Page 146 of Dirty Hit
‘He is,’ my heart says, loud and clear, even as my head is screaming about rent and loans and the way my life is about to implode.
Aloud, I just say, “It’s not just about him,” I shake my head, tears burning hot behind my eyes. “If I explain, you’re just going to hear what you want to hear. You decided somewhere between home and my doorway that I’m an abomination, and immediately flew here to tell me how much of a disgrace I am. I can’t argue my way out of that, and I’m tired of trying.”
My father studies me, then his expression closes. “Then this conversation is over. We’ve said what we came to say.”
My mother flinches at the harshness, but doesn’t contradict him. “We love you, but we can’t approve this. We can’t pretend this is anything but sin.”
“I know,” I say, voice small. “I never asked you to say it was okay.”
My father straightens his jacket, like the matter is settled. “We’ll inform the student’s account office that we’re withdrawing financial support at the end of this term. You’ll need to speak to them about how you plan to cover the next semester. You have until then to decide whether you want tocome home and repent, or stay here and… continue down this path.”
“Please,” my mother says softly. “Think about what you’re doing. Think about eternity, Brendon. This boy will not be there for you when it matters.”
The words sting in a way they shouldn’t. Dom’s face flashes in my mind, the way it looked when he whispered ‘I love you, Brendon.’ I don’t know where he’ll be in ten years. I don’t know if he’ll make it that far. I know right now, he’s the only person who has ever looked at every broken, twisted part of me and said,‘Yeah, I still want that.’
He turns toward the door, but Mom lingers for a second longer, eyes searching my face. “We love you,” she says, and it sounds true, even as it feels entirely conditional.
“Love shouldn’t have this many terms and conditions,” I say, and her face crumples.
Then, they’re gone. The door closes behind them with a soft, final click that sounds louder than the slam earlier.
Silence hits me like a wave.
I stand there, fingers dug into the edge of my desk—staring at the space where they stood, and seeing the disgust on their faces.
Out of nowhere, a hysterical laugh bubbles up. Of course. Of course, the thing that finally blows my life up isn’t the murder I witnessed, or the bodies Dominic has buried.
It’s me, on my knees in the dirt. Loving him out loud.
I scrub both hands over my face, dragging at the skin, trying to get my breathing under control. My father’s words keep replaying. ‘We will not fund your rebellion. We are cutting you off. Find other arrangements.’
Rent. Tuition. Books. Food. Jericho.
Panic digs its claws into my chest. My brain starts doing math it’s never had to do before. What I make as a TA. What’s in my savings? How long do I have before bills hit?
Beneath all that is something else.
Someone filmed us.
I knew that, from what they said, but seeing it on my own screen makes it real in a new way. Somebody was out there in those trees, with a camera, following us and watching me ride Dominic like goddamn Seabiscuit. And if somebody sent that video to my parents… they could send it to anyone.
I close my eyes, and drag the video up in my mind. The angle. The distance. The way the camera doesn’t shake much, even though it’s in the dark. That’s not someone holding up a phone for fun; that’s someone practiced.
My stomach twists.
Whoever sent that video didn’t just want to shock my parents; they wanted to isolate me. Make me a problem. Make me a liability. They wanted to show Dominic what happens to people around him.
This isher.
I don’t have proof, but this reeks of his mother. Violence packaged as concern. Punishment wrapped in the language of protection. He warned me she’d kill anyone who distracted him; of course she’d start by trying to cut me out in the most surgical, devastating way possible.
I reach for my phone with fingers that don’t quite feel like they belong to me. The screen lights up, blinding in the dim room. Dominic is two towns over, and should be starting his game soon. I read over our text thread from this morning, then type up a message.
We have a problem.
My finger hesitates. Delete. Re-type.
Someone filmed us.
