Gene’s chin dipped in a slow nod. He shifted, steepling his index fingers before him. “Think you’re the only man to ever do something that makes it hard to look in the mirror?”
His ability to breathe narrowed to tiny sips of air, simply enough to survive. “Know I’m not.”
“Pulling away from me help you do that?”
He leaned back in his chair. Damn Grandaddy’s hide anyway. The man didn’t know how to prevaricate and demanded the same from them. Colt lined his fingertips up along the edge of the table, pushing down hard, pressure moving in a wave up his hand to his forearms.
“I am not proud of myself and knew you wouldn’t be either.” His voice emerged a little rough, but he kept it steady. “And I know Tick’s place in your life.”
Gene’s left eyebrow rose. Seeing that had always tickled Colt in the past because his own did the same arc. Today it made him sick, grief lodged in his throat like a stone.
“You think his place means you can’t have one of your own?”
“I know what I did.” And even stumbling inebriated, he’d known the repercussions once that door creaked open. Losing Tick had been instantaneous. Losing Grandaddy had been sustained, the silence between Colt and Tick letting him hold on for years, a slow, killing dread of this moment always alive in him. He hadn’t had to fear losing D — he might be disappointed, but would always be Colt’s daddy — but he’d had nearly a decade of lying to Gene about the man he was.
With a man who demanded honesty from himself and those he loved, that sin was unforgivable, and Colt knew it.
“And you think I can’t hold space for both of you?” Gene punched a point A in the air with his index finger and drew a line to an imaginary point B. “That is some bullshit, son.”
“I think—” Nape burning, he leaned forward, then tapered his aggression before he could stab his own finger into the scarred table. His mouth tightened when he dug his teeth into the tender flesh under his bottom lip. “I’m not taking anything else from him.”
“Your daddy is right.” Gene held his gaze. “You have a mildly skewed view of the situation, son.”
If the old man called him son with that firm gentleness one more time, Colt would lose his temper, right here. He sucked a breath in through his nose. His daddy was right? They’ddiscussedhim? Dissected his private life, his biggest failure? Without his consent?
Oh, hell no.
He and D would have a word – maybe words – later.
He reached for his cutlery roll and snapped the blue paper band around the napkin. “I have a crystal clear view of the situation, Grandaddy.”
Because he’d had nine damn years to live nothing else.
He wasn’t doing that anymore, though. He didn’t have Tick, wouldn’t have Grandaddy, probably, beyond this lunch he’d been dodging for a month, but he had Holly. They were messy around the edges because of her friendship with Lamar, but Colt could deal. He’d draw a line there to protect her relationship with Tick because it was important.
He’d draw the same line here with Grandaddy, and then he’d live with it, the way somebody lived with the place where a chunk of flesh had been torn out. Heal and move on, a little scarred, a little less whole, but alive.
“Humph.” Gene simply watched him.
Colt shook his head and glanced away. All he had to do was make it through this meal.
Mrs. Gail herself brought their food, bustling up with a plate in each hand. “Two of my favorite men, right here together. What’s new with the Calvert clan?”
Forcing a smile, Colt restrained an eye roll. Mrs. Gail was Mrs. Gail, always on the lookout for the merest tidbit of gossip she could knead and rise into a full-baked rumor. She wasn’t gushing with congratulations, though, so his and Holly’s engagement wasn’t out beyond the family yet.
Mrs. Gail honed in on Gene while she placed their food with exquisite care, and Colt tuned her out while she tried drawing information out of his grandaddy. Figure she’d have learned by now that Gene was notoriously close-mouthed about his sons, their lives, and his grandchildren. He always said Lousiebragged on them enough. Instead he just smiled at them with a proud glow in his eyes.
Colt bit the inside of his lip again and glanced away, focusing on a velvet wall hanging until the sunflowers didn’t blur on the black background and his eyes didn’t burn. Shit, he was going to miss that pride when Gene looked at him. Sharp claws dug into his throat, right above the center of his clavicle.
Mrs. Gail drifted away to another table, like a shark scenting fresh blood in the water. Colt glanced at his stuffed potato, bile hurting his chest and throat. What the hell had he been thinking?
“Seems like the problem . . .” Gene picked up his knife and fork, appetite unaffected. “. . . is not only you being unable to forgive yourself, but not being able to accept grace and forgiveness from anybody else.”
Colt’s head jerked up. “That’s not true.”
Holly knew everything about him, and he had no problem meeting her, anywhere. The same with Andy and Grace and Wally.
And Ralph, who only got pissed at him over a dose of dry kibble.
