We sat in the waiting room for hours with no word on Mr. Rodriguez's condition. Trent was a mess, pacing the room and constantly going outside to smoke. I tried to get him to calm down, to sit with me for a bit, but he would sit down and then almost immediately get back up.

"Trent, this pacing is not going to help anything. Can you please calm down?"

"My dad might die, Gray."

"I know. But right now, what happens is out of your control."

"And that's the fucking problem!" He shouted, causing everyone in the waiting room to look at us.

"Baby, please. I know how you feel, trust me. It sucks, and it's so infuriating to know that you can't do anything about the situation you're in. But please just come sit with me, take some deep breaths, and talk to me." Trent sighed but came and sat with me.

"I hate feeling helpless. I felt this was after my mom died and I swore I would never be in this situation again."

"I love you so much, but that's just not possible. You will go through hard times, and times when you feel helpless, and times where things are out of your control. Pain is an inevitable part of life, but we don't have to let it destroy us."

"What can I do?"

"Just sit, take deep breaths, talk with me or play a game on your phone, read a book? Stewing in your fear and your negativity is not going to help."

"Did Dr. Meyer teach you that?" Trent smirked.

"She might have," I said defensively. Trent put his head on my shoulder. I started running my fingers through his hair and I kissed him on the head. He seemed to relax into my touch and in a few minutes he was asleep. I sat perfectly still, scrolling through my phone while I waited for a doctor to come out or for Trent to wake up. It was maybe an hour and a half later when a doctor started approaching us. I nudged Trent to wake him up.

"Hey Trent," the doctor said. His nametag read Dr. Ryan Hagan. He must be friends with Trent's dad, because he seemed to know him.

"How is he?" Trent asked, fear in his eyes.

"He's going to be okay. He drank himself into a heart attack. Does he always drink like that?"

"No, never!" He quickly defended his dad.

It's funny how the cycle of abuse works. People always criticize victims for not leaving, not speaking up about their abuser. It's not so easy. You feel like it's your fault, like you deserve it. Your abuser is someone who you cared about, or at one time did. A father, a mother, a grandparent, a family friend. How do you speak up about something that would potentially ruin that person's life? Especially when they're the only family you really have, and you rely on them to survive. I understood Trent lying for his dad. I did it multiple times for Adam. But my heart broke for him. He has an out, he just has to ask for help.

"Really? Because he has liver damage consistent with chronic alcohol abuse."

"No, my dad doesn't drink a lot. Maybe a glass of wine with dinner, but never a lot."

"Trent. Don't lie to me. I'm a doctor, I've known you for half of your life. I've seen your dad at parties. Is he like that all the time?"

"Look, I moved out of his house anyway, so it doesn't matter," he sighed.

"You moved out? Are you even 18 yet?"

"I will be Friday."

"Trent, what is going on?"

"Can I see him?" He asked, avoiding Dr. Hagan's question.

"Is it safe to let you see him?"

"I think so."

"What do you mean you think so?"

"Trent, just tell him the truth."

"No. Now I'm going to see my dad, what room is he in?"

"1214. But we're going to talk later."

"Whatever," Trent pushed passed Dr. Hagan and started down the hall. I didn't follow him at first, and then he looked back for me, so I ran to catch up. We got to the room and Trent paused just outside the door. He stood with his hand outstretched toward the door handle, hesitating to open it. He took a few deep breaths, and then quickly threw the door open before he could stop himself. We stepped into the room to the sound of the heart monitor beeping steadily. Mr. Rodriguez was propped up in bed, half asleep. He turned to look at us as we walked into the room and then looked away. I saw Trent's whole demeanor change. His shoulders sank and his head bowed, he was certain he was going to be rejected by his father again. "Dad?" He asked cautiously as he stepped closer to his father's bedside.

"Son." Was his stern reply.

"How are you feeling?"

"Do you care?" He croaked out, voice hoarse and words slurred from the hours spent under anesthesia.

"Of course I care."

"You left me."

"You left me first. A long time ago." His father's eyes darted up to him.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's not worth it you probably won't remember this conversation later anyway. I'm glad you're alright, Dad."

"Can we talk later? I need to rest?"

"Yeah. Night." Trent grabbed my hand and we walked out of the hospital room. Trent checked with the nurses at the desk to see how long he would have to be there. They were keeping him for a few days to observe him, make sure he reacted well to the surgery. They did a bypass I think, I'm not good with medical terms. The nurse said he'd probably be in and out of consciousness all night, so it was probably best we went home. Trent was just about to sneak out when we ran into Dr. Hagan again.

