“No, son,” he says. “No.” A scream almost breaches my throat this time. I force it down, the pain swelling my stomach. “Why not?” “You’re twenty-three. You went to rehab. Your word means nothing to anyone because I could’ve manipulated you.” He pauses, more ice hitting glass. “This surpasses the both of us, Loren. It’s about the people around us, who can vouch for our relationship as father and son.” It’s over, he’s saying. No one understands us. He’s not the greatest father, but he’s never touched me like that. He’s never abused me—not in that way. And I hate…I fucking hate that this is going
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