It was on the tip of Oliver’s tongue to point out the space was big enough to raise a family, one with seven kids, but he held back. The last time he’d spouted off his wild dreams, Gavin dug in his heels and walked away. And while he didn’t think—God, he hoped—he wouldn’t do the same this time, he recalled Gavin telling him all those years ago that he had no interest in bringing a kid into this world.
Oliver prayed he and Erin could change Gavin’s mind. Because Oliver didn’t just dream wild. He dreamed big.
14
Gavin studied his reflection in the mirror and grimaced, debating if he should change. He’d put on a light blue button-up shirt, with a new pair of jeans. Of course, everything he owned these days was new.
For the past week, he and his mother had begun texting daily, and he’d even stopped by the halfway house where she was staying a few times—carefully picking times when he knew she would be at work—to drop things off for her. He’d taken her a new pillow when she mentioned the one in her room was uncomfortable, and he’d loaned her an old hammer when she dropped into the conversation that she’d tripped over a loose floorboard. Two days ago, he’d picked up her prescriptions at her request. He felt slightly guilty because he’d snuck a peek at the medicine bottles and written down the drug names to ask Erin. Apparently his mother was on quite a cocktail of prescription meds, all meant to keep her depression and antisocial disorder under control.
Typically, their texts consisted of little more than quick check-ins. She would ask about his day, he would reply it was fine, and then returned the courtesy of inquiring about hers. Her texts were always longer, including the dropped hints about things she needed. Picking up the prescriptions was the first thing she’d asked him outright to do for her, and he suspected she’d done it as a way of proving she was taking her illness seriously. While he wouldn’t say she was exactly happy with her life, she didn’t complain as much nowadays as she had when he was younger.
As a kid, he’d grown accustomed to her coming home from work exhausted, dropping down on their threadbare couch, bitching about her aching feet and back and the low tips she’d earned that day. She’d always remained on the couch until bedtime, never moving to pitch in around the apartment, while he brought her dinner and fetched drinks for her.
She’d taken his servitude as her due, treating it as something he owed her, never once thanking him, something he’d never realized was actually a thing until he’d gone to live with the Collinses. His foster parents were forever thanking him for stuff, and he could remember thinking there was something wrong with them when he’d first moved in. He’d actually resented it when they’d said thank-you because he’d thought the words were fake, their attempts at trying to steal him away from his mother.
Sometimes, Gavin struggled to make the boy he’d been match with the man he’d become. It was like he’d changed bodies somewhere along the line, but he couldn’t recall when or how.
Yesterday was the first time she mentioned the dinner they’d discussed, texting to see if he would like to get together tonight, claiming that she had a Christmas gift for him. Gavin had been tempted to push her off, to say he was too busy, but he couldn’t keep hanging out in this limbo land in terms of his mother.
He’d turned a corner when he’d embraced his place in a relationship with Erin and Oliver, and now it was time to turn another.
Gavin had dropped by Lauren and Chad’s office at lunchtime today. He hadn’t told any of his foster parents that he’d been in contact with his mom, and given Lauren and Chad’s surprise when he told them about his dinner plans for tonight, it was clear Oliver hadn’t either.
Not that Gavin would have expected anything different from Oliver. The main reason Oliver had managed to break through his walls was because his foster brother had proven time and time again that he would never betray a confidence, never break a trust.
A few nights after he’d seen Gavin’s scars for the first time, Oliver had come into his bedroom and shut the door. Gavin, still not finished fighting, had told him to get the fuck out. Oliver had refused, then he’d made him a vow, promising he’d never tell anyone—their parents included—about the scars. He’d said, “Your stories are yours to tell.”
And Oliver had never broken that promise, even when Gavin had hidden how bad the scars were from everyone else. Even when he’d allowed Erin to believe his mother was dead, and now…when his mother had returned to his life.
Lauren and Chad had listened to his concerns and helped him try to put some of his thoughts into perspective. Then they’d done what they’d always done. Told him they’d support him no matter what. Told him they loved him and they were proud of him. Lauren had even called him courageous.
As he looked at his reflection once more, brave was the last thing he felt, and for the millionth time since he’d agreed to this meal, he was tempted to text his mother and cancel.
“Did you fall in?” Oliver called out through the closed bathroom door.
Gavin chuckled even as he took a deep, steadying breath, then stiffened his spine. He didn’t doubt for a second he would have already canceled if Oliver and Erin hadn’t agreed to go with him.
He opened the door and smiled. His foster brother—no, boyfriend; Gavin decided he liked the sound of that better—had taken some pains with his appearance as well, and he appreciated that Oliver had made an effort despite his anger toward his mom. Oliver, like him, was wearing
