once more began to rear its head.

"I'm not going in there if I have to see them. I don't care if I never see them again."

"Well then," he said lightly, "I'll go in and see if the coast is clear."

"This isn’t a fucking joke! I've had it with them. They've broken my trust for the last time!"

"Okay. Sorry. I'll try to remember that. You try to remember what I said earlier about what it was like for them when you were trying to cope."

We pulled into the driveway. Danny got out and intercepted my mom before she could get to the car. I don't know what happened between them because I turned my head so I didn't have to look at her. When I looked again, they were walking into the house, leaving me alone in a night that felt darker than the void of space.

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