Home to Whiskey Creek (Whiskey Creek #4)(81)
Author: Brenda Novak

Although the Norths’ middle-class rambler was both familiar and comfortable to Noah—his own parents still lived next door—Noah was feeling anything but comfortable right now. What he was about to do went against everything he’d always believed about letting people work out their own problems.

But he’d thought it through carefully, and he was committed. Maybe Baxter wouldn’t thank him, but the truth needed to be told—and if he had to be the one to take the fall, so be it.

The porch light went on before the door opened. “Noah!” Baxter’s mother smiled. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Noah glanced at his watch. It was 9:45 p.m., a bit late to be visiting, but he’d needed some time to work up the nerve.

“Sorry to bother you. Is Mr. North around?”

“He is. We got back from the hospital an hour ago. He’s watching the Niners. He recorded the game on the DVR while we were out.”

Noah already knew the Niners had won, but he didn’t say anything about that. “I’d like to talk to both of you, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Come in.” She held the door and he stepped past a couple of jack-o’-lanterns that were starting to soften and cave in.

“Sam, it’s Noah,” she called.

“Noah?”

As Noah entered the room, the TV went silent and Baxter’s dad leaned forward, bringing his recliner to a sitting position.

“Don’t get up,” Noah said.

“What brings you over?” Mr. North asked. “Were you next door visiting your parents?”

“No, I made a special trip.”

At Noah’s somber tone, his eyes narrowed slightly. “What for?”

“I’d like to talk to you.”

Mrs. North smoothed her blouse. “Of course. Have a seat. Can I…can I get you a drink or—”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“What’s this about?” Mr. North asked.

“It’s about Baxter.”

“I figured as much. But…he’s going to be okay, Noah. He’s through the worst of it. And we’re getting him the help he needs. I’ve been calling around, looking for a reputable psychologist. He’s agreed to get some counseling.”

“That’s a good idea. But…I think it’s going to take more than that.”

After a moment of silence, his father said, “What do you mean?”

“I think it’s going to take the truth.”

Mr. North frowned at his wife before returning his attention to Noah. “And what is the truth?”

“Your son is g*y, Mr. North.”

His jaw hardened. “Excuse me?”

“I believe he’s struggling with self-esteem issues, and I highly doubt he can overcome them until he feels he’s accepted by you, just as he is.”

“Baxter’s no filthy homosexual! What gives you the right to come here and tell me this, anyway?”

Noah’s stomach churned. “He’s my best friend. That’s what gives me the right. Although, after this, he probably won’t be my friend anymore. Regardless of that, I’m hoping the truth will…will finally let him feel comfortable in his own skin.”

Mr. North got to his feet. “Are you his lover? Is that what you’re saying? You know he’s g*y because you’ve been having sex with my son?”

The mental image that evoked made Noah squirm. “No!”

“Then he admitted it?”

No way was Noah going to tell anyone besides Addy about The Kiss. “It wasn’t easy for him, but, yes.”

“You’re lying!” Those two words seemed to thunder through the whole house. “There would’ve been some sign. He…he wouldn’t make that choice. He knows I hate homos. Even God hates homos!”

“I think it’s that sentiment that’s at the root of the problem,” Noah said.

“I don’t believe it!” His hands flexed and unflexed. “Martha, he’s saying he knows our son better than we do. He’s talking nonsense. He—” Mr. North fell silent when he saw his wife. She was sitting on the couch with her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“You agree with me, don’t you?” he pressed. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Sit down, Sam,” she said.

“No, I won’t sit down. I want this bastard out of my house. Get out, Noah! We don’t need you to come around here, telling us what’s best for our son. And shame on you for spreading such nasty rumors. Baxter’s not even talking to you. There’s got to be a reason. You two had a falling out, and this is how you’re getting back at him.”

Noah had felt like slugging Baxter’s father when he’d said God hated homos. But he wanted to hit him even more now. He felt it might knock some sense into his thick, bigoted skull. But he knew he couldn’t let his temper get involved. “I care about your son. I want to help him.”

“He knows what he’s talking about.” Martha had spoken so quietly it took a second for what she said to sink in. When it did, Sam turned on her as if he’d tear her to pieces, and Noah got up, just in case.

“I…I found something once.” Martha gazed up at her husband with tears in her eyes. “Some…magazines. I…put them back under the bed where he’d hidden them, and I never said a word to him or to you, but…they weren’t the typical girlie magazines a mother might expect to find under her son’s bed.”

Sam looked as if he was trying to incinerate her with his eyes. “You don’t know they were his! Maybe he was hiding them for someone else, a…a friend. Maybe even Noah!”

“No.” She dropped her head in her hands. “His sister and I have talked about this before. She…she’s wondered. I told her not to bring it up. But it…explains so much.”

“Then you can both get the hell out!” Mr. North shouted.

Mrs. North’s eyes widened in obvious hurt, and that seemed to bring him in check. At least a little.

“Ah, shit!” he said, and stalked out of the room.

Noah stared down at Mrs. North’s bent head. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you,” he said. “It…it was his place, not mine. But…”

She wiped her cheeks. “I know why you did it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“I know that, too. But…it’s better if you go. I—I’ll handle Sam.”