Page 28 of Open Water
The room tilted.
"You told him about Liam."
"I told him what he needed to hear to —"
"You told Thomas Harrington that his son kissed a guy. And you thought that wouldhelpme?"
"I told him it was a phase! That the joint program was putting you near people who were influencing you. That if he stepped in now, you'd come out the other side fine." His voice had the cadence of someone who'd practiced this. Played it back enough times to believe it. "I gave him the framing. Experimental. Temporary."
"You gave him a loaded gun and told him it was a water pistol."
"I gave himcontext—"
"You don't know my father." My voice cracked. Not with sadness. "You think you do because you've been to the house. Because you've watched him pour wine and shake hands. But you don't know what happens when the guests leave."
"He's your dad. He loves —"
"He showed up at the Head of the Charles and told me we'd 'talk at home.' Do you know what that means?"
Marcus shrugged.
I knew what it meant. I'd end up like James.
"He is going to disown me." My voice was rising. "You handed him the worst thing he could learn about me and you wrapped it inphase. Like that word would stop him."
"I was trying to control the narrative —"
"You were trying to controlme."
Silence. Three seconds. The certainty on Marcus's face wavered — not guilt, maybe never guilt — but the faintest recognition that the machine he'd set in motion had moved further than he'd intended.
It lasted half a second. Then it was gone.
"He would have found out eventually," Marcus said. "I gave him the version that protects you."
"He would have found out fromme.On my terms. When I was ready." My voice dropped. Quiet now. "You took that from me."
"I was trying to save you."
"You were trying to save yourself. From having a best friend that's gay."
I said it. Out loud. I called myself gay. And Marcus stared at me. And underneath the conviction, underneath the years of friendship that had curdled into something unrecognizable. I saw it. The truth he'd never say. He hadn't called my father to protect me. He'd called because the version of me that kissed Liam on a dock was a version he couldn't tolerate.
"You're sick, Alex." His voice was steady. Final. "What you're doing with that kid is sick. And someday you'll thank me for this."
Sick.
The word landed in the center of my chest and detonated.
And what it blew apart wasn't just the friendship or the history or the last thread of something I'd been holding onto since we were eight. It was every memory of Liam that I'd been carrying like something precious.
The dock at Brackett Lake. Liam's mouth against mine and the whole world going quiet. Our date and us smiling on the bridge in Autumn. His hand finding mine under the blanket. The night on the river when he looked at me like I was the only thing that existed.
The best moments of my life. And Marcus had taken that — the purest, most honest thing I'd ever been part of — and reduced it to a word that made his mouth twist.
Sick.
I was a lot of things. Afraid. Angry. Broken in ways I was only beginning to understand. But the thing between me and Liam was not sick. It was the only thing in my life that wasn't.