"Trent, ready to have that talk?" He asked.

"Nope."

"Too bad, come to my office." Trent kept walking down the hall, and I stood in front of him to obstruct his path.

"Trent, please go talk to him," I pleaded.

"What's he going to do?"

"Help you! What's the worst that could happen? You turn 18 in three days." He sighed and turned around and the two of us followed Dr. Hagan down the hall to his office.

"I apologize I didn't introduce myself formally, I'm Ryan." Dr. Hagan, I mean Ryan, said and held his hand out to me.

"Grayson," I smiled and shook his hand before stepping into his office. It was fairly spacious, with large windows overlooking the city. The furniture was sleek and minimalist, everything you would picture a young doctor decorating his office with. Fake plants sat on a coffee table and in the corner, and Ryan's numerous degrees were framed on the walls. He only looked to be in his thirties, and I wondered how he had so many degrees. He had two bachelors, a masters, and two doctorates. Must be one smart guy.

"Have a seat guys," Ryan motioned to the chairs on the other side of his desk and Trent and I took seats. "So, what's going on at home, Trent? I can already tell that your dad's an alcoholic, so don't bother lying. We're going to get him help. There are programs he can do right here through the hospital. It's going to be mandated before his return. He can't be performing surgery if he's getting black out drunk every night. But I want to support you too Trent, what has this experience been like for you?"

"It's all I've ever really known. He's barely around, he yells at me when he is. He threw me out last week."

"What? Why did he throw you out?" Trent hesitated to answer. "Because of Grayson?" He nodded. "Trent, I'm so sorry he's not accepting. Where are you staying?"

"With Brayden, he's been on his own since he was 16."

"Is that a stable environment for you?"

"Yes."

"Do you think there's a chance he'll let you come back?"

"I don't know if I want to. Besides, there's nothing wrong with me living with Brayden. I've gotten my shit together since the last time you saw me."

"So I've heard." Ryan smiled.

"From who?" Trent asked, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"Your dad."

"Yeah, when was that, the day he punched me in the face?"

"He hits you?"

"It doesn't happen much."

"Trent, we're going to get him help, I promise."

"It doesn't matter I'm still not going back there."

"Trent he's your father!"

"Do you know what it's like to be abused? To have the person who's supposed to love you and raise you just manipulate you and put you down?"

"I can't say I do," Ryan sighed. "But my husband's father was an alcoholic. He went through a lot of the same shit with his dad. He was able to get clean and they ended up having a wonderful relationship."

"Well, that's great for... wait, did you say husband?" Trent gasped.

"Did you not know I was gay? That hardly seems important right now, but yeah I'm surprised your dad never told you."

"My dad's not necessarily accepting of queer people, hence that last 10 minutes of conversation."

"He never gave me a hard time. Your parents were even at our wedding."

"What?" I shouted in disbelief. They both looked at me shocked. "Sorry, just... after how his dad reacted when he caught us... he really seems hateful."

"Sometimes parents can accept others better than their own children. It's hard for some people who raised really conservatively. Don't give up though."

"I really don't care."

"Keep telling yourself that." Ryan laughed. "Now, is there anything you need from me? Anything I can do to help you?"

"Just take good care of him, call me if there's any updates. I'll come back tomorrow after school."

"Here Trent," Ryan said as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper before handing it over to him.

"What's this?"

"My phone number and address. If you ever need me, for anything, you can call or stop by whenever."

"Thanks Ryan," Trent nudged my shoulder to signal me to get up. I said goodbye to Ryan and then we left. We drove in silence back to my house, Trent had one hand on the wheel and another clutching a cigarette.

"Trent talk to me," I said that night as we cuddled up in bed.

"I don't know what to say. Today was a lot."

"I didn't know your dad went to a gay wedding."

"I didn't know that either. It must have been right before my mom died."

"Maybe there is hope he'll come around? He didn't seem angry when you visited him."

"He was whacked out from the anesthesia, babe."

"Well, maybe he'll be a different person once he recovers, both from the heart attack and his alcoholism."

"We'll see."

"Thanks for staying with me today," he whispered and kissed me gently.

"That's what partners are for. Let's get some sleep baby. I love you."

"I love you too."