Saturday afternoon, on his way to his date with Mason, Rhy stopped at the drugstore to fill his prescription. As he waited, a sense of excitement filled him. He was nervous, yes, but seeing Mason would be good for him. He reminded himself of what his therapist had said about the importance of not letting fear of an attack limit his choices. He and Mason had a good relationship. That shouldn’t be a source of stress for him.

Maybe Dr. Chin was right. Maybe something else was going on.

He paid for his purchase and headed to the front of the store. The little white pharmacy bag crinkled in his hand as he made his way past the greeting cards and the candy display. Then, he stopped and stared, his cheeks cold. At the checkout counter, his brother Travis stared back.

To even a casual observer, the family resemblance had to be unmistakable. Travis was a little younger and blonder, but his pale blue eyes were identical to Rhy’s.

It had to look comical, the two of them staring but not speaking, not making the least movement toward one another, when they were obviously brothers. The reason for it was standing next to Travis—a man of about fifty, red-faced and looking away. Rhy’s father. Austin.

After the panic attacks started, Rhy had begun mentally calling his parents by their first names, Austin and Elena, in order to create some objectivity, to dial down his emotional reactions. He wasn’t sure it was working, but it felt better at least. They hadn’t acted like mother or father to him in nine years. They didn’t deserve those titles.

Travis turned away and slid his hands into his pockets. Rhy’s breathing grew ragged. Travis couldn’t acknowledge him, or there was no telling what Austin would do. The guy was a nutcase. He was capable of almost anything.

Fear rushed over him, not for himself, but for his brother. That was worse. Rhy had to get out of there, fast, because his presence would only make Austin angrier. There wasn’t much Rhy could do for his brother and sister while they were still financially dependent on their parents, but he could do this.

By the time he reached his car, his heart was beating wildly. Terror gripped him—even though he knew he was in no danger, and neither was Travis, at least not physically. His dad had never been violent. Psychological torture was his specialty.

Rhy started the truck and headed out of the parking lot. It had only been about a month since Rhy had visited Travis, just before finals. Another year, and he’d be out of college, out from under their parents’ control. Travis would be fine.

Yet Rhy couldn’t escape a feeling of doom. It was the anxiety—he knew that, but it didn’t help. It didn’t stop his heart from pounding so hard it hurt his chest. He wanted to escape to someplace far away.

Instead, he drove to Mason.

 

***

 

Rhy knocked on Mason’s door, chest tight and aching. It was his first panic attack in a month—not that he should be surprised, after that experience. As much as he hated for Mason to see him like this, canceling their date would be worse—for both of them. He’d already hurt Mason enough. He couldn’t keep running away.

Mason opened the door wearing a smile that quickly faded. “You okay?”

“I just ran into my dad.”

“Oh, no.” Mason drew him inside and enveloped him in his arms.

Despite the panic, Rhy’s whole body reacted to the contact with Mason. Heat rushed over him. He brushed their cheeks together, then found Mason’s mouth. But hungry kisses couldn’t begin to satiate his need.

He stepped back and met Mason’s eyes. The guy looked good. He was easily the handsomest man Rhy had ever met, a little shorter than Rhy and not as broad in the shoulders, slim but well-muscled. Dark hair and eyes, a baby face, and a shy smile melted Rhy’s heart.

It was so stupid—Rhy felt shy, too. He knew every inch of Mason’s body, and it was like they were on their first date. It was a good feeling, the flow of attraction between them. Even after four months together, the magic was still there.

Rhy’s chest rippled. “I’ve missed you.”

“You too.” Mason buried his head in the curve of Rhy’s neck, and Rhy just held him. It felt good to be enveloped in Mason’s love. He forced himself to enjoy the moment, to feel the warmth between them, to let the neurochemistry work. Happy bonding hormones flooded his system, calming him.

“Are you okay?” Mason asked.

