#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4) Read online

  “You never said anything.”

  “You didn’t either,” she mused.

  “I thought you’d hate me.”

  “I will never hate you. I love you.”

  I knew my mother loved me, but I hadn’t known she loved me enough to accept this. Some of the weight I carried lifted off my shoulders. Some of that hollow pain inside me suddenly seemed a lot less.

  She loved me anyway.

  Even though I felt relief, even though some of the self-loathing and doubt I held inside didn’t seem so fierce… I still felt guarded.

  I still had no idea what to say here.

  I didn’t know how to be myself. Not really.

  I never allowed it.

  What I had was pieces of who I was. Pieces of who I knew I should be and pieces of the way I felt inside. I never put them all together.

  I still couldn’t. I wasn’t sure I was ready.

  “You need to get to practice,” she said. “You’re already late.”

  I blinked. How many more times was she going to surprise me today?

  “We’ll talk when you want to. On your own time. Just know I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

  I stood from the bed, relieved to be dismissed from this conversation. Before walking away, I glanced down at the magazine still in her hands. I wanted to grimace.

  God, my mother holding a gay porn issue?

  My eyes needed bleached.

  I might have nightmares.

  That magazine was officially the last thing on earth that would ever turn me on again.

  With embarrassed haste, I reached for it. “I’ll, ah…” I faltered. “Take that.”

  “Take it with you,” Mom said, releasing it. “Probably best not to have that lying around the house.”

  “It wasn’t lying around,” I sniped. “It was hidden in my room.”

  Guess I wasn’t totally ready to just let her snooping go. What she did was a total invasion of my space. Of the inside of my head. No wonder I wasn’t ready to talk yet. I was completely taken off guard.

  “I was worried about you, Arrow. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered and tucked the mag beneath my arm.

  “I’m just trying to protect you,” she said, a different note coming into her voice. Her words were more guarded than before. It was odd.

  “Protect me from what?”

  She paused. I saw her debating, like she was picking and choosing her words carefully. “I think it may be best if we kept your…” She paused. “Lifestyle choice between me and you right now. Until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

  I recoiled for two reasons:

  1.) Being gay wasn’t a choice. I didn’t know a lot, but that I knew. It wasn’t even a lifestyle. It just was. (That hollow pain inside me, the one I mostly ignored, groaned through me like cold wind on a gusty day).

  and

  2.) She didn’t want me to tell Dad.

  “You think he’ll hate me.” It was a direct accusation even though I said it as more of a statement.

  “Of course not,” Mom soothed. But I saw it. I saw the doubt in her eyes.

  Opposition and anger flared inside me.

  He couldn’t. He wouldn’t… He loved me.

  Right?

  “Then why don’t you want me to tell him?”

  “Your father can be very…” There was that pause again while she weighed her words. “Cold at times. Very narrow-minded.”

  “He is not!” I argued.

  “I know you don’t see him that way.” She agreed. “But he’s never showed you that side of himself. Just because you don’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there. There’s a reason your brother isn’t around very much, a reason your father spends so much time at the office.”

  I was reeling inside. Smacked in the face with the discovery of my deepest secret and now the possibility my father would reject me for it. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t.

  “You said you didn’t care,” I rebutted.

  “And I meant that, but your father and I are different people.”

  I shook my head. The little boy inside me stomped his feet and shook his fist. Every kid wanted to believe his parents were superheroes. Even when we began to grow up, we still clung to the idea.

  If you really believe he’ll accept you, why haven’t you said anything?

  “You’re wrong,” I argued. Beneath my skin, I was shaking. “Dad won’t care.”

  I’d been afraid of this very thing. Of both my parents and even my brother rejecting me. Of my friends turning their backs and everything I knew in life just slipping away. It’s why I never said a word. Why I kept it all inside… So why was I fighting against the truth of it now?

  Why was I taking it out on the person who bucked my fears and offered me acceptance?

  “I think this is something your father will not be expecting and something that will upset him,” she said honestly but gently. “After you and I talk, we can decide on the best way to handle your father.”

  “As in what…? Never tell him?”

  Her stare dropped to the floor. “Possibly.”

  I laughed, but it was a terrible, rotten sound. “How can you tell me you accept me and then tell me to shut up about it? You can’t have it both ways, Mom! You either don’t care I’m gay or you do!”

  She started to say something, but I made a sound.

  “Unbelievable!” I yelled. “You come in here snooping around like you think I’m some serial killer or drug addict. You say you’re worried about me, but then when you find something, you want to pretend you didn’t! What the fuck, Mom? You should have just pretended to never see this!” I brandished the magazine in front of her like a weapon.

  “Don’t you take that tone with me.” She warned.

  “Whatever,” I snarled and marched past her into the hall, where I scooped up the gym bag.

  “Arrow!” she called out behind me as I stormed down the hallway. “Don’t leave like this. Let’s talk.”

  “You’ve said enough already!” I tossed the words over my shoulder, then disappeared down the wide staircase.

