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Reggie was ten when he realized that his parent’s fights weren’t normal. The sound of the glass hitting the wall reminding him of every shouting match before, but it felt distant to him. He was breathing heavily and he couldn’t stop. He stood frozen in place watching his father approach his mother, cheeks red with fury and an unreadable expression on his face.
He couldn’t understand why she provoked him when it was easier to stay silent.
He wanted to do something. He wanted to run in front of her and stop it, but his legs wouldn’t move. His hands shaking as he watched his father turn to face him before walking out of the house, door slamming loudly behind him.
When his mother crumpled to the floor, he went with her, gasping for air uselessly. Slowly he moved across the cold tile floor until he reached her, arms wrapping around her in an attempt to soothe her sobs.
The gesture woke her from her thoughts and quickly she was wiping dark streaks of mascara across her pale skin. Reggie wanted to talk to her, to ask her if she was alright, but no words came out. He felt lightheaded as he scrambled to his feet.
“He’ll be back” said his mother, an air of finality about the statement. He didn’t have any energy left to tell her he wasn’t sure if he wanted him too.
Retreating to his room, he fell into his bed and looked around. There wasn’t much because he didn’t have much. He had his guitar and that was what mattered. If Alex’s mom packed two sandwiches, then who would Reggie be if he didn’t accept. Sighing as he fell into a restless sleep, he imagined a better future.
He wanted to be on stage, in a band, with his best friends. The energy of the crowd would make all his worries fade away. He imagined Luke, with his messy hair and his warm smile playing to a crowd of thousands. Any negative thoughts a world away.
...
Reggie was twelve when he watched Luke and Alex hold hands, jealousy eating at him even if he didn’t know why. They were his escape from the fights of his parents, he wanted to feel angry about this change, but instead he was tired.
He was always tired.
Luke would laugh and ruffle his hair playfully as he slept on his sofa. Alex would kick his chair in school to prevent him from getting caught. They didn’t ask why. He was grateful.
He had an excuse prepared if they asked. He was going to say he was writing songs and lost track of time. He wished it was the truth.
Instead it was the drunken shouting of his father that kept him awake. It started in hushed tones. Pleas from his mother to stop visiting the bar with his friends as they couldn’t afford it. It ended the same every time. Broken pieces of something on the floor.
He knew one day it might be him. He would prepare himself. Lying awake listening to make sure his mother was safe. The fears of the night vanishing in the daylight. His father’s insincere apologies as he rushed out the door, late again. His mother’s easy laughter as she gave him his lunch. It was the calm he never wanted to end.
...
Reggie was thirteen when his father hit his mother for the first time. He was at a sleepover at Luke’s, returning to find a bruise blossoming on her pale skin. She didn’t address it and neither did he. It took him two weeks to sleep for longer than 30 minutes, the guilt keeping him awake.
...
Reggie was fourteen when he joined a band; it was what he’d been waiting his entire life for. The memory of his mother’s black eye still ricocheting around his head until he stepped on stage.
He was himself on stage. It was the only place he wasn’t afraid.
Alex and Luke had become closer, stolen kisses during band practice. Reggie looked away to give them privacy, or rather to avoid the unusual feeling that he felt in his chest. The feeling that was beginning to be inescapable.
Home wasn’t much better for him, tense silences more common than the violence, but still alarming nonetheless. In his weakest moments he wondered why anyone would fall in love, if love meant sweeping up broken shards of glass in a dark room.
He’d think about the times his father was sober and present with them, and then he’d remember; the feeling of being loved was worth it. The thought made him realize why his mother stayed. They were a family and family stayed.
...
Reggie was fifteen when he realized that maybe family didn’t guarantee love. His father’s fists aimed directly at him. The first blow was enough to make him doubt that love even existed. The third threw him to the ground, blood gushing from his nose. The tile was still as cold as he remembered.
He understood why his mother would provoke him, raw anger coursing through his veins.
He didn’t remember what happened next. His mother’s icy hands on his face brought him back to reality, a silent apology in her eyes.
Alex was the first to react when he came to school the next day, the angry bruises decorating Reggie’s skin the worst way. It made him adjust his collar uncomfortably, covering his own purple mark, the consequence of a lazy make-out session with Luke.
Luke’s eyes softened at the sight at lunchtime. He passed an apple across the table; Reggie knew what it meant. It meant he was willing to listen when he was ready. It meant he was willing to do anything to prevent this from happening again, but it was misguided. Luke simply couldn’t fight this battle for him.
...
Reggie was sixteen when Alex came out as gay. It changed everything and nothing at the same time. Alex’s parents were unhappy with the development, they began keeping their distance. He heard his friend sob in the bathroom of the garage as Luke knocked lightly, a reminder of the family they had formed.