“I’m getting there.” This felt right, as if he belonged in the comfort of Mason’s embrace. But Rhy couldn’t let himself get lost in that feeling. He still had a lot of work to do before he could move back in with Mason.

A yapping sound behind him made him jump. He turned to see the cutest puppy in the history of the world. He laughed and knelt down to pet it. “Hey, little guy, where did you come from?”

“I got a puppy.” Mason slid his hands into his pockets.

“I see that.” Rhy stood back up.

“She’s four months old and house trained. I need to enroll her in obedience school, but she’s pretty docile.” He stroked Rhy’s arm. “She’s good company, and the house doesn’t feel quite so lonely.”

Rhy hung his head, pain building in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Mason cupped Rhy’s face in his hands. “Don’t ever be sorry for taking care of yourself. I just want you to get better.”

Rhy’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Okay. Thank you.”

Stroking Rhy’s back, Mason looked over at the puppy. “Her last family called her Dora, so I decided to keep the name.”

“Hey, little Dora.” Rhy looked down, and she sat at his feet. “I could just take you home with me.”

Mason eyed him tentatively. “We should maybe think about that. Puppy proof your place, get a kennel for her to use when we’re there.”

Rhy smiled. Mason was talking as if everything was normal between them, or would be soon. That made Rhy feel hopeful. “I like the sound of that.”

Mason took Rhy’s hand and led him to the couch. Dora followed. Rhy sat with the puppy in his lap, scratching her behind the ears, enjoying her softness and warmth. It was very therapeutic.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mason asked.

Rhy explained the situation, and Mason nodded attentively, touching Rhy’s arm, his shoulder, his knee. Mason was such a soothing presence—Rhy didn’t deserve someone so good.

When Rhy finished, Mason said, “I’m so sorry, babe. How’d your brother look?”

“Like he was dying inside, same as me. It killed me that I couldn’t say hello. I mean, it’s only been a few weeks since I saw him. But it tore my guts out. He’s my brother, and he was ten feet away, and I couldn’t even acknowledge his existence.”

Nausea welled in his stomach. He knew it wasn’t for much longer. Another year and Travis would be out of college, no longer dependent on their parents. Heather would graduate a year later. Then they could be a family again.

After eleven years. Half of Heather’s life by then.

That was the cruelest part. Rhy’s grandparents had been good to him. He could accept the loss of his parents—they were toxic anyway. Being torn from his baby brother and sister had been agony. He wanted to protect them from the influence of their parents, from the confusion and rage they must have felt, but he could do nothing. His grandparents had handled that, too, making sure his parents didn’t poison his siblings’ minds. But he hated the helplessness.

And that’s how he felt at that moment, sitting on Mason’s couch. Utterly powerless to help his siblings or himself. Their parents were still calling the shots.

It wasn’t as if they had no options. Rhy’s grandparents had put aside enough money to pay for a state school education for both Travis and Heather, if they wanted to break away from their parents sooner. But the three had decided that it would be better to wait and save the money for their future.

“Tell me what I can do for you,” Mason asked. “How would you feel about taking the puppy out for some exercise? That’s good for panic attacks, right?”

So they did. They ran around in the side yard, where the fence was, then put the leash on her and walked her around the property behind the house. Rhy worked to stay in the moment and focus on his five senses. Along the shrub line between Mason and his neighbors, the hydrangea blossoms were just starting to pink. The heady scent of early gardenias filled the air.

When Dora had worn herself out, they brought her back inside. Rhy sat on the couch with the dozing puppy. Mason went into the kitchen and came back with a tray full of healthy snacks: baby carrots, celery, hummus, whole-wheat pita bread, and fruit salad, along with a plastic pitcher of ice water.

“Thanks,” Rhy said. “Sorry to ruin our dinner plans.”

“I don’t mind staying in with you. How are you feeling?”

“Still a little shaky.”

Rhy’s panic attacks had started his freshman year of college. The Zoloft had taken care of them, and after six months of cognitive behavioral therapy, he’d gone off the medication. They came back after he lost his grandmother, but he’d been able to control them without medication then. Now, he felt utterly powerless against them.

