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“Theo,” Mom began. I turned toward her, and for one stupid moment, relief flooded my system. Mom would fix this. That was the only thing that made sense. Crossing the room, she put her hands on my chest and smoothed the wrinkles from my shirt, refusing to look at me. “Theo, honey. I think it’d be a smart idea for you to leave. It’s just for a while—just until you’re over this.”

My relief died.

“Over this?” I repeated so quietly I almost couldn’t hear myself. “I can’t be over being gay.”

“You can choose better, honey,” she reiterated. “I know you can.”

My eyes burned as something inside me broke. I could make sense of Dad’s anger—at least some part of it. Dad had always been the one with expectations and plans for what my life was supposed to look like. I was changing his plan somehow.

But Mom… Mom had always been endlessly supportive. The one who never put any conditions on my life. She always told me she just wanted me to be happy.

“Mom…” I whispered, my voice cracking pathetically.

“I will keep your father occupied, so that you can grab a few of your things from your room,” she continued. “And you can have one of your friends pick you up.”

I stupidly waited for more. For the part where she told me she loved me anyway or where I was supposed to go. For her to tell me she’d fight for me or that this was temporary because Dad just needed to cool down.

I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. She patted my chest once as I searched her face, desperate for some sign that she understood what she was actually asking me to do. But she wouldn’t look at me.

Instead, she turned and walked away, heading out of the kitchen without another word.

I stayed exactly where I was and stared at the empty doorway. For the first time in my life, home didn’t feel like home anymore. They didn’t want me—not as I was—and that realization hollowed me out. I hadn’t expected them to understand immediately, but I hadn’t expected this either. I hadn’t expected to be left standing in my own kitchen wondering where I was supposed to go because my own parents didn’t want a gay son.

CHAPTER 83

Theo

Could you pick me up at my parents’ house?

WYATT: Yeah. Give me 10.

Okay. I’ll be at the park by my house.

Isat on the edge of a picnic table with two duffel bags at my feet and stared across the empty park. I had no idea how long I’d been sitting there, but it was long enough for me to realize I should’ve grabbed one of my jackets too. My gloves and a hat too. The November cold had seeped deep into my bones, making me numb as I stared at my phone.

The screen was blank. I kept expecting something to happen. Maybe Dad would call and tell me to come home, or Mom would text to say she was sorry. I kept waiting for them to show remorse for kicking their son out.

But they didn’t.

Wyatt’s car turned into the parking lot, and he pulled alongside the curb near me. He didn’t wave or lean across the passenger seat to yell something stupid out the window like he normally would. He just unlocked the doors and waited. I grabbed my bags and walked toward him, some stupid little piece of hope twisting through me that they’d call before I ever reached his car.

Of course, they didn’t.

I opened the back long enough to put my bags in before climbing in the front next to him. Wyatt waited until I buckled my seat belt before pulling away from the curb. Neither of us said anything as the park disappeared behind us and familiar streets rolled past the window. I said nothing, and he didn’t push the matter. He let the silence stretch between us for a little while.

“You good?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered, never once looking at him. I wasn’t sure I could handle whatever look was on his face. Sympathy and concern would probably break me. Staring straight ahead and pretending my chest didn’t feel like it was slowly being crushed was about all I could manage.

Apparently, no was enough for him. He didn’t ask what happened, letting the car fall into silence as he drove. The lack of conversation should’ve been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. That was one of the things I loved about Wyatt. He could talk enough for ten people if he wanted, but he also knew how to be quiet when someone needed him to without making it feel awkward or unnecessary.

“I told my parents I’m gay,” I said after several blocks. The words came out unexpectedly, but I couldn’t hold them in. I needed someone to hear them.

“Oh.”

“They… um…” I picked at a loose thread on my sweatshirt cuff as I struggled to explain what had happened. “My dad told me no, and my mom told me I could come back home when I fixed myself.”

Saying it out loud somehow made it worse. I hadn’t fully processed it yet, but telling Wyatt felt like fully accepting that my parents had kicked me out because I was gay. There was no misunderstanding to hide behind now. No convincing myself that Dad had just been angry or Mom hadn’t realized what she was saying.