Joey stepped back as the front door of his childhood home swung inwards. His mom stopped at the sight of him, her mouth popping open.

She looked older, but that was only to be expected. He’d not seen her in five years. She was still just as skinny, but her mousy brown hair had more gray in it and the lines around her eyes had deepened.

“Joseph?”

She was the only one that ever called him that. Despite his apprehension, Joey smiled. “Hi, Mom,” he said, his voice catching slightly.

“Oh, my baby boy,” she whispered. She rushed down the couple of steps to the porch where he was standing and pulled him into her arms. “You’ve grown so much.”

He guessed he had. He’d been sixteen when he left home, chasing his dreams with Below Zero. Now he was a man. A broken man, he feared, but a man nonetheless.

She bit her lip and looked him over, taking him in. He noticed her eyes lingering on the tattoo that reached beyond his left sleeve. She didn’t say anything, but he made a mental note to keep himself covered up while he was there. She didn’t need to worry about the extent of his body art.

She’d probably seen it all in countless tabloids, but she didn’t need reminders in the flesh. Joey’s body was his business, nobody else’s. Still, it would hurt to see any more disappointment in her eyes than there already was.

“You look well,” he said to her. It wasn’t strictly true, but it was worth the white lie for the smile it brought to her face.

“We’ve missed you.”

Now that was definitely not true. Joey allowed her to pretend it was though and followed her inside the house.

Nothing had changed. The same old faded wallpaper and carpets greeted him as he closed the door behind him. He wiped his shoes on the doormat and trailed after his mom down the hall. He gripped the bag strap over his shoulder tightly.

Voices were coming from the kitchen up ahead. Joey tried his best not to tremble and forced himself to hold his head up high.

“You should have seen his face, Dad,” Patrick Sullivan boomed amidst the laughter. “He didn’t know what hit him.”

“He didn’t, did he, Pat?” Cathy, Patrick’s wife, was cackling as Joey came to stand beside his mom’s shoulder. They hovered on the threshold of the gleaming kitchen.

“Look, Martin,” said Joey’s mom softly. “Look who’s home.”

The mirth died in an instant. Joey did his best not to squirm as three sets of eyes narrowed in his direction. His dad, other brother and sister-in-law all had cups of coffee in front of them, the steam still coming off the drinks. There was one of his mom’s homemade carrot cakes sitting on the table between them with a quarter wedge missing. It looked so good; Joey had to fight from licking his lips.

“Hi,” he said.

His dad leaned away in his chair, slinging his arm over the back. “L.A. not such a magical wonderland after all, then?” He smirked.

There was no way Joey could safely answer that. He did his best to smile and not fidget. “You look good,” he said instead, like he had to his mom.

Martin Sullivan was as robust as ever, just like Patrick. Bulky meatheads with small eyes and cropped brown hair. There was no mistaking the relation. Joey, on the other hand, was short and willowy, like his mom. Even if he wasn’t a dirty faggot, he probably would have never lived up to his dad’s idea of a man anyway.

A little cry drew Joey’s attention to the crib set up at the other end of the table. He gasped and instinctively moved forwards, but Cathy shot out of her seat and raced over to the baby.

“He probably needs feeding,” she said to Patrick, cheerfully ignoring Joey entirely like she always used to do.

Joey’s heart ached as she pulled the six-month-old infant up from the crib and perched him on her hip. Michael. Joey’s nephew. He had golden curly locks, just like Joey, and he felt his throat clamp up.

“He’s beautiful,” he rasped. Cathy continued to ignore him as she took a bottle of milk from the refrigerator and began heating it up.

Joey glanced at his brother, but Patrick was studiously looking at his coffee, his thumb rubbing in agitation at the handle. Joey gritted his teeth. He knew he’d become an uncle from one of his mom’s few phone calls earlier in the year. He’d been foolish enough to hope that he’d be allowed to at least hold Michael, but it was pretty obvious they didn’t want him anywhere near their precious son.

The trouble was, he was precious. From his button nose to his tiny fingers to his chubby legs that kicked in excitement as his mom prepared his food. But he would grow up learning that people like Joey were an abomination. Filthy perverts. They would never be allowed the chance to get to know each other, so Joey should just forget any idea of trying now. It would save him heartache in the long run.

“Isn’t he gorgeous?” said Joey’s mom in response to his comment. She beamed with pure joy at her first and only grandchild. As bitter as the situation felt to Joey, he couldn’t help but be happy for her.

