That night, the passion we shared was different. It was deliberate and careful. Ayden told me to forget the nasty words—that they didn't mean anything. I tried to listen, but it was difficult to disregard them completely. Was I really ready to enter an entirely new world? I wasn't sure.

No matter how he touched me or reassured me, the feeling of doubt persisted. It stayed until exhaustion made me slip into a fitful sleep.

I dreamed of us together. Hands clasped together as we walked through town.

It started with long looks, then whispers behind our backs. Everyone had their eyes trained on us, and their voices grew louder with every heartbeat. A buzz that turned into a soft drone and then into spiteful words echoing around us. No matter how hard I clenched my hand around Ayden's, the unease built, turning my stomach inside out until I could taste the bile in my throat.

What were we doing?

I could see it so clearly. How they hated us. Then my dad's face appeared among the other face-less ones.

I dropped Ayden's hand and took a step away from him. He tried to snatch it back, but I escaped his hold and walked away through the shouting crowd.

"Cal!" he yelled, but the sound faded among all other voices chanting for me to leave and never come back.

"Cal."

I stirred, startled awake.

"Cal." Ayden shook my shoulder.

"Y-yes."

"You were thrashing around. Bad dream?"

Taking a deep breath, I met his eyes. I had betrayed him in the dream. I walked away, leaving him alone.

"Hey, you okay?" He rubbed my shoulder, and I tried to relax beneath his warm hand. It didn't work. I doubted us, already, and the shame pooled in my body, making me cold from head to toe.

"I'm okay," I replied, even if the lie made it worse. He couldn't know. It would only result in unnecessary pain for both of us. Dreams about my dead father shouldn't mean anything.

"Think you can go back to sleep?"

I doubted it. "What time is it?"

Ayden reached for his phone on the nightstand. "It's 7 AM."

"What day is it?"

He chuckled, checking his phone again. "It's apparently Saturday."

"You can sleep if you want to, I'll do something on my own," I said.

"No, might as well get going. I have to drive over to Mom's today."

Ayden's mom lived in the next town over. He visited her on occasion, but I hadn't heard him mention it for a while, perhaps he'd been there without telling me. She was a nice woman, warm and friendly whenever we met. I couldn't remember last time I saw her, and I realized it was odd. When we moved into the apartment she came over every other weekend or so. I kind of missed her.

"Do you want me to come?" I asked.

His lips quirked into a grin. "Sure, I know she'd like to see you."

* * * *

Two hours later, we hit the highway in Ayden's less than safe car. The traffic was light, and we settled into a comfortable silence while listening to the radio. Looking out at the scenery, my thoughts began to wander. They tumbled and ran in all directions until I recalled the dream. The fear of rejection wasn't a part of the dream, it was real—sparked by the man's words. They did their damage like I'm sure he hoped they would.

I wasn't prepared for this. Not yet. I faced an entirely new world, and I had no time to adjust. Nothing would be the same if I followed the road I stumbled upon in the dark, lured by the entrancing calls from my best friend. It felt horrible to doubt my feelings toward Ayden, but would he judge me? Did he think I would be able to adjust to the world he'd secretly lived in for years?

His hand clasped around mine, warm and comforting. A simple touch given at the right moment. Ayden brought me back into the car and away from my thoughts. He gave me a small smile before he turned back to focus on the road.

Fingers tangled, it was easier to continue forward. Others didn't matter. Ayden made sure of that, like he always did. It wasn't the first time he convinced me to ignore those who didn't have the faintest idea of who I was, and what I'd been through. He knew, and it was enough.

"Cal, she knows I like you."

I jerked in my seat, not prepared for the confession. I wondered if he meant that we should tell her. Trying to read his expression didn't get me anywhere. He looked like he always did, brows knitted slightly and eyes focused.

"Okay," I said, just to say something.

"I'd like to tell her about us."

There it was, and I doubted it should feel like hitting a wall. I didn't know how to tell him that I wanted to wait, but wait for what? My thoughts ran further, pausing when I realized that I didn't know what we were. How could we tell someone anything when you can't express what you mean?

"It's not too early?" I asked, hoping he would take the hint.

Ayden's face fell, but he instantly put a smile on to hide the disappointment. Sadly, I knew him too well. He couldn't fool me, and it resulted in me feeling like the biggest dick in history.

His hand slipped away from mine, but I took hold, like he had tired in my dream, only, now the situation was reversed.

"I don't know what to say."

"Perhaps you're right. We can wait if you want," Ayden said, trying to calm me down.

I was flooded with guilt. "No, tell her if she already knows half of it." I argued with myself that it couldn't be too bad. She wouldn't freak out if she already knew that her son was gay. No doubt, she would be happy for her son and happy for me as well. Maybe that was the sort of start I needed—an instant acknowledgment that it wasn't strange for us to evolve into something more, if that was what we were doing.

While we drove through the small town, I had time to regret my decision several times over, but Ayden's steady presence gave me the strength I needed to uphold my end of the deal. I wouldn't back out, not when I saw how much it meant to him.

