Page 45 of What You Own
Dad tapped his fingers against the rim of his crystal tumbler. “So Ryan’s participation had no influence on your decision?”
“It made me reconsider my initial enthusiasm, because I knew we’d be working together for a few weeks. We didn’t exactly end our friendship on a positive note, and he was less than polite during that first meeting.” When had I gotten so good at lying to my father? Maybe when I found out he let my mother drown in her own alcoholism rather than risk a few backhanded whispers.
“And he hasn’t tried to weasel his way back into your life? To make himself some sort of martyred victim?”
Ryanwasa victim—of a lot of things but mostly of bigotry and hate. God help me, I loved him so much, and no way was I saying that to my father. “No, he hasn’t.” I cast a line that I knew would make him buy this, hook and sinker. “I asked him about the bashing once.” Held up a hand so Dad didn’t interrupt. “You know I don’t remember anything about the fight. I thought he’d be able to fill in the gaps, tell me how I broke my arm. Asshole refused to talk about it, even though I have every right to know.”
I must have put the right amount of righteous indignation into those final few sentences, because Dad nodded slowly. “Of course you do, son,” he said. “It sounds like he’s grown into an angry, bitter young man.”
No, he’s not! He’s been hurt, but he’s amazing and loving and kind.
“He lives with a girl, works at Walgreens, and spends his free time teaching kids to sing and dance,” I said with the right amount of sneer in my tone. “What do you think?”
Dad studied me a while longer, and I held still. I didn’t fidget or rock on my heels or do anything to betray the way my insides were quaking with fear. “If you weren’t two weeks from the actual fundraiser, I’d advise you to seriously considering dropping the project. However, seeing as you’ve nearly seen it through, you might as well reap the rewards of your labors. But do not let Ryan Sanders get in your head, son. Keep your eye on the end game.”
My end game is to be with him.
“I won’t, Dad, I promise. Once the fundraiser is over, Ryan’s back out of my life.” Saying those words made me want to vomit.
So did the way Dad smiled at me. “Good. I have faith that you won’t do anything to shame me.” Something in his tone hinted at the exact opposite. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
He might as well have saluted and barked “Dismissed!” at me.
I wandered upstairs to my room in a daze, uncertain how I’d survived that conversation with my sanity intact. One slip, one admission of my real relationship with Ryan, and it would have been over. Dad would have screamed, threatened, then kicked me out. He may yet in the very near future when he realized I’d stood in his office doorway and lied to his face, over and over again.
And I didn’t feel one iota of guilt over that fact.
I did, however, feel a sharp stab of fear. It blazed through my guts, then settled heavily in the bottom of my stomach. Fear of reprisal if he found out the truth before I could tell him. Fear of him not taking my word for it and snooping into my life. He wasn’t above having me followed right over to Ryan’s apartment for a long night of fucking and sucking and being gay together. He’d find a way to ruin Ryan’s life again.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Chapter 13
Ryan
ADAMIGNOREDmy calls and texts on Thursday, which planted a black splotch of fear in my gut, heavy and ugly like hot tar. Friday he texted to bail on our plans, and that splotch boiled up into something bigger, hotter. I chewed a bunch of antacids because something was wrong and he wasn’t telling me about it. I wanted to track him down, pin him, and make him talk. But barging into his job or house would only piss him off, and I wouldn’t do anything to push him away.
If he was going, and this was his way of doing it, I wasn’t gonna help him along.
Saturday I woke up with a cramp in my belly and something heavy sitting on my chest. Adam should be at the center by eleven for a full fundraiser rehearsal. I hadn’t talked to him since Wednesday night, and it was making me nuts.
Ellie had already made coffee and was sitting at the counter eating cereal. I got a bowl, grabbed the box of corn flakes, and shook about a dozen flakes and crumbs into the bowl. Anger crawled across my skin like an army of ants.
“Really, El?” I slammed the empty box down into the trash can. Something below it popped loudly. “You leave a tiny bit like that in the box? Shit.”
“Sorry!” She leapt off her stool and yanked open a cabinet near the fridge. “I bought another box yesterday, geez.” She shoved the new box of corn flakes at me with a glare.
I ripped open the box a little too rough because the plastic bag inside tore too deep. Poured some cereal and dumped a bunch of sugar over the top before adding milk. Me putting sugar on corn flakes made Ellie nuts, and sure enough, I heard her mumbling something about just buying the fucking frosted kind.
“What is up your ass, Ryan?” she asked when she’d put her bowl in the sink. “You and Adam break up or something?” My silence made her turn around and look at me. “Ryan?”
“I don’t know.” I shoveled another syrupy-sweet spoonful into my mouth. “He’s ignored me since Wednesday. Somethin’s happened, but I don’t know what.”
She sat back down, her need to be my friend overtaking her earlier anger. “Do you think his dad knows something and got to him?”
“Maybe. Adam says he wants to be with me, but what if when the chips are down, he folds? What if he really can’t pick me?”
“Honey, you always knew there was a chance of that happening.”
