“Yeah, I guess it might.” Rachel sighed, her exhaustion plain even over the phone. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“Let me know what he says?”
“Sure. Thanks, Gavin.”
“No problem. Take care of our boy.”
“I will if he lets me.”
Gavin put his phone down. He felt like an idiot for not seeing what was right in front of him. He’d known Jace was acting differently from Thanksgiving—moody, short-tempered, generally ill. Had he ignored it because he didn’t want to see the problems? Maybe. He tended to see what he wanted to see, which had often led him straight into trouble’s open arms.
Not this time. He was walking into this with his eyes wide open. He’d help Jace whether he wanted him to or not. He cared about Jace too damn much to watch him suffer in silence.
Chapter Eleven
Jace managed to drag himself out of bed long enough to take a shower and change his clothes. Energy spent, he curled up in his papasan, plugged in his earbuds, and dozed off to the music of Earth, Wind, and Fire. His limbs felt like lead, his head hurt, and he couldn’t find his cell phone to call Gavin. Gavin was the only person he really wanted to talk to, anyway.
No one in his family received that memo, though, because a soft knock on his door came right before it swung open. Not one, but both of his parents came inside. Mom had a steaming mug of something in her hands, and she watched him like he might disappear in a puff of smoke. Dad flanked her, his expression weird and hard to decipher.
“How are you feeling, honey?” Mom asked. She put the mug down on the edge of his dresser, and he caught a whiff of ginger tea.
“Tired,” he replied, which was the God’s honest truth.
“Do you feel up to some dry toast?”
“Maybe later.” The idea of putting anything in his stomach made his toes curl. Something else hit him like a fist to the gut. “Dad, why aren’t you at work?”
His father sat down on the corner of the bed, hands clenched in his lap. Alarm bells went off in Jace’s head. “I took a sick day,” Dad replied. Jace finally placed the look on his face too—unconcealed worry.
“You’re not sick,” Jace said dumbly.
“No, but you are. I used to take off when you were sick as a kid. Do you remember that?”
He shrugged, vaguely recalling a few times when his dad would take him to the doctor for a sore throat because Mom couldn’t get out of work. “It’s nothing. It’ll pass. You didn’t have to take off work because I barfed once.”
“Was it only once?”
Jace’s skin prickled and he felt hot all over. “Did Rachel say something to you? I swear, she has the biggest damn mouth—”
“Jace!” Mom said. “This isn’t about your sister, it’s about you. Honey, we’ve all noticed that you haven’t been eating much since you got home. You haven’t been yourself, and we’re worried about you.”
He glanced at the open bedroom door beyond them. He could make a break for it, but he didn’t have the energy to do more than fall onto the floor. He’d look like a baby, and he wasn’t going to make himself a bigger disappointment than necessary.
“I’m going to ask you a question, son, and I want you to be honest with me,” Dad said.
“Fine.”
He leaned forward. “Are you on drugs?”
Jace snorted laughter, a little relieved that his father was so clueless. “No, Dad, I’m not on drugs. I’ve never even smoked pot.”
His parents shared a look. They’d obviously come to the drugs conclusion together, and now he’d dashed their hopes of a pre-New Year’s Eve intervention.
“Look, I’m not on drugs, I don’t binge drink, and I don’t have an incurable disease, okay?” Unless you think being queer is a disease.
“Then what’s going on?” Dad threw his hands up, clearly frustrated that the conversation hadn’t gone as he’d expected. Typical. “Tell us what’s wrong so we can help.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Clearly there is, Jace, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Fuck it all, I’m not sick, okay?” He lurched out the chair so fast it tipped over and crashed into the wall. The room tilted a little, but he stayed upright. “I’m gay.”
Silence fell over his bedroom so fast he thought someone had stuck plugs in his ears. His parents stared at him with open mouths and wide eyes, and that was all Jace could take. He ran. Right out of his room, down the stairs so fast he nearly fell twice, and out the front door. He didn’t grab a coat, didn’t look for his cell, he just needed to get the hell out before he exploded.