Steele Resolve by Gwyn McNamee

Author:Gwyn McNamee [McNamee, Gwyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gwyn McNamee

LUCA

The anger still lingers in Byron’s bourbon eyes, but he seems to have come to some sort of acceptance since the food arrived. Watching Byron wrap his lips around the piece of steak and the tiny little moan he gives has me shifting uncomfortably.

Too bad the food didn’t arrive ten minutes later.

“So, Byron, you’ve hinted at your past, but I’m curious how you ended up working for the Hawkes.”

He pauses for a moment and chews his steak, probably wondering what my ulterior motive is for asking, but there is none. I really just want to know about him and the people I came home to try to mend things with.

Byron swallows and assesses me a moment longer before finally sucking in a deep breath. “I’m from Salt Lake City. It isn’t one of the friendliest places to grow up when you’re gay. I didn’t officially come out until I graduated from high school, but people knew. I was scrawny and nerdy and not into sports or any of the other things that might have helped me mask who I am.”

My chest aches at his confession. I did have those things. Boxing, football, other “activities” that weren’t so legal. Even women. They were all things I used to hide what I was. Once Mom and I were sent away, it was made very clear to me that I couldn’t be open about what I wanted and still hope to survive in the world I was born into.

Byron pops a fry into his mouth, then continues. “My parents are very religious, and when they found out their son was gay,” he shrugs, and pain crinkles the corners of his eyes, “they kicked me out.”

Jesus.

He takes another bite and chews slowly, and I do the same. I thought what happened to me was rough—sending Mom and me away so that he wouldn’t have to be seen with me, let anyone have anyone know his son was gay—but it sounds like what Byron went through was a hundred times worse. At least we had financial support and other family to go home to.

“I came to New Orleans because I had a friend I had met through a youth program one summer who lives here. He let me sleep on his couch, and the first thing I did was start working out,” he snorts in feigned laughter, “like hard-core working out. I had been beaten up too many times in high school, and I didn’t know how to defend myself, so I lifted. I took boxing lessons. I did whatever I could to make sure it would never happen again.”

My fists clench around the fork and knife in my hands. The very real desire to fly to Salt Lake City and track down every single human being who ever touched Byron courses through my blood. I barely suppress a growl, but I don’t want to stop his story, so I stick a bite of steak into my mouth and chew.

I may still go to SLC.

Byron shrugs.

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