  With a heaving chest, I slammed into my Beemer. I turned the stereo up so the bass practically rattled my chest and threw the car into drive. Before I peeled away from the house, I glanced over at the gym bag and magazine I’d thrown on the seat.

  Defiance sparked inside me. The need to prove her wrong, to prove the anguish and fear inside me wrong was so strong I could barely think straight.

  I wasn’t ready to talk about this yet, to try and make sense of the way I was made.

  But now my thoughts and feelings were muddled and jumbled up. The burning, almost itching need to prove my mother wrong, to have that acceptance from my father, almost overruled everything else.

  All these years of logic, of careful thought and deliberate silence, seemed to fly out the window as I tore down the driveway and the wind ripped at my hair and shirt.

  Ready or not, here I come.

  My brother wasn’t around much.

  The older he got, the older I got, the less we saw of him. He was a few years older than me, my brother from another mother. Like literally, we had different moms. But we had the same dad.

  Even though my mom raised him since she and dad got married, Jace was always a little distant. Somehow a little more separate from the rest of us. I’d never really thought much about it because I looked up to him no matter what he did. My older brother was cool. He raced cars, lived life on his own terms… Something I’d always been scared to do.

  Maybe that’s why I never thought about his distance, because I thought it was just him living life on his own terms.

  Then I learned the real reason.

  If I had only listened, it would have been a lesson I might have been spared.

  Jace would say things sometimes. Clues, reinforcements for what my mother tried to warn me about. I thought he was just being his sarcastic, asshole sel
f. He and Dad locked horns a lot over the way Jace chose to spend his time.

  Jace never backed down.

  I wasn’t going to either.

  I was scared. So scared it made me sick. More than once, I swallowed back the puke crawling up the back of my throat. The chunks were hot and burned when I forced them back down as I strode through the parking lot and rode the elevator up the huge chrome-and-glass office building.

  I considered turning around, aborting this insanity, but then I remembered what Mom said, and the anger I felt. I wanted to disbelieve her so badly it was actually ruling over everything else.

  What a mistake it was.

  Dad’s secretary wasn’t at her desk when I stepped off the elevator into the spacious receiving area. I didn’t pause as I went right past the large counter and company logo on the wall behind it all. I walked down the hallway, which was quiet toward the end where my father’s large office sat, formidably.

  I didn’t knock. Why should I? I was his son.

  I pushed in on the door, but it didn’t give. It was locked from the inside.

  I heard his muffled voice behind the thick wooden doors. Then more clearly, he called out, “What?” His voice was exasperated and slightly breathless, like he’d been running.

  “Dad?” I called. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Just a minute, son,” he replied after a brief pause. “I’m wrapping up a meeting.”

  I stepped back from the doors but didn’t bother to go back to the waiting room. I was impatient. Nervous and not thinking clearly.

  The conversation I’d just had with my mother still burned between my ears. In fact, my ears felt hot, and there was sweat beaded on my brow.

  After hearing some movement and muffled voices, the large double doors to his office opened, but not widely. Just enough so his secretary could slip out.

  She was young. I didn’t know her name because he got new assistants all the time. Her hair was blond like my mother’s. She had large brown eyes and a huge rack that had to be fake.

  She cleared her throat when she saw me in the hallway. My stare went right to her face, something that seemed to make her uncomfortable. Her gaze shifted away from me. The red lipstick on her mouth was smeared, as if she’d applied it without a mirror or she’d wiped her mouth on a napkin without thinking.

  I shifted, uncomfortable, but unsure why.

  “Dylan,” she said. I gave her a silent what-up gesture with my chin. I hated when people called me Dylan.

  It was my name, but the older I got, the more it seemed Dylan was someone else.

  The woman shifted and fussed with her top. The back tail had come out of the waistband of her tight skirt, and I watched her stuff it in quickly. The buttons on her shirt were done up wrong. It afforded me a shot of her lace bra beneath the red silk.

  A gross feeling wormed around inside me, and I looked away. Quickly, she lifted the folder of papers in her hands to cover her chest.

  “Go ahead in,” she said as she rushed off down the hallway.

  Without a second thought, I slipped into Dad’s office and shut the door behind me.

  Dad was behind his desk, sitting in the large, black leather chair. It was a commanding chair, just like him. Over the wide back was his jacket, draped there as if the chair had gotten cold and he’d chivalrously given up his shirt.

  The thought was absurd. Chivalrous wasn’t a word I would use to describe Sullivan Lorhaven. Ever.

  The absurdity sort of brought me back a little from the edge of whatever crazed emotions I was teetering on the edge of.

  I cleared my throat and focused on him. He looked as he always did. Steady, impenetrable, and strong.

  “Dylan,” he said, surprise in his voice. He waved me farther into the room as he spoke. “Come in, son. What brings you by?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” I said. Once the door was closed, I went across the carpet to one of the chairs in front of the desk. “There’s some things I’ve been thinking about…” My voice trailed away, and I cleared my throat.

  My mother’s warning and the tone of her voice filled my head.

  Maybe not ever.

