thumb over the back of my hand.
“Yeah, just…a little overwhelmed.”
He kissed my cheek. “Hopefully, your dads will be just as welcoming to me.”
I grimaced because I was pretty sure that conversation was going to go very differently. “We’d better call them.”
Not that I moved towards the laptop.
I’d messaged back and forth with Dad to arrange a time to talk. Again, we’d chosen to do it over video chat.
Anything else seemed cowardly. To be fair, I’d have been more than happy taking the cowardly path—an email
perhaps—but there was no way Austin was going to let me get away with bullshit like that. He made me a better
person, and I was grateful for that. Most of the time.
Austin got up to place a video call to my dads. He’d barely sat down again when they answered.
Dad and Father were sitting together on the sofa in the living room. They still lived in the same house I’d grown up
in, but the living room had been redecorated since I’d last stepped foot in it. The walls had been painted duck-egg
blue, and there was new furniture. Gone was the bookshelf I’d been told off for scratching my name into with a
compass point. The door frame had been painted too, removing any trace of the marks they’d made to record
mine and Deacon’s height as we’d been growing up. It looked great, but the changes left me hollow inside, and I
couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d tried to erase my childhood, even though logically I knew that wasn’t true.
Homes weren’t time capsules.
“You’re looking well,” Dad said. “How’s the tour going?”
“Great,” I replied. “Each concert is getting rave reviews. We’re in Atlanta now.”
Dad chuckled. “I know. I’ve been keeping track of where you are.”
“He always does,” Father said in a grumbly tone. I wasn’t sure who he was annoyed at—me or Dad. “You’ve been
in the news a lot the last few days. We’ve had reporters on our doorstep.”
“You have? Shit.”
“Language.”
I dipped my chin. I hated how Father could make me feel like a ten-year-old.
“It’s fine,” Dad said.
“No, it’s not. They’ve no business coming around here. We can’t even leave the house without people trying to
ask us questions.” Father glared at me. “None of which we can answer.”
I winced. He was referring to the non-disclosure agreement I’d asked them both to sign when I’d first left home.
“I’m sorry.” There wasn’t anything else I could say. I hadn’t asked the press to bother my parents, and I definitely
couldn’t ask them not to.
“They’ll get bored in a few days,” Austin said, rubbing my lower back.
“Will they? Is that how long it took them to get bored when you were the latest scandal?”
Austin tensed. “Well, no, but—”
“Exactly,” Father cut in.
“Leave it,” Dad said, putting his hand on Father’s knee. “We can put up with some nosy reporters for a few days.”
He smiled brightly. “You look happy together. That’s what counts.” His brow furrowed as he stared into the
camera or, more likely, at the screen. “You’ve become mates?” He sounded a little surprised.
I glanced at my shoulder as best I could. The very edge of my mate-bond scar was visible. Even though the
purpose of the call had been to tell my parents that we had become mates, I’d still picked my T-shirt with the
highest collar. Austin was wearing a button-up shirt, so his mate-mark was completely hidden, but I hadn't
brought any with me. In fact, I only had one, which I’d purchased specially for Jesse and Isaac’s wedding. I hadn’t
worn it since.
“Yes,” Austin said, taking hold of my hand. “Which is why we called.”
“We wanted to tell you before the press finds out,” I added.
Father snorted, stood, and walked away. My heart bottomed out. The hollow sensation that had begun when I’d
seen the changes to their living room became more pronounced, making me feel sick.
“Congratulations,” Dad said. “I’m so happy for you both.”
But Father wasn’t; that was painfully obvious.
“And thank you for letting us know,” Dad went on. “It is nice to hear the news from you.”
Rather than second-hand via newspapers or gossip columns. He didn’t have to say it for me to know he was
thinking it. That was how they’d learnt anything about my life for years.
“Do you know yet if you can come to Wembley in November?” I knew my change of subject wasn’t even remotely
subtle.
“We’ll try,” Dad said non-committally. “Your father has something on the same night that
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