Crush

Mom

Dad sighed. "I'm sorry, son."

What for? I brought this on myself. All because I was a coward to be out and proud. I just kept pretending, living a lie.

I frowned, starting to get pissed off with myself.

"I didn't know this was bothering you so much and I'm sorry I missed all the signs," he muttered. "Looks like it's been eating you alive."

I scoffed. "Ain't that the truth."

He squeezed my arm.

"I need more coffee." Dad stopped rubbing my back and tapped my shoulder. "Come talk to me while I make a fresh pot."

He led me down the hallway filled with happy memories and family photos, love and togetherness, to the kitchen. Our hallway was what a family home should look like - open, honest. Not the best description of one of its inhabitants.

I sat at the kitchen island and put my head in my hands, staring down at the marble countertop. Dad started rummaging around the cupboards, looking for what he needed to make more of his favourite drink.

Confusion, relief, fear, uncertainty all tried to fight for space in my head. Which emotion did I feel the most? When was the last time I felt like this ...felt so unsure?

One moment came to me in a flash.

Mom.

Thinking back to when Mom died, I allowed myself to feel the emotions I had back then. It was a time of uncertainty, the future looking bleak and unsure with the thought of living our lives without the main anchor of the family - Mom. She held us together, encouraged us during our good days and hugged us on our bad days. She used to light up the darkest room and put a smile on the saddest face.

More tears fell as random memories of my mom flitted through my mind. Me and Liam learning to swim, with Mom cheering us on from the bleachers of the local swimming pool. Beach days, where Mom would rub sunscreen on our backs. She would always blast music in the kitchen in the mornings while me and Liam got ready for school and sang along to the songs, even making up her own lyrics if she didn't know them.

She knew my favourite food. Favourite colour. Favourite movie.

She knew that I was left-handed. That I loved spending time on my hair. And that I really didn't like Oreos, but would dunk chocolate chip cookies in milk. I still did that.

She encouraged me to join the basketball team at a young age when she noticed I'd be running around the court after Liam. She never stopped believing in me.

Even as she was dying, she kept ushering me out of her hospital room, urging me to spend time with my friends, go to school, be a kid.

Because that was all I was at the time - a ten year old kid. Scared. Worried. Sad. Wondering if his mom will ever come home again.

I felt Dad sit in the stool next to me. He reached out a hand and squeezed my forearm, while my head was still in my hands.

He didn't need to say anything. I knew he was there. He would always be there.

I was so lucky.

That one single thought brought on fresh tears.

He simply sat next to me while I cried, rubbing my back, my shoulders, squeezing my arm, letting me know he was right there. Right next to me.

He wasn't going anywhere, was he?

I was so fucking lucky.

I could have ended up with a dad like Asher's.

After a while, I felt like I could catch my breath again. The ache in my chest was easing off. A dull throb at the back of my eyes had started to form.

Sitting back, I sniffed as I felt my tears subside. Dad waved a napkin in my face, which I took and used it to wipe my eyes.

"I miss Mom." Now more than ever.

"Me, too," Dad agreed. I felt his eyes on my face while I concentrated on making myself look like a human again. "She would be very proud of you, you know."

I smiled and sniffed again. "Do you think she'd be okay with me being ..." I lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.

Dad raised his eyebrows. "With you being gay?"

I nodded.

"Of course. She loved you, Ollie. She'd only ever want you to be happy." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Me, too. As long as you're happy, then I'm happy."

I wiped my eyes again. Blew my nose. I felt full of snot. Full of ... crap. Emotions. So many emotions.

"What do I do?"

Dad cocked a brow. "What do you mean?"

I took a breath. "What do I do about Asher? And Chloe?" I felt a sharp pain in my chest at the mention of Chloe's name again. The guilt was still there, still taunting me ... lingering, twisting, knotting.

Dad put a hand on my shoulder. "I think it's clear who you really want to be with," he said softly. "You'll have to let Chloe down gently."

I nodded. He was right. She deserved someone far better than me. Someone who could treat her right. Someone who would give her their everything.

Those were things I couldn't give her. My heart wasn't hers, my attention wasn't on her, and she wasn't the centre of my thoughts. Well, not in the right way, anyway. Whenever I thought of her, I felt guilt slithering around my body, turning my stomach cold.

Fuck.

Why did this have to be so difficult?

When haid it all become so complicated?

Dad squeezed my shoulder. "I'm glad you told me, Ollie. But, you know, there was never any real reason you had to." He shrugged. "Love is love. And you're not hurting anyone." He grinned at me. "Besides, I've seen the way you look at Asher."

Wait ..

What?

I stared back at his smirking face. He pushed his glasses up his nose, then raised his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture. "Like I said, I know my son."

Fuck.

Was I being that obvious?

I mean, if Dad had noticed, how many others had noticed?

I blinked at that last thought.

Another thing to add to my growing list of stuff I had to do - stop being so obvious when I looked at Asher.

Shit.

These next few days are going to be hard.