Bonds of Denial (25 page)

Rock leaned on the doorjamb, the faint sunlight flittering into the room through the thin slits in the shades. Dust motes danced in the streaks of light, defying his mother’s daily cleaning regimen or perhaps encouraging it.

His dad lay in the big bed, appearing smaller than ever. It was odd, because his entire life the man had always been large and intimidating. He was having a hard time adjusting his memory to fit the man before him. First Sergeant Ronald James Fielding would despise the image he presented right now. Weakness was never allowed under any circumstance.

He chuckled to himself. He had no doubt his dad would be barking orders to new recruits within the month. Double bypass surgery wouldn’t keep him down. The man would rather drop dead with a thirty-pound pack on his back, running twenty miles in the Georgia sun, than be confined to a desk job. Or worse, retire.

He glanced around, a sense of nostalgia dragging him down. It was a different room and house, but the furniture and decor hadn’t changed since he was a kid. The pink flowered bedspread folded neatly at the end of the bed was his dad’s concession to his mother. The furniture was sturdy oak with no frills that had survived more moves than anything made today could. Even the smell, a mix of lavender and Old Spice, was the same.

Everything about his parents’ bedroom said nothing had changed since he was a kid. Not their lives or their attitudes. It’d been four years since he’d been home—here. The fact that it might be his last trip home weighed heavily on his heart.

Despite the harshness of his childhood, it hadn’t been bad. He was raised with order and structure, but there’d been love there too. Holidays filled with family, both related and made at each base where they were stationed. They’d always been cared for, which was more than a lot of kids got.

But he couldn’t go on being who they wanted him to be. It was past time he was himself—his true self. They could love him or hate him for it, but that was their choice. He couldn’t control that. Never could. He could only control his own actions and behavior.

His dad stirred, the blankets shifting down to show the bandage on his chest. He’d been napping since they’d brought him home that morning. The belligerent man had insisted the trip hadn’t worn him out, but in the end, the pain drugs and his body had convinced him otherwise.

A gray beard stubble covered his cheeks and neck, matching the gray stubble on his head. Always a proud wearer of the high and tight, he’d gone to a bristly bald style when his hairline had started to recede. For a man who was closing in on sixty, he was in better shape than most men in their twenties. The doctor said that was one of the reasons the heart attack hadn’t caused more damage.

“What are you staring at?”

The gruff question pulled Rock out of his thoughts. His dad was glaring at him from under heavy brows and grooves chiseled into his forehead. The first sergeant had spent years aiming that exact look at kids so green they still smelled like the farm.

He stepped into the room, ignoring the scowl. “Do you need anything?”

“I need to piss. You gonna hold it for me while I go?” His dad tossed the blankets aside and tried to rise. He cursed, and Rock resisted the urge to help. He’d only get cuffed for offering. After a few seconds and a lot of low grunts, his dad shuffled to the attached bath, slamming the door closed behind him.

“Was that your dad?”

He turned to see his mother standing in the door. “Yeah.” He nodded toward the bathroom.

She followed his gaze and frowned. “Let me know if he needs anything.” Her sandals were silent as she retreated. The practical rubber soles wouldn’t dare to click on the hardwood. His mother fit his dad. The whole saying that opposites attract had never applied to his parents.

The bathroom door opened, and his dad’s glare cooled the room temperature better than the air conditioning. “You still here?” He scratched his nuts through the thin boxer shorts before slowly lowering himself into the rocking chair in the corner. There was no way the first sergeant would willingly place himself in the weaker position by lying back down.

Rock came around and sat on the edge of the bed. “Rach and I are leaving this afternoon.” They both had to be back to work tomorrow. The Den would’ve given him more time off, but six days with his family was exceeding his tolerance limit. His dad was going to be fine and would be happier if everyone left him alone. Rock could do that.

His dad shivered, but Rock didn’t move to grab a blanket. Instead he stared at his hands and tried to frame what he was going to say. He’d thought on it since he’d arrived, and the words still eluded him.

