Page 110 of Stealing Home

“I’m okay,” he said automatically.

Her eyes moved over his face. “Oh, honey.”

That was worse than the questions she hadn’t asked yet. Gavin looked away and wiped his eyes, and his father took the bag from his shoulder without asking.

“Did you drive all night?” his dad asked.

“Yeah.”

“From San Diego?”

Gavin nodded.

His mother put a hand against his cheek. “Why didn’t you call us?”

“I didn’t know I was coming until I left.” His parents exchanged a look over his shoulder. Gavin had seen that look after the fire, when they were trying to figure out which of them should ask the next question and which should make sure he’d eaten. He hated giving them a reason to use it again. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

His mother’s hand fell to his arm and squeezed. “You don’t ever need to apologize for coming home.” She glanced at his father. “Put some coffee on. I’ll make everyone breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then you’ll sit with us while we eat,” she said. “I know you must be exhausted, but we need a few answers before you sleep, okay?”

There wasn’t much point arguing, so he nodded and followed them into the kitchen. Everything was familiar. The chipped edge of the table where Gavin had knocked a chair into it as a teenager. The narrow cabinet door that never quite closed. His mother’s slippers scuffing against the tile. He sat in the same chair he always used and put his phone facedown beside him.

“Is this about work?” his father asked as he carefully scooped coffee grounds into the basket.

“No.”

“Ethan?”

Gavin shook his head as his dad placed a glass of water in front of him. Gavin took a long drink, expecting more questions, but neither of them pushed. His mother cracked an egg into a bowl and his father leaned against the counter, waiting.

“I met someone.”

His mother stopped whisking the eggs. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

His father straightened a little, and Gavin saw the beginnings of a smile on his mother’s face before her eyes met his and it disappeared.

“What’s his name?” she asked. She poured the eggs into the pan.

“Dominic,” Gavin said, then corrected himself. “Dom.”

“How long have you been seeing him?” she asked.

“A couple of months.”

She looked down at the skillet, then back at him. “You didn’t tell us.”

“I know.” He looked down at his hands.

“You didn’t have to,” she said quickly. “I’m just surprised.”

“I was going to,” Gavin said softly.

He’d told himself that often enough—after the next date, or when he knew where things were going. When telling his parents wouldn’t feel like admitting how much he wanted it to last.