But Mason had learned how to take care of him, the importance of keeping him focused on concrete things so he didn’t obsess over his rapidly beating heart and the pain in his chest. To that end, Mason opened a book of Impressionist art on the coffee table. “Tell me what you see.”

Rhy looked at the images. He described the play of sunshine reflecting off the water, the dappled light streaming through the trees, the streaks of translucent clouds floating in the sky. The beauty of them took him out of himself.

When Mason put the book away, Rhy put his arm around him. Mason turned to face him. “Feeling better?” Mason asked.

“Much. Thank you.” Rhy kissed him. “Let’s talk about you now. How’s your job going?” Rhy scooped up some hummus with a celery stick.

“I’m designing the graphics for a new line of solar panels as part of a microgrid system. It may sound mundane, but I feel good working for a company that’s building a better future.”

“I’m glad.” While Rhy had been developing the redesigned website for Mountain Solar, he’d helped Mason get contract work there as a technical artist. That had led to a full-time position, allowing Mason to give up his job selling real estate for his mother’s company. Rhy was happy Mason was finally putting his graphic arts degree to good use.

“How’s your family?” Asking the question worsened the tightness in Rhy’s chest.

“Good!” Mason said. “Mom is busy all the time, which is how she likes it. Dad is looking into retiring early and doing consulting work. Slower pace, you know? Callie made partner at the law firm, and Fiona’s firm won the bid to design the homes for the new Mendoza project. Azalea Meadows, I think it’s called?”

Rhy nodded. “I wonder if my dad will be working that project, too.” Rhy checked in with his body to see how he was feeling. He was okay, so he continued, “He’s a general contractor.”

Mason scowled. “You never mentioned that. But then, you never mentioned much about—holy shit!” Mason covered his mouth with his hand, then said, “Your dad is Austin Burroughs!”

Rhy nodded faintly.

“I should have put that together way before now. I never met him, but my mom’s worked with him off and on.”

Rhy looked away. “I should have said so.”

Mason took his hand. “It’s okay. Take this at your own pace. No pressure. You don’t ever have to talk about your family if you don’t want to, but I’m always willing to listen if you do.”

Rhy swallowed hard. “You’re so good to me, Mase.”

“If you need space, that’s okay, too. I wonder, though, if it wouldn’t be easier if you let me help you through it.”

“I can’t. Not yet.” Rhy’s shoulders drooped. “I want to. I can’t explain it—it’s like I hit a wall, and I just can’t move forward unless I change direction.”

Mason nodded. “It’s okay. Whatever you need.”

Rhy looked away, emotion building in his chest. “I feel so ashamed.”

“Why?” Mason leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Anxiety isn’t a sign of weakness. You’ve had to deal with so much stress in your life. Since you lost your granddad, you’ve been pretty much alone in the world. But you’re not alone now. You’ve got me. I’m here, no matter what.”

“Thank you for your patience.”

Mason gave him a soft smile.

Rhy scooped some fruit salad into a bowl. Oranges, apples, strawberries, bananas. His mom had never put bananas into fruit salad because they got mushy.

He breathed against the vise-like grip at his chest. Closing his eyes, he pushed the thought away and focused on the feeling of his feet on the ground. He would not let these feelings control him.

“Babe?” Mason asked. “You okay?”

There was a dark ball of rage inside Rhy’s chest, one he couldn’t give in to, one he had to release a little at a time. He worked hard to avoid the triggers. The possibility of running into one of his parents in this small town was always a danger.

“It’s just a lot sometimes.” He picked at the fruit in his bowl. He let himself experience the anger at his mother that washed over him and settled in his solar plexus. He couldn’t control her choice to reject him. He could only control how he reacted to it.

