Mitch didn’t even try to go to sleep after dropping Jonah off.

There was no way his brain was going to shut off long enough to even close his eyes. Getting any actual rest was completely out of the question.

And even though he was already exhausted and even a little sore in places only a marathon session of lovemaking could exercise, there was nothing about the night before with Jonah that Mitch would have changed.

Except to make it last even longer.

The morning sun coming through his living room windows was just another reminder that last night really was over, though. And as Mitch looked around his house, still in disarray after the damage caused by all of the water, he could finally concentrate on at least putting that part of his life back together.

It might not help get his mind off Jonah—especially since there were little reminders of their decorating spree everywhere he looked—but it would at least keep him busy for a while.

He had barely started to move around, dusting and rearranging things that had been pushed aside in the cleanup, when a knock on his door broke the silence and pulled him out of his thoughts.

The first thing that flashed through his mind was that it must be Jonah, coming back to say goodbye one more time.

But that was silly, right?

Jonah wouldn’t have wanted to put himself through that again… would he?

Surely he would have called or something first.

Mitch pulled his phone from his pocket to check, just in case, as he walked toward the door.

No missed calls. No new texts.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and unlocked the door, feeling apprehensive and excited and anxious all at once.

His heart sank when he opened the door, though, and he had to stop himself from closing it again immediately when he saw who was waiting on the other side.

“I hoped you’d be awake by now,” Franklin said, pausing to give his son a quick look up and down. “You look like hell.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t just let yourself in,” Mitch said, still keeping the door mostly closed as he stood there and tried to mentally brace himself for whatever his father had come to say. “It is your house, after all.”

Franklin opened his mouth to speak, but then sighed. “I’m not here to fight, Mitchell. Can I come inside, or would you prefer to have this conversation on the front porch?”

Mitch was pretty sure he didn’t want to have any conversation at all, anywhere. But if his dad really had come in peace—another thing Mitch was more than a little skeptical about—Mitch could at least take a few minutes to hear him out.

Still, even with his mind mostly made up, it took a conscious effort for Mitch to step aside and open the door wide enough to let his father in.

“I was just cleaning the place up a bit,” Mitch offered as Franklin scanned the living room with a frown. “It was pretty bad in here.”

“It looks like a damn war zone,” Franklin shook his head slowly as he looked around, then turned back to Mitch. “But I’m not here to talk about that. I’m sure you’ll put in the necessary work to get it back to where it was.”

Mitch didn’t miss the fact that his dad could lay out his expectations while saying he didn’t want to talk about something in the very same breath.

Typical.

But Mitch wasn’t going to call him out on that. He didn’t have the energy to go toe to toe with his dad today. He just wanted to get whatever this was over with.

“What can I do for you, Dad?”

“I’ve come to…” Franklin paused as he cleared his throat, looking away for just a moment before meeting Mitch’s gaze again. “I’ve come to offer you an olive branch. A way to put all of this ugliness behind us.”

Mitch’s eyes narrowed.

Never in his entire life had he known his father to be altruistic or even particularly willing to compromise when he felt strongly about something. He had certainly never heard the words “I’m sorry” come out of his dad’s mouth.

So this probably wasn’t that.

Whatever it was, Mitch had no doubt that this peace offering would serve Franklin’s interests as much—if not more than—Mitch’s.

“I’m listening,” Mitch said. “And I’m open to hearing what you have to say.”

“Good. I hope you mean that, and that you’ll seriously consider this offer that I’m making in good faith.” Franklin paused again, as if maybe expecting Mitch to interrupt. Mitch simply waited. “I’m willing to sign this house over to you. To take my name off the deed completely and to hand over my key. You’ll still have to make the payments, of course, but it will be all yours from here on out.”

Mitch almost let himself feel excited for a split-second.

Almost.

But he knew from growing up with this man that if an offer sounded too good to be true, it definitely was.