Stacy greeted us outside the door to the suburban villa. I barely recognized her. Last time I met her, she had a healthy glow on her cheeks and she carried a few extra pounds that gave her that motherly look of someone baking cookies for her children on weekends. The figure before me was a shadow of that.

"Hi boys," she greeted, giving us one warm hug each.

"Hi Mom."

"Stacy, it's good to see you," I said, even though it pained me to feel her frail body close to mine. So different from how it once was.

"Come on in, boys."

I loved how she called us boys even if we were past our teenage years. I guessed, in her mind, we still were boys. Ayden and Chris, his brother, would probably never grow up in her eyes.

She showed us into the house, but this time, we weren't met with the scent of freshly baked cookies. The air was stale, and I couldn't help but wonder what was going on. Ayden shook his head, showing me that this wasn't the time for questions.

"Where's Chris?" Ayden asked.

"He's out somewhere."

"Coming home anytime soon?"

"I doubt it. I barely see him these days."

"How's he doing in school?"

Stacy let out a soft sigh. "He's struggling. Or perhaps he's not even trying. I don't know."

"Want me to smack some sense into him?"

She shook her head, waving her hand for us to sit down on the sofas in the small living room. "I'll get you boys some coffee."

"I can do it," I offered. "Ayden is here to see you, after all."

Stacy smiled. "Alright, that would be sweet of you, darling."

I went into the kitchen, walking up to the cupboards I'd rummaged through once or twice before. I heard their voices filtering in from the living room, and when I heard my name, I paused and listened.

"So, Cal looks good," Stacy said.

"Like always."

"Still like that?"

"Yes."

"Oh, darling. I know it must be hard for you."

"Not right now."

"What do you mean?"

I heard Ayden let out a soft chuckle. I wondered if it was my cue to get in there, but I also wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Things have changed, but we'll wait for Cal to get back."

I hurried to pour the grounds into the brewer and found some clean coffee cups on the plate rack. The kitchen didn't look like it used to do back in the days. It wasn't too bad, but Stacy had kept things neat. This wasn't neat; rather, it was one step from disorderly. I could see she'd done her best to clean up before we came.

The brewer beeped, I poured three cups and went to the fridge to get some milk for Stacy. The fridge was another sorry sight. The few things inside looked ready to crawl out. No wonder she was thin as a rail.

I smelled the milk and poured it down the drain.

Trying my best to smile, I went back into the living room. "Here you go, Stacy." I decided not to comment about the milk, and she gave me a sweet smile. She almost appeared like her old self then, but the smile faded sooner than it had a year ago.

"Thank you, Callum."

"Since when do you call me Callum?"

That lured out another smile, and this time it held a little longer.

"So, you were telling me something," Stacy said, turning to her son.

Ayden shot me a brief look, and I nodded in consent. I knew what he was going to say, and if it could make her happy for a brief moment, I didn't have the heart to say no.

"We're more than just friends." Ayden reached for my hand.

"Oh, that's wonderful news." Stacy clasped her hands together, her eyes shining bright in the dim room. The true joy displayed so freely knocked down every single opposition in my brain that remained from the stranger's harsh words and my dad's scolding face in my dream.

* * * *

"Your Mom has always been great," I said, leaning back in the car seat.

"She has."

"I hope she knows how much she means to me."

"Sure she does."

Stacy Sinclair would always have a special place in my heart, and it was difficult to see her fading away to someone I barely recognized. She might have been unaware what went on in the house across the street, but she had helped by simply letting me stay over as often as I liked. Sometimes, I wondered if she knew more than she let on, but she never pried, never asked questions she knew I wouldn't answer. I never resented her for that. It wasn't her job to keep me safe. Mom should have stepped up.

Dad had been harder on her than on me, though. Where I got a smack with the belt, she got a fist in her stomach. I had been too young to help her, but I wished I had gone between them. I could have tried.

"What are you thinking about?" Ayden asked.

"Dad."

"Don't spend time thinking about that asshole. He's not alive anymore."

I closed my eyes, slowly breathing in and out. Ayden was right. I shouldn't think about him, it only opened up old wounds. Dad wasn't a part of my life anymore, never would be again, and neither was my mother. At times, I wished she hadn't left me behind on her way toward recovery, but I also understood. Guilt would plague her if I remained with them, and she needed a clean start with a better husband.

"You know, I don't think I ever thanked you."

"Thanked me for what?" Ayden asked.

"For being there."

Ayden must have slowed the car because vehicle after vehicle sped past on their way to something important. Their lives filled with purpose. For years, Ayden had helped me finding my way, giving me strength to keep fighting, to keep trying. He stayed by my side like best friends should, and sometimes he went beyond that. Now, we were definitely beyond, but not in the same way.

"You don't need to say thank you for that." Ayden's careful voice drifted in tune with the sad lament sounding from the radio. We had never talked about what happened, it remained unsaid through years of friendship. I knew that he knew, and that was enough for me.

Regretting that I even brought it up, I increased the volume and let my friend drive us back home without further interruptions.