#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4)

by Cambria Hebert

  That’s what fathers did.

  The glass decanter hit the bar with a sharp cracking sound. I sat a little farther upright and stared at his back as he drained the entire contents of his