“O-kay…” Mitch said, drawing out the word slowly. “I’ll admit that’s a nice offer. What’s in it for you?”

Franklin’s lip turned up into a sneer for just a moment before he schooled his features into the blank expression he’d had before. It happened so quickly that Mitch probably would have missed it if he hadn’t been paying close attention.

That quick flash of contempt was just another reminder that this offer didn’t come from the goodness of his heart. This wasn’t a father trying to make amends with his son.

This was a negotiation. A transaction.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

“In exchange for the deed to this house, I want your word—your honest, hand-to-God word—that you’ll be done with Jonah Riley. That you won’t see him anymore. That you won’t even say hello on the street. I think it’s more than a fair trade, honestly.”

For a moment, Mitch could only stare in disbelief.

Then, as his father’s words sank in, disbelief turned to anger. Anger and disgust and complete validation that every uncharitable thought he’d had about his dad over the past few minutes had been spot-on.

“You are unbelievable,” Mitch said, finally, shaking his head. “Truly. I can’t even begin to understand you, even after all these years—after a whole lifetime of trying.”

Mitch’s phone started vibrating in his pocket, but it barely registered as he stared at his dad. It was taking nearly all of his effort to keep from completely losing his temper.

“No, you don’t try,” Franklin practically spat the last word. “You whine. You bitch and moan and talk about how unfair I’m being, but you don’t ever try. Maybe if you did, I wouldn’t always find myself being so disappointed in the choices you make.”

“I assure you that feeling is completely mutual,” Mitch said, barely able to keep from yelling as the anger inside him kept rising. “But if you think for a minute that I’m going to roll over and be happy, be grateful while you come in and—and blackmail me like this, you’re… I don’t even have any words.” But in that moment, Mitch realized he did have the words. He had the words inside him that he’d made every excuse imaginable over the years not to say out loud. Now, though? What did it matter? What did he really have to lose? “Why can’t you just deal with the fact that I’m gay? I’m gay, Dad. I always have been. And you’ve always known it.”

“That’s not true.” Franklin held up a hand. “That’s absolutely not true, Mitchell. I don’t know if this is some kind of phase, or—or your way of getting back at me for something… maybe you’ve been brainwashed, I don’t know. But you are not gay. You’re not. And I will not accept it. No son of mine is going to be—”

“Just stop.” Mitch walked over to the door and opened it again. “I want you to leave. This conversation is over.”

Mitch wanted to yell and scream and rant and rave, but he didn’t. He stayed completely calm—well, as calm as he possibly could—as he motioned for his father to go.

“I refuse to leave until we settle this, Mitchell.” Franklin gave him a hard look and crossed his arms. “You’re not going to get the last word this time.”

“Fine.” Mitch crossed the room to pick up the keys from his truck out of the little dish Jonah had bought, giving his father a half-shrug as he walked back to the door. “Stay, then. I’ll go. I wouldn’t want to stay in your house for longer than I needed to anyway.”

Mitch walked out the door and closed it behind him, careful not to slam it shut. He didn’t need to. Mitch knew that walking out that door had done more to piss off his father than anything else he could have said or done.

And he was still able to get the last word, not that it mattered as much to Mitch as it evidently did to his dad.

It wasn’t until he was sitting in his truck with the engine running that he remembered his phone had been vibrating earlier. Hopefully it was Jonah. Hopefully that would at least give Mitch somewhere to go for the next couple of hours to cool off.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone, smiling as he saw Jonah’s name flash on the screen.

It was a text.

But Mitch’s smile faded and his stomach twisted in knots as he read the message.

Mitch re-read it to make sure he hadn’t just imagined the worst message he’d ever read.

Nope.

Jonah was at the hospital.

Mitch threw the truck into reverse and squealed the tires as he pulled away from his house. All of the anger he’d felt for his dad vanished, replaced by pure fear and determination as he shifted into gear and floored the gas.

Jonah needed him.

Mitch had to get to him.

Nothing else mattered.