Chapter 1: Man up!
Enzo’s POV
I woke to the soft rustling of the wind brushing through the trees outside my window, mingling with faint voices. My room was steeped in darkness, the faint glow of the moon filtering through the thin curtains and pooling on the floor. The air felt cool against my skin, prickling with the kind of eerie stillness that made my chest feel tight.
Rubbing my face, I dragged myself to the window. The coldness of the floorboards seeped into my feet with each step, grounding me in the quiet of the night. Pressing my forehead to the icy glass, I peered outside. My dad stood in the yard, his figure framed by the stark silver light of the moon. A small group of men surrounded him, their voices low but urgent, rising in occasional bursts of laughter that felt too sharp to be real.
I let my breath fog up the glass, my fingers idly tracing the condensation. Were they happy? Was he? It was hard to tell these days. Since Mom died, there was no warmth left in him—no easy smiles, no gentle reassurances. The man I once trusted with everything was gone, replaced by someone cold, distant, and brimming with anger.
And me? I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I was just... surviving. Carefully stepping around his expectations, holding my secrets like fragile glass. The thought of him finding out I was gay sent a chill deeper than the night air ever could.
The men finally left, their boots crunching against the gravel as they disappeared into the woods. My dad stayed behind, lingering in the moonlight with his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. The faint metallic glint of the gun caught my eye, and a lump formed in my throat. He stood there for a moment longer, staring into the distance, before turning and heading toward the house.
The front door slammed shut, and the sound seemed to echo through every corner of our creaky old home. My stomach twisted as heavy, deliberate footsteps climbed the stairs. The door to my room burst open with a force that made me flinch, the knob smacking against the wall.
"Why are you still up, Enzo?" My dad’s deep voice filled the room, rough and unyielding.
"I couldn’t sleep," I murmured, barely meeting his gaze.
He stepped inside, the scent of tobacco and sweat clinging to his clothes. His boots thudded against the floor as he crossed the room, each step carrying an edge of finality. His figure loomed larger than life in the dim light, his face carved with shadows. He studied me in silence, his dark eyes narrowing.
Finally, he sat on the edge of my bed, his elbows resting on his knees. He clasped his hands together tightly, the veins on the back of his hands standing out. For a moment, I thought he might say something kind, something soft—something like the father I used to know.