“You still doing contract work for the army?”

“Yeah.” Rock nodded and straightened his shoulders.

His dad scowled. “You could do more enlisting again.”

They’ve had the same argument since Rock had left the service. He held his response and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his cargo pants. “I need to show you something.”

“What? You finally got yourself a girl?”

Of course that was what his dad would ask. All the better then. He was anticipating the shock factor more than he should. Maybe it was twenty years of buried resentment coming out in a passive aggressive way, but it was his to distribute. He’d more than earned it.

He scrolled through the pictures, passing the ones of Carter in the warehouse and the few of the two of them with their backs to the camera, the city outlined around them, until he found the picture he wanted and handed the phone to his dad. A calm settled over him that was opposite of what he’d anticipated. There were no nerves tightening his stomach or an increase in his heart rate. Only a cool confidence that this was exactly what he needed to do.

His dad stared at the picture. He brought it closer, brows furrowed before pulling it back then forward again. His head snapped up. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the meaning of this?” His scowl deepened until his eyes were mere slits.

“I submitted the photo to the
Army Family Magazine’s
photo contest.”

“Why in the hell would you do that?”

So I would do this
. “Because it’s true.”

His dad looked at the picture again, his head shaking in a detached way. “Are you trying to embarrass me?”

“It has nothing to do with you. This is about me.” Rock took a breath. “About what I’ve been denying my entire life. But I’m done with that. I’m gay.”

His dad flung the phone, his nostrils flaring. Rock jumped up and snatched his phone out of the air before it could collide with anything. He’d anticipated that response.

“You can’t do this to me,” his dad sputtered.

Rock sat back down. He looked at the picture. It was the one Carter had choreographed with Rock’s chest to the wall, his face in profile showing his scar, his arms spread, connecting
the words on the wall to the flag in the background.
I’m Gay
was front and center, prominent on his arm. Just reading it made him proud.

“You can’t beat it out of me. I’m not going to change.” He spread his arms wide. “This is who I am. I’m the same as I’ve always been. Only I finally accept that I’ll never want to be with a woman. I like men and I’m done lying about it.”

His dad glared at him, his hands curled into tight fists in his lap. His chest rose and fell too fast. Damn. If Rock gave his father another heart attack, he’d never forgive himself. His timing sucked, but he couldn’t keep this in any longer.

They stared at each other, neither of them backing down or looking away. It was at least a minute, maybe more, before his father seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

Rock was already standing, worried something was wrong, when his dad spoke. “Just go, Rock.”

He froze. “What?”

It was the first sergeant who looked up, his face flat. “I said go. We’re done here.”

Those words—ones his father had said many times in the past when he was done with a conversation—hit Rock too hard. He wanted to stumble back and crumble with the realized pain.

He’d said that to Carter. In his anger and hurt, he’d said those words as he’d left. Hearing his dad say them to him was too much like karma circling back to slap him. Had Carter taken them as
they
were done? That Rock was done with him, not the conversation?

Oh, God. His mouth had fucked it up again.

Sheer determination kept him standing, his reaction hidden. “Yes, First Sergeant.” He turned and headed to the door. His dad had nothing further to say. He was halfway out the door, so he almost missed the quiet words when they came.

“You’re stronger than I ever was.”

Rock spun around, his hand braced on the door frame. “What?”

His dad didn’t acknowledge him. He stared out the window, even though very little was visible through the blinds, his face stoic and drawn. The frailty was back, his shoulders slumping in a way that had him looking his age for the first time Rock could remember.

Had he heard him right? Did that mean…. No. It couldn’t. Could it?

He left the room, his thoughts swirling around the impossibility. He must’ve misunderstood what his dad had meant. There’s no way his dad could’ve been implying that he was gay. That was too crazy to comprehend. Yet it would explain so much.

“You okay, Rockford?” His mother sat at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of sweet tea. “You look lost.”

