Page 74 of Zero Confusion

The subtext couldn’t have been clearer—Zach was welcome home, at least by his brothers. That still left two people and some unanswered questions.

“Any idea why Mom’s been calling me?”

Jerry let out an annoyed groan. “She’s been all over the place. And you know Mom and Dad—they barely talk to us and only to give us orders and rant about boring shit that doesn’t matter.”

Zach’s eyebrows shot up. He’d assumed it was just him, that Jerry and Abe had an easy, normal relationship with their parents.

“Honestly, man, I have no clue what happened,” Jerry went on. “All I know is, by the time Abe and I got back to the house, Mom was crying, Dad looked like he wanted to punt the grill, and nobody would tell us jack. We didn’t find out about the gay thing until the next morning. They sat us down with these grim expressions, like they were about to tell us Fido went upstate to live on a better farm.”

“Were they mad?” Zach asked.

“Not at first, but I think Dad got pissed when we didn’t react how he expected. They were like, We have something upsetting to tell you. Zachariah has informed us that he is gay and permanently moving out.” Jerry did a stiff imitation of their dad’s deep voice. “And Abe and I went, Okay, that’s cool. Then Dad’s face got super red, and he said, What do you mean ‘that’s cool’? This is serious. And then Abe leans over to me and goes, I should have asked him for help decorating my room. And, yeah, that was the end of that conversation. After that, they told us you didn’t want to talk to anyone, so we figured we’d give you some space. But…you’ve had enough space now, right?”

“Yeah. Plenty.” Zach let out a shaky chuckle, a new wave of tears sliding down his cheeks. “Thanks for telling me all that, but I’m still not sure why Mom keeps calling.”

“Wish I could tell you. They don’t exactly invite us to their hushed conversations. And we’ve been slammed with the harvest—like, eating sandwiches in the field for dinner, home to shower and sleep, rinse and repeat kind of slammed. Awful. I don’t think I’ve left the farm in a month. But…from what I’ve seen, I get the feeling she’s regretting whatever went down with the two of you.”

A small hope flared inside Zach’s chest—bright, warm, and terrifying. He quickly tamped it down before it could burn him. Hope was a dangerous thing.

“If you’re so busy, why are you up? It’s after midnight,” he said instead of prodding more.

“Seriously? Not you too,” Jerry groaned. “This is literally the only me-time I get. I just wanna watch a movie and turn my brain off, even if it means running on four hours of sleep.”

His mock-dramatic tone made Zach grin. Not wanting to impede on Jerry’s limited downtime, he wished him good night, promised they’d talk again soon, and dragged himself to bed.

The crying had been cathartic, but the relief came with a bone-deep exhaustion, and he barely managed to pull the covers over himself before sleep overtook him.

It wasn’t until he woke up surrounded by the faint smell of the ocean that he realized he’d slept on the bed instead of the couch.

He couldn’t bring himself to regret it. With his face buried in Miles’s pillow, Zach breathed in and wished for the impossible.

Chapter 27

ZACH

Weeks passed with Zach stuck in limbo. Despite the acceptance from his brother, fear paralyzed him whenever he thought of his family—heart rate spiking, palms sweating, thoughts scattered. He felt fragile, unsteady, like a Jenga tower about to come crashing down from one wrong touch.

He still reflexively blocked any number with a Montana area code. Even the two that definitely weren’t telemarketers—the ones that texted, asking him to please call. Some would call that kind of avoidance cowardly and unhealthy, but Zach never claimed to be well-adjusted. All he wanted was to go one day without low-grade panic thrumming under his skin.

A perfectly reasonable goal that seemed completely out of reach.

Joel tried dragging him out to the club, and Zach went along once, spending the whole night nursing a single drink and watching people dance. No amount of internal pep talks or Joel’s cheerful prodding could get him to loosen up.

He just wasn’t in the mood.

Still, he had to hand it to Joel—most people would have given up by now, but his friend remained stubbornly determined to help. These days, that help boiled down to hanging out at the library after class. Theoretically, they were supposed to be studying, though that had never been one of Joel’s strong suits.

“Officially the worst elective in the history of all electives,” Joel grumbled, flipping through the textbook. They were supposed to be picking three topics to explore in their final paper, which Zach had done in the first ten minutes and Joel refused to do on principle. “I should’ve taken Social Media Marketing instead. I know all the apps.”

Zach snorted. “You know the apps you like. I’m sure the high schoolers are using stuff we’ve never heard of. Besides, you only hate this class because it’s making you confront your inner consumer.” Zach made air quotes and smirked. “You’re just feeling defensive about your predictable and shallow consumer ways.”

“Whatever.” Joel pouted. “I’m a great consumer. I help the economy.”

“Yes, sweetie, your addiction to alcohol and skinny jeans is single-handedly keeping our country afloat.”

Joel glared at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side. Not on the”—he gestured to the textbook—“judgy-people side. Besides, you always buy chips from the center of the vending machine.”

“That’s proof that vending machine people understand their customers.”