CAMP WAS ALMOST over, thankfully. In all my years of teaching and coaching, even when I was playing in college, I never wanted football to end so badly.
All I wanted to do, day and night, was be with Micah.
It was like I was a lovesick teenager.
All over again.
It wasn’t that I hated being at work. I simply hated not being home even more. Especially when I knew Micah was waiting for me, usually half naked.
Or fully, waiting in bed.
Those were the best days. And nights.
All those thoughts flew out of my head when I pulled up, and his car wasn’t in the driveway. Disappointment flashed through me in a way I never expected. I mean, it wasn’t like I kept him bound and chained like some kind of sex slave. He was free to come and go as he pleased.
And yet for the last ten days, he was always here. It wasn’t much to go on, ten days. Not much could be built on that. But couple it with our past—and our mutual longing over the years, something I learned in our hours of pillow talk once our bodies were nothing more than useless puddles of sexually satisfied bones—and in my gut, I knew he was mine to keep.
Letting the list of ideas run through my head, I slid my key into the lock, hoping beyond all reason that Sarge’s bowls were still here. That seemed to be the true tell of his emotions. Whatever he was thinking about always involved Sarge. He’d never go anywhere for more than a few minutes without that dog. But if Sarge’s stuff was missing, that was a clear sign he was planning on leaving for good.
“Dammit,” I cursed, turning around the bend into the kitchen. The bowls were gone. Taking a calming breath, I knew I couldn’t overreact. That wasn’t going to help anyone, certainly not me and my racing brain.
Just as I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket, I heard his car pull into the driveway. And as I fought to acknowledge the disappointment at him being gone, I refused to get overly excited that he was back.
So, keeping it detached and casual, I walked to the fridge, not wanting to look too eager in meeting him at the door.
Standing there with my cock in my hand asking if he was up for a blow job definitely would’ve been over the top.
As the door opened, I moved some items around in the fridge. Now that Micah was here, I made it a point to keep the fridge stocked. When I heard the door close behind him, and Sarge’s paws scraping on the floor, I said, “Couldn’t stay away from me for long, huh?” And when I lifted my head above the line of the door, my stomach dropped to the floor. “Uh, hi, Dad.” The words fell from my mouth, splattering on the floor like the vomit threatening to rise from my stomach.
Like the vomit I’d cleaned up far too many times falling from his mouth.
Acting as if he hadn’t heard the words I’d just spoken, he walked through the living room, and with a wide smilelighting up his face, Dad entered the kitchen. “Hey, yourself,” he greeted, sliding onto one of the barstools at the island. Knowing he was going to ask for one of the beers in my hand, I slid it over to him.
And for the second time in a minute, my world came to a screeching halt. “I’m good for now.” He looked over his shoulder, exchanging some kind of secretive look with Micah before turning back to face me. “Maybe we could talk. Alone.” He wasn’t mad, and that confused me like hell. But there was no point in arguing with him, in trying to prolong what was about to happen with the offer of a meal or something stupid like that. He was on a mission, and I was his target.
Catching Micah’s face over Dad’s shoulder, I shot him the “what in the fuck is going on here?” look only to have it met with a shrug and the “you’re on your own” face.
Like cattle being lead to the slaughter, I walked out of my kitchen and into my back yard. I was a grown man, with his own mortgage and car payment. I’d taken care of my father on more occasions than he’d ever taken care of me, yet here I was, walking behind him, my head hanging as if I’d just been caught smoking a joint behind the school.
“Sit,” he commanded without too much bravado, as he lowered himself into the seat next to me. The same seats Micah and I had sat in just the night before . . .
Those thoughts definitely don’t belong here. Not now.
The second my ass hit the seat, he asked, “Are you happy?” shocking me into silence.
“Huh?” I sounded like an idiot. “I . . . uh . . .” Yep, full-fledged idiot mode, through and through.
Raking his hands through his thinning hair, he let out a sigh. “Jude,” he pleaded. “Don’t make me say it,” he begged without looking at me.
The unspoken question hung in the air, waiting for me to answer it, hovering there, right beyond the limits of tangibility. All I had to do was reach for it and say what we apparently both knew.
If I had enough courage to steady this craziness I called my life.
“Dad,” I croaked, my voice wobbling unintentionally. He looked up at me, his eyes shimmering and I knew he knew. Maybe he’d known as long as I had. But whatever laws we had between us, both written and unwritten, they kept us silent.
For so damn long.
Who the hell knew what kind of damage we’d both done to each other. Yet here was the chance for me to turn it around. If only I had the strength to say what he needed to hear.
