Setting Fire to the Stars (a MM Sci-Fi Romance)

Chapter 31: Heist

———————————————————
Peter
———————————————————

If someone had told me three weeks ago that I would be breaking into a secret underground government lab in an attempt to steal an alien spaceship, I would have asked them which psych ward they'd escaped from.

I've learned that life can be funny like that, throwing us into unexpected situations careening head-first, sometimes without warning.

Some days were for the better. Like the day I made the winning touchdown that got my team qualified for playoffs. It was a fucking phenomenal play, and one of the best moments of my life. The entire team of Blue Falcons threw one hell of a rager that night in my dorm. I distinctly remember Connor Tart getting so shit-faced that the stupid oaf fell asleep while on the toilet. The guys and I had a fun time using a Sharpie to draw dicks on his forehead.

Even my father, the man who criticized almost every aspect of my life under a microscope, wore a smile that day. Being the rat bastard he was, he always came to my games, not to cheer me on, but to make sure I wasn't tarnishing his good name by being a quote-unquote "weak ass pussy". Funny, really, since I trained longer and pushed myself harder than any member of the team.

After that win, Dad actually clapped me on the back and told me in his gruff voice, "Good game, son, but don't get cocky. That last pass of yours was sloppy as hell. You got lucky, so you better work harder if you want to be a winner."

It was a backhanded compliment, barely even a breadcrumb of any real fatherly affection, and yet it was closest I'd ever come to receiving praise from him. It wasn't until much later after coming down from my winner's high that I realized that the one he was actually proud of was himself for producing a spawn that had inherited his innate athletic skills. It was fairly obvious from the way he bragged to the other parents, saying how his son was sure to follow in his footsteps.

That was all I was to him. A legacy. His ticket to reliving the good old days. What a fucking joke.

Believe it or not, that was actually one of my better memories of him. The worst were the days my father wasn't so benevolent. Take the time my dad nearly beat me within an inch of my life because he heard about me talking to his estranged homosexual brother regarding my own sexuality.

Yeah, that was still one of the worst fucking weeks of my life. The moment I confronted my reflection in the mirror, I began to hate the person staring back at me. The one who thought he could be different from the heteronormative and still live the life he wanted. That day was a fucking wake up call. I didn't like that weak, pathetic version of myself. If all he was going to get from the world was pain and heartbreak, he was better off gone.

So I did what I had to. Buried that punk-ass loser six feet under, then fucked and drank my way back to some semblance of normalcy. Convinced myself that I was fine, positively splendid, never fucking better.

Until the invasion.

Nobody saw that shit coming, until bam, no more school, no more friends, probably no more mom and dad, say goodbye to every ounce of normalcy on the planet. Seventeen days ago, my entirely straight and perfect golden boy persona that I'd spent years carefully building splintered into fragments when I saw Lauren in real danger. The Peter I carefully repressed and martyred resurrected the moment I realized that I could lose that God-given man for good.