“Pat and Cath are staying here while they save to buy their own place,” said Joey’s dad. He wasn’t looking at Joey and picked up his cup to take a sip as he nodded at Patrick. “Working real hard, is our Pat.”

“He’s so good to his family,” Cathy gushed, smiling at him.

It felt like although they were largely ignoring Joey’s presence, they were still putting on a big show for him. Like he should be jealous he wasn’t working in the meat-packing plant like his grandad had before his dad and brother.

“That’s great,” said Joey. How much longer were they going to make him go through this charade? “Well, I can see you’re busy, so I’ll just head to my room.”

“Oh,” said his mom, her hands fluttering at her chest. “About your room-”

“You weren’t supposed to be coming back,” his dad interrupted matter-of-factly. “So we got rid of it all. It’s Michael’s room now. You won’t be staying long though, will you? So it doesn’t matter.”

He turned his flinty eyes and arched a brow in Joey’s direction. Challenging him.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” said Joey.

He couldn’t deny his heart sunk at hearing they’d just trashed all his childhood belongings, but it wasn’t exactly a surprise. He was still stunned he’d been given permission to stay even one night. But his mom had told him on the phone that he could crash there at least for a little while.

Joey wasn’t sure what she’d said to convince his dad of even that much, but he was extremely grateful. And lord knew he wanted to get out from under that roof as much as his dad wanted him gone.

“I’ve made you up the camp bed in the basement,” his mom said. There were unshed tears in her eyes, but she was determinedly smiling through them. “You’ll be nice and warm, I’m sure.”

“Come on,” said his dad, getting to his feet. “I’ll show you down.”

Joey immediately tensed. His dad was certainly not offering out of kindness.

What could his dad really do, though? Joey was an adult now. He was strong and fast and wasn’t going to take his shit like he’d had to growing up. If he didn’t show weakness, he’d be okay.

“Sure,” he said. He spared a regretful glance towards baby Michael, happily guzzling on his bottle, and followed his dad. Not before his mom touched his arm and kissed his cheek.

“Welcome home, Joseph,” she said quietly, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes.

He hugged her, breathing in her familiar scent he hadn’t even realized he’d missed. Then he walked along the hall to the stairs that led down.

As basements went, theirs wasn’t so bad. Like the rest of the house, his mom kept it very clean. It was just stuffed with boxes of holiday decorations and old baby clothes that he supposed Michael would inherit now. In the corner was a flimsy-looking single camp bed. He dared to smile when he realized his mom had given him his old outer space comforter.

“This is not your home.”

Joey turned to look at his dad, the smile dying on his lips. He was standing between Joey and the stairs back up to the house. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and glowered.

“I know,” said Joey, his chin up.

“You’re only here because I love your mom, and I can’t have you breaking her heart any more than you already have. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Joey replied automatically.

“You’re to pay your way and keep out of our business. If I get even a hint you’re not doing everything you can to get your own place, you’ll be out on your ass on the streets as encouragement to try harder. Do I make myself clear?”

Joey gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir,” he ground out.

He was tempted to ask what the hell it was he’d done so wrong to deserve being treated like a criminal. But he already knew the answer.

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

His dad nodded and marched back up the stairs without a second glance.

Joey let out a long breath and dropped his bag to the floor. That could have gone a lot worse, he reasoned as he flopped on the bed.

Something dug into his back though, and he quickly sat up again. Confused, he pulled the covers back.

He had to stifle his gasp with a hand, then glanced behind him to make sure his dad had closed the door. Confident he was alone, Joey reached out with shaky fingers.

Scattered over the mattress were a couple of wrapped-up sandwiches, several candy bars, a resealable packet of dried mango strips, and a squashed slice of carrot cake, also wrapped up in cling film.

Most importantly, there was also a wad of cash secured in a clip. He picked that up first, ashamed at how fast he counted the bills. Two hundred dollars.

He clamped his jaw shut, but he couldn’t stop the tears that cascaded down his cheeks. It was a big risk for his mom to do this. She must have dipped into her own savings. Still, if his dad had found what was in the bed before Joey…

He hadn’t. She’d gotten away with it. So Joey hastily shoved the money into his wallet and the food into his backpack. Once he knew it was hidden, he unwrapped one of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, moaning as he bit into it.

He’d done it. He’d made it through the front door without too much drama.

Now all he had to do was get himself back out of it again. For good.