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It was my turn to sit down.
“It came on gradually,” I admitted, scrubbing my face. “I mean, Ciaran intrigued me, of course, especially when he wasn’t bowing down to me like everyone always does. Ciaran wasn’t—and isn’t—impressed by our wealth. If he had his way, he’d give it all away. It made me take notice and wonder why. The more I tried to resist him, the more I was drawn in. And it wasn’t like he was trying to entice me or anything. We had a fight in my closet, of all places.” I laughed and Dad looked amused. The memory lived rent free in my head. “I kissed him, he pushed me away, and then kissed me back. And since then, well, I haven’t…” I trailed off, wondering just how much to tell my dad.
“You haven’t what?”
“I haven’t wanted to kiss anyone else since. Just Ciaran and only Ciaran. He’s annoying and bratty and sarcastic and just so wonderful. And those freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks, geez, Dad, I’m fucking nuts about his freckles. And,” I said, taking a deep breath, because I could go on forever, but I needed my dad to see that I truly loved Ciaran, “I understand now what you meant about handing over the knife used to cut out your own heart just so they’d own a piece of you.”
Dad knew me well, so he knew just how much of a big deal that was for me, a notorious playboy who often fell into—and out of—lust and casual hookups pretty quickly.
Dad’s lips twitched with amusement. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d be a goner for someone.”
“Trust me, me too. And…” I ventured, wondering how to approach this part. “When Dante and I were younger, you told us that the true measure of a friend is someone who helps you but doesn’t expect anything in return. Well, you were right about that, because Ciaran really helped me out of a jam with Coach Anderson.”
There was a slight hesitation before Dad asked, “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like the next words that come out of your mouth?”
“Yeah, you’re not.”
I told Dad about Coach’s blackmailing activities and how Joan, Filipe, Ciaran, and I deleted the videos and protected the swim team.
When Dad’s face darkened, I tried to lighten the mood by telling him how the team called my video a Cockaine Party. Dad snorted, as expected. “I could probably sell a movie script based on that title alone.”
Groaning, I muttered. “Dear God, please don’t.” I did not want my antics immortalized.
“Thanks for telling me, Matty. It’s been a hell of a day and I’m still trying to wrap my head around this, but as your father, one thing certainly jumps out at me… I think it’d be a good idea for you to check into an outpatient rehab program.”
“Rehab? What?” Coming from a man who used to host drug-fueled orgies, Dad’s assessment felt like a double standard. “I haven’t done the hard stuff since then, Dad. I swear.”
Dad arched an eyebrow, which told me I should stop while I was ahead.
“Are you telling me that snorting cocaine off a sex worker’s dick means you do not have a problem, Matty?”
“But—”
“Were you drunk?”
“Yes,” I conceded in a low voice.
“How drunk?”
I gritted my teeth because I really did not want to admit it.
“I, uh, don’t actually remember the event, Dad. I know about it only because of the video.”
Dad blinked a few times. “Jesus, Matty.”
“No, I know?—”
“And you still don’t think you have a problem? How about this,” Dad continued. “How about the fact that your swim coach—whom I will deal with in my own way—filmed the act and then successfully blackmailed you over it?”
“Dad—” I tried to protest, but he kept going. Dad’s face was getting pretty red, too.
“How dare you put yourself, and the Vaulteneau reputation, on the line like that.”
My stomach sank once he put it that way.
“I—fuck—you’re right, Dad.” I rubbed my face, which stung when I grazed the cuts and bruises on my face. I chanced a glance at him. “I’m…I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences or how it might affect the family.”
I must have looked contrite enough because Dad’s face softened even as he blurted out, “Clearly.”
