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Jason taking off his tank top, turning to face me with that cheeky, crooked smile, his tattooed, strong chest in full display.
Jason pushing me down on the sofa, strong hands on my shoulders, kneeling between my legs. Winking at me.
Going down on me.
How the hell can I be turned on, and worried, and so fucking angry at him at the same time? Makes no sense.
And the worry wins out. For all that he told me off and walked out with his head held high, he’d looked downright scared. Of what? His monthly allowance from Ocean and Jesse getting cut? Or is there something more he isn’t telling me?
I think again, like I often have, of the thug I punched in the alley, and of the scars on Jason’s chest and arms. I need to see them, map them, find out what happened. Find out who he really is, what the truth is. But I blew it all by yelling at him and showing him the door.
Dammit, what was I supposed to do? Play along forever?
You weren’t just playing along, the voice in my head snickers. Come on. But you keep telling yourself that, buddy.
Keep telling yourself that you only wanted to talk to him, that you weren’t into it when he sucked you off. That you didn’t come so hard you thought the top of your head popped off and your heart stopped.
That you weren’t dying to do the same to him, and fuck the goddamn truth.
Monday morning finds me nursing a hangover and new doubts. This time they have to do with this meeting with my parents. Today’s the day we’re supposed to meet. Should I have told Ocean about it? Or anyone else?
We’re only supposed to talk. That is, to negotiate. What else do we have to talk about? Reminisce about my rotten childhood? Or about how they lied to Ocean three years ago, making him think Mom was on death’s door, took his money and skipped town without a goodbye note?
Besides, it’s nowhere shady, I made sure of that. We’re meeting at a small park Dad suggested, in the late afternoon.
I’m there on time, eager to get this over with. As I enter the small park, I realize I’ve wanted to do this all this time. Confront him. Look into his eyes as I ask him if he ever regretted how he treated us. If Mom did. I want to know if they’re sorry.
If I can find it in me to forgive them and let go of this all-consuming rage that had me beating up whoever looked my way at school and got me into fights that made Aunt Martha hate me even more.
Thinking about his total disregard for Shun and me stirs up all sorts of memories. Good ones, with my brother. Bad ones that I’ve been trying to forget.
Ocean says he’s made his peace with all that happened, but not me. Not yet.
Seeing my father is a sledgehammer to my chest. Sure, he’s changed over these past seven years. I was a scrawny, short kid last time I saw him, and he seemed huge. Now he just looks old, shorter than me, chubby around the middle, his beard streaked with white, his eyes lost in a web of wrinkles—but it’s still him.
“Dad?” It feels strange to call him that, to call anyone that. Mom isn’t with him. He’s alone, and I refuse to examine the sting of disappointment. She hasn’t seen me in seven years, but she doesn’t seem to have missed me.
Jesus, I thought I had this under control. This isn’t why I’m doing this.
Right?
“Raine.” His voice hasn’t changed one bit, dry and cracking on my name like a whip, laced with loathing. His gaze slides over my face, slick like oil. “Well, well, if the runt of the family hasn’t grown up. And grown teeth, too, haven’t you?”
I’ll show him teeth. “What do you want, Dad?”
His eyes narrow, a watery, washed-out blue. “You should have let your brother handle this.”
I take a step closer, look down at him, my jaw tight, my hands curled into fists. “Why, so you can swindle the rest of his fucking money out of him?”
“Stay back, boy.” He lifts a finger, and I remember this gesture.
I have a sudden, crazy urge to crush his finger and then punch him in the face. I clench my fists and grind my teeth. “Listen good, motherfucker. You’ll get no more money out of us, got it? It’s over. Go back into the hole you crawled out of. We owe you nothing.” I take another step forward, and he takes a step back. Something flickers in the depths of his cold eyes, and I want to believe it’s fear. Fear is what it should be. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
I expect him to get in my face and push me, yell something.
But he smirks as if he knows something I don’t. “See, told you. You should have let Ocean talk to me. Because you…” He strokes his beard. “You, filthy faggot, are no son of mine. Tell Ocean that if you don’t do as I say, there will be consequences.”
And with that, he turns around and starts walking.