His mother had done a good job of taking care of his physical needs—right up until that moment when he told her he had a crush on a boy—but she wasn’t warm. She never talked about her family in Slovakia, which made Rhy wonder if she had been abused. Something seemed broken inside her.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind, bringing his awareness back to the present moment, to the couch beneath him, to the refreshments Mason had prepared. “The fruit salad is good.” Rhy savored the sweet, refreshing taste. “You take good care of me.”

“I love taking care of you. I wish I could do more.”

Rhy shook his head. “You deserve better than what I can give you right now.”

“I don’t ever want you to feel that way.” Mason spoke sharply. “You have an illness, Rhy. Sometimes in a relationship, one person gives more than the other. I know that you’re giving me a hundred percent.”

Rhy kissed him, grateful beyond words that Mason understood.

“Let’s help you relax.” Mason got up and turned the TV on to Netflix, choosing a documentary series in Rhy’s watch list. Then Mason sat next to Rhy on the couch and put a pillow on his lap. Rhy lay down with the puppy on his chest, and Mason stroked Rhy’s hair gently.

Rhy looked at the TV. Birds of Australia. He could handle that. Birds were beautiful and free. Unhappy with life? Just fly away.

The combination of Mason’s touch and the nature photography helped Rhy disconnect from the racing thoughts that preoccupied him. When the show ended, he sat up and reviewed the events of the day, trying to stay calm and consider them as if he were an objective observer.

“The worst part,” he said at last, “is feeling like it’s my fault, even when I know it’s not. If it were my fault, I could do something about it. I could make amends. But in this situation, I’m entirely powerless.”

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,” Mason quoted.

Rhy spread some hummus on a pita triangle. “My grandfather tried to change things. He videotaped himself reading his will, in case my father tried to contest it. He pleaded with my dad to reunite his family. My dad sat like stone all through it. He was so enraged that my grandfather left everything to me, nothing else even registered with him.”

“What did he expect?” Mason asked. “He does pretty well financially from what I understand. He completely cut you off. Of course your grandfather made sure you were taken care of.”

“Austin wouldn’t see it that way. He’s got pretty rigid ideas. Some things just go without saying. Property passes from father to son.”

“Too bad losing his father wasn’t the wake-up call he needed,” Mason said.

“If that wasn’t, nothing ever will be.” Rhy leaned back against the couch. “At the funeral, and at the reading of the will, I tried talking to him. He wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence. In his mind, I am literally dead to him, no more than a ghost.”

Mason shook his head. “It must be difficult to go through life being that cold. That’s its own punishment, isn’t it? How can he ever experience joy, when he’s cut his own son out of his life? That has to be a constant source of pain for him.”

“I hope so,” Rhy said. “It’s a constant source of pain for me.”

“But that’s giving him control,” Mason said. “It’s hard, I know, but until you let go of the bitterness, he and your mom will always cast a shadow over your life.”

Rage shot through Rhy’s body and he jumped to his feet. He took a centering breath and examined the anger. It was a sense of impotence that made him angry, an inability to achieve any sort of justice.

But Mason was right. Living well was his only option, short of sabotaging his parents’ lives like some soap opera villain. But he didn’t want to waste energy making them miserable. Like Mason said, being them—harboring so much hatred in their hearts—was its own misery.

Living his best life was the way forward. He was not the sum of his experiences, but the product of the choices he made.

He would choose happiness. He would choose acceptance. He would choose joy.

But that wasn’t a once-and-done thing. It was a daily thing. In that moment, what did choosing happiness mean?

Rhy sat down next to Mason again. “I think we should start dating.”

Mason scowled. “Aren’t we already dating?”

“For the past two weeks I’ve been avoiding you because I feel pressure to pick up where we left off—living together. Maybe we need to go back to dating for a couple of weeks until I find my bearings again.”

Mason’s face suffused with joy, his eyes shining, his cheeks turning pink. “That would be fantastic.”

“I think so, too.” Rhy kissed him, and even though it went no further, it was good to feel like two people in love again.