“I’m fine.” He sat down across from her, and she got up to pour him a glass of tea without asking if he wanted any.

“Is your dad sleeping again?” She straightened her blouse, dusting some imagined lint off the front before sitting back down.

“No,” he answered, distracted. “He was sitting in the rocking chair when I left.”

“Oh.”

She started to stand, and Rock reached out to grab her wrist. “Can we talk for a second?”

“Let me check on your father first.” She tugged on her wrist, and he let her go.

“Of course. Sure.”

She hurried down the hall, her capris swishing as her legs brushed together. His mother had always carried the extra pounds from having three kids, but he’d never considered her
overweight. Actually, she would’ve smacked him upside the head if he’d ever dared to say that thought out loud.

“Where’s Mom?” Rachel came into the room, closing the back door behind her.

He motioned down the hall. “Checking on Dad.”

“He okay?”

“Yeah.” He hoped. “I was just in there with him.”

Their mother came back then. She tucked the short strands of her bob behind her ears as she smiled at Rachel. “Do you want some tea?”

“No, thanks.” She glanced down the hallway. “Is Dad sleeping?”

“No,” his mom answered, a small frown forming. “He’s just resting in bed.”

“Dad?” Rachel’s brows shot up. “Are you sure he’s okay?” They all chucked at that. “I’m going to go say goodbye. We need to hit the road soon if you want to make your plane, Rock.”

“Do you guys want to eat first?” His mother started toward the fridge before they both declined her offer.

“We’re fine, Mom.” He motioned to the chair she’d left as Rachel headed down the hall to the bedroom. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“I really need to make some soup for your dad and I could make some sandwiches for you guys to eat on the road and—”

“Mom,” Rock cut in. She stopped by the counter, her back to him. “Sit down. Please.”

“Why?” She didn’t turn around, and that told him everything.

“Did he just say something?”

“Who?” She swiveled enough to peer at him. “Your dad? What would he say?” She lowered her brow just a bit as she waited for him to answer. There was almost a dare to her voice, bait for him to confess his secrets. It was the same voice she’d employed when they were kids and had foolishly thought they’d gotten away with something.

He sighed and dug his phone out again. He unlocked the screen then held it out to her. The picture was still up, his declaration made silently. Her fingers were cold when they brushed over his as she took the phone from his hand.

She looked at the picture, handing the phone back to him a moment later. Without a word, she opened the fridge and started pulling vegetables out of the drawer.

“Mom?”

“I hope you have a safe flight back.” She set the vegetables on the counter before grabbing a cutting board. “Make sure you let me know when you get home.”

He put his phone away, pushing the disappointment aside. “You’re not going to say anything?”

“About what?” She glanced at him, eyes wide as she snatched a knife from the block on the counter. “It’s a picture of you. I’m assuming you showed your dad. No wonder he’s resting. I would’ve expected you to pick a better time than now.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “There is no better time.”

“Maybe.” She sliced the ends off the celery and tossed them into the sink.

He went to her side, carefully grabbing her hand and removing the knife from her grip to set it aside. “What do you think of the fact that I’m gay?”

Her lips thinned, but she didn’t pull away from his touch. “You’re my son. I love you. That’s all you need to know.” She jerked her wrist from his hold and held out her hand. “Now give me my knife back.” Her eyes were a steely cold blue that dared him to disobey. He didn’t.

He handed her the knife and took a step back. He didn’t know what he’d expected from
her, but it should’ve been this. It was no different from twenty years ago. Not disgust, but not acceptance either. A neutral sentiment, and it was now a done topic as far as she was concerned, just like his dad. Her brown hair swayed with the movement of her chopping, her actions controlled and precise.

“He said something as I was leaving. Do you—”

She whipped around, the pointed end of the knife aimed at him. “Drop it, Rock. It’s time you left.” A hard core of determination flashed in her eyes before she returned to her cutting, the celery attacked with the same control as before. “I’ll tell him you said goodbye. Thanks for coming down. It was good to see you again.”