  Mom wasn’t an unreasonable woman. She proved that by her almost easy acceptance of me coming out to her and the fact she found gay porn in my room. It hit me then, as I was sitting here in this giant office that radiated power and money, that maybe I should heed her warning.

  “I know why you’re here,” Dad said, cutting off my inner ramblings. “What you want to talk about.”

  I felt my eyes widen. “You do?”

  “Of course, you’re my son. I know what’s been on your mind. It has been for a while.” He nodded like he was exactly sure.

  I relaxed inside. It wasn’t a visible change on the outside. In fact, I still sat and behaved the same way. My back was straight, my feet touched the floor, and my hands rested loosely on my thighs. Beneath the exterior, though, relief and smugness whisked away my previous thoughts. The bile rising up my throat settled.

  Of course he knew. Just like Mom had suspected.

  All this time. All this time I thought I’d been so good at concealing my own inner struggles, my deepest feelings and urges.

  They’d both seen. Of course they had. Parents knew their sons more than anyone. We were bound by blood, genetics. Genetics were an almost physic link sometimes… kind of like a secret passkey to the dark web. Except it was to the deepest, most inner place inside their offspring.

  He wasn’t mad at all. If anything, it was as if he’d expected this talk. He’d been waiting for it.

  “I’ve been nervous to talk to you.” I began, and he held up his hand before I could continue.

  “I figured as much, which is why I took the liberty of making a few calls.”

  “What?” I said, a little stunned. What kind of calls?

  “To the head coach at Syracuse University. And also to the dean.”

  “You called Syracuse?” I echoed. I was stumbling, trying to keep up.

  “You’ll be relieved to know the recruiters there have been watching you. The head coach is also interested. He thinks you’ll make a great addition to the soccer team.”

  “He does,” I said, again sort of hollow because this was so not what I was expecting.

  He’s talking about college right now. Soccer. My future.

  That was not what I was here for. Not at all.

  “And the dean, well, he and I met at a charity event last year. He was also impressed to learn you have applied to his school. I, of course, offered a hefty donation to the school and the sports program upon your admission.”

  I just stared at him.

  Dad went on. “I know your grades aren’t quite as stellar as some of the other students, but you’re an athlete. Soccer is number one, and Syracuse has one of the best soccer teams in the college league. I have no doubt your application is being fast-tracked as we speak, and you’ll be getting an admissions acceptance in the mail any day now.”

  He thought I was nervous about my college applications, that I was worried I wouldn’t get into a top-notch school. I always knew it was important to him that I went somewhere prestigious and that I played soccer at the college level. Me playing soccer was something he was very proud of, even though he’d only been to a handful of my games.

  I liked soccer, but it wasn’t my dream. I played mainly because it made him proud. And because it was a good way to get out energy, frustration, and it was a good guise.

  Playing soccer made me a jock. Jocks were macho… They were womanizers.

  They weren’t gay.

  Truth was I didn’t even want to go to college. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I never really thought about it. Honestly, in a lot of ways, it didn’t matter. I’d go to Syracuse. I’d play soccer, and I’d make my father proud.

  Perhaps doing everything he wanted would make it easier for him to understand how I felt inside.

  “That’s awesome, Dad,” I said, interjectin
g excitement into my tone. “I’ll keep a look out for the admissions letter. Mom is going to be thrilled.”

  “We’re all very proud, Dylan. Keep up the good work, son.”

  I nodded.

  “So don’t you worry about a thing. Your tuition will be taken care of, we’ll get you a nice apartment right off campus, and all you’ll have to focus on is going to class and playing soccer.”

  “It’s definitely a load off my shoulders,” I said, even though I hadn’t been worried about that shit at all. I barely ever thought about college, but moving to my own place would be nice. More room to be more me.

  Dad smiled and pushed back from his desk. “Good talk.”

  “There was something else,” I said before I chickened out.

  “Oh?” he asked, mildly surprised. “What is it?”

  I watched him walk toward the bar on the other side of the room in his black dress slacks and white button-up. He picked up a decanter of dark liquid and poured some into a clear glass.

  While his back was to me, I made a snap decision.

  Don’t be a pussy.

  “I’m gay.” The words whooshed out. Just like that. I didn’t do a lead up or even try to say it in a roundabout way. Sully Lorhaven was a straightforward businessman. I could be that way, too.

  The room went dead silent. My father almost froze in time. Like someone hit stop on a movie screen and everything ceased to move.

  He stared straight ahead, the decanter in his hand midair on the way back to the bar top. The muscles in his back bunched together, tense, and stayed that way.

  The bile in my gut rose again. I gulped it down. I wasn’t sure what else to say. I wasn’t sure what to do. Now that the words were out there, all the anger and bravado I felt was rapidly draining away.

  I grabbed at it, holding on. This was my father. He’d been proud of me my entire life. He’d never said otherwise. I’d always done everything I thought would make him happy. I played soccer. I got decent grades. I never talked back. I was good… I didn’t get into trouble.

  This was big, but it wasn’t so big it would cancel out all those things. He would love me anyway. Just like Mom.

  Because he was my father.