Of course, that was because Carlo didn’t know his big gay secret, the thing that drove him to all that perfection, the vain hope that if he was good, so very, very good, they’d forgive him for being the unforgivable.
It was a secret that haunted him even at fourteen. But he wasn’t giving up a birthday at Pyramid Lake.
The small lake, lodged up in the Tehachapi Mountains, was known for boating and jet skiing and fishing, and Dante had never been.
He loved sports. Loved to play baseball and watch football and basketball. Not because he liked looking at the guys either, although for a closeted boy going through puberty, that was definitely a plus. He just genuinely liked the action and the camaraderie, and he liked to participate.
So he thought he’d give fishing a try, since his father was always going on and on about how peaceful it was, how much fun to land a big fish, and how much fun he’d had with his own dad. He and Carlo couldn’t have been more excited about that birthday trip if it had actually been Disneyland.
Right up until Dante had landed his first fish. It had been a beauty—big, fat, giving him plenty of fight—and for about two minutes as he’d pulled it in, he’d seen his father’s pride, his uncle’s excitement. For those two minutes, he’d actually felt like the son, the family member, they’d always wanted, instead of someone hiding a secret.
And then he’d gotten the fish in and had held it in his hands—and boy, it had been a whopper. It lay there, gasping, panting for breath, and it hit him.
This big animal was dying.
And he was the reason why.
He got that meat died and people ate it, but he’d never been responsible for killing his meat before.
“You know,” he’d said tentatively. “Maybe we could put it back.”
“Are you kidding?” his father asked, snatching it out of his hands. With efficient movements that seemed indifferent to cruelty, his father yanked the hook out and attached the fish to a stringer. “Now hold it up while I take a picture.”
Dante had managed to smile for the camera, but that was the last fish he ever caught. His brother had gone on to catch three more, learning to scale and gut them, basking in the pride Dante had enjoyed earlier that morning.
On the way home, his father had accused him of pouting because he’d learned that fishing was hard work and not just landing the fish. Dante had apologized humbly, but he’d never told his father the real reason he’d been so unhappy.
He’d hated to kill the damned fish. He’d hated that his joy had come at the expense of an animal that was sort of hanging out under a rock, not realizing that the dinner that had dropped from heaven really was too good to be true.
To Dante, the whole thing had smacked of cruelty, and he’d realized, with a sort of dumb shock, that he didn’t want any part of something that cruel.
He hadn’t really gotten excited about his birthday since, until the Sebastian Circle coven had started celebrating everybody’s birthdays with presents and pizza and the gentle breaking of bread that had marked their time together since college.
So now, talking to his mother about a thing he didn’t want to celebrate with her anymore, he felt… well, sort of like that fish. It wasn’t his fault he was on the hook for emotional commitment to people who didn’t even realize they were cruel.
“Honey,” his mother said carefully, “I know you don’t usually cash our checks, but did you take a look at the amount on the one we sent you?”
Oh, he had. “It was… uhm, it was a lot, Mom. I could buy a new car with that.”
“Well, you could do that,” his mother said, letting out a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “But it… we… we really wish you’d use the money to come back home and rent an apartment. Your nana said it was time you settled down and met a nice girl, and we thought you’d be more interested in that now that you’d spent your time, you know, with your friend.”
Outrage from several sources coursed down his spine, each source vying for his heart to spark fury.
The first one that hit was aimed for his most vulnerable spot. “I’m not leaving Cully,” he said, not correcting her assumption that they were lovers. Why would he correct it when he wanted it more than anything? (Wait, weren’t they lovers? Hadn’t they been lovers for years? God, it didn’t matter! Cully was his everything!) “I’m not leaving him for your money, and I’m not leaving him for what you think passes as love.”
“Dante!” his mother gasped, obviously hurt.
“If you cared about me, even a little, you’d care that I was happy. I’m happy, Mom. If you can’t accept that, you can’t accept me, and I can’t accept your money.”
“Dante,” his mother said placatingly. “Of course we accept you. We’d just, you know, like it more if you lived down here and worked in Daddy’s factory. Like your brother but not in the warehouse. You’ve got all that education. Couldn’t you come down and help your dad with the books?”
“I’ve got a degree in English, Mom, not in accounting. And I have a job,” he said, hating how many times he had to repeat this.
“I know, but a real job.”
“If it’s paying the bills, it’s a real job. Now I love you, but I’m done with this conversation. Happy birthday, Mom. I hope the grandkids don’t disappoint you as much as I have.”
And then he hit End Call and tossed his phone across the table in pique.
He wasn’t aware that Cully had heard the whole thing until Cully stopped the phone from spilling over the edge of the table and onto the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Cully said, not mincing words. “I… I know you hate calling them. You’re so brave to keep doing it.”
Dante shook his head. “Brave or crazy, Princess. You be the judge.” He rolled his eyes and stood up, went to the cupboards to start setting the table. They hadn’t been able to celebrate his birthday on the actual day because Kate and Josh had been out of town, so they were celebrating tonight. He got his choice for food and cake, although the others would be there in an hour with sides. There was steak marinating in the refrigerator, and the grill was warming up in the backyard. He had plans and friends and a life here. And people who loved him for him.
“Brave.” Cully’s voice had dropped with compassion, and Dante felt… naked. So naked. And gutted like a fish to boot.
“Cully, man, don’t get me wrong, but—”
And Cully was there, in his space, offering him a hug. Dante had no choice. Cully closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Dante’s chest, and Dante… for a moment he gave in. He wrapped his arms around Cully’s shoulders and leaned his cheek against Cully’s hair.
“I meant it,” Dante mumbled.
“Meant what?”
Oh, Cully smelled so good. Hair product and sweet oil and the shampoo he’d used on Glinda earlier that day.
“I’d never leave you,” he said. And he didn’t care in that moment whether they were lovers or would never be lovers. He wanted it—he wanted Cully—but he would take this moment of comfort, sexless though it was, and live with it in his heart for the rest of his life rather than give Cully up for his parents’ approval.