He watched and imagined how his parents would react if they knew he looked longingly at his best friend in the same way. If they knew he imagined kissing boys, the same way he imagined kissing girls.
He kept the secret close to him, only letting it break through as they performed. The microphone the only barrier between their lips.
Despite his perceived inattentiveness, he saw everything. Alex’s once loving looks at Luke returning to how they were before. They were still fond, but they lacked the fire they once held. He wondered if it was the effect of his family not accepting him. He wondered if the fire he felt when he looked at Luke was visible.
...
Reggie was sixteen when Luke ran away from home. He found him disheveled on the old sofa in the garage, hair thoroughly mussed with stress.
He remembered the words he said to him. The secrets he shared in the glow of the moonlight. Reggie listened intently; warm eyes full of concern. He wanted to tell him that it would be okay, but he didn’t know.
His father had been getting angrier and he’d seen the late payment notice on the kitchen counter.
Luke laughed gently after he asked if he could join him in this garage. His hopes laid out plainly as he finally told him about his parents arguing keeping him up at night. He couldn’t bring himself to tell him about the violence, another secret shelved for another day.
He brushed a stray lock of brown hair away from Luke’s face as the sun began to rise. Time seemed to go faster when he was around him. He didn’t let himself think about how Luke had glanced at his lips, eyes daring him to make a move.
When Alex found them entangled on the sofa he didn’t comment.
...
Reggie was sixteen when his father hit him so hard, he almost forgot where he was. Blinking back the tears he steadied himself, there was no love here. He didn’t even react when the punches kept coming until he was shivering on the tile.
The smell of alcohol overwhelmed him, just as it had done on many nights before, until the smell faded as the door slammed. Watching his mother shake with fear, he stood. Blood streaming down his face, much like the tears he felt but couldn’t control.
Reaching out, he held her hand, before retreating to the bathroom to survey the damage.
It the worst one so far. His eye was swollen already, blurring his vision until all he saw was blood. It was gruesome and he backed from the mirror in fear.
He didn’t realize where he was heading until he saw Luke.
Rushing him towards the bathroom, Luke grabbed the first aid kit and began tending to his wounds. Neither one spoke, the air heavy with the tears in Reggie’s eyes. Luke’s eyes scanning his face carefully when he inhaled due to the pain.
Luke held him tighter that night. It was the first night they had shared the couch. Luke’s thoughts filling the air and calming him. His gentle fingers brushing through his hair and sending him off to a peaceful sleep.
Reggie stayed on the couch for a week before returning home, desperately wanting to protect his mother. His nightmares shook Luke awake and in turn Luke would brush through his hair, while singing lullabies lightly.
Luke told him about everything; Alex, his mom, his dreams for the future. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he smiled at the feeling of their fingers linked together.
The moon was shining through the garage on the night he asked Luke what love was. Luke smiled softly, telling him that love was an unbreakable bond, the exact thing that kept the band together. When Luke pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead after a nightmare, he began to believe in love again.
...
Reggie was sixteen when he finally kissed Luke. It was clumsy and delicate and perfect. His hands easily slipping into his best friends’ hair, pulling him closer until the space between them was non-existent. They didn’t pull apart until Alex and Bobby came to rehearse.
Silence was common in his house now; the fight was extinguished in both him and his mother. The tiredness he once felt settled in his soul when he was at home.
Luke watched everything he did now, waiting to help, wanting to help.
He wanted to tell him that spending time with him and the band was help enough. He wanted to tell him that every longing look they shared made him feel an emotion he couldn’t describe. He wanted to tell him that he loved him, but the words were out of reach.
He settled on kissing him easily, smiles on both their faces. The world outside was miles away when they were together. They stayed on the couch more nights from then on.
...
Reggie was seventeen when he told Luke he loved him. They had just booked the Orpheum. Luke held him with pure love as he spun him around the garage. He didn’t mean to say it in front of everyone, but Luke didn’t care.
He replied instantly, eyes full of adoration. He simply grabbed his face and connected their lips.
Reggie had never felt more alive.
...
Reggie was seventeen when he died. He watched his friends deal with the loss differently.
He watched Alex sob for his parents, for his life, for their band.
He watched Luke attempt to hide his tears. He watched him grapple with the idea his parents would never know how close they were to success. He watched as he reached out to him for comfort.
Reggie could finally breathe now he was dead. His parents could get the divorce now he wasn’t around to keep them together. His mother could be safe, and his father could be happy, and he could enjoy an eternity at Luke’s side.
He took Luke’s hand and pressed a light kiss on it. He reached out and took Alex’s hand in a silent gesture of support.
They were together and he thought maybe he was wrong about family.
Family was everything. It was love and comfort and support. It was messy and sad and golden. Family did stay, but it wasn’t the family he expected to stay.
Alex, Luke and Reggie had been a family since before Reggie could remember and watching them huddle together he realized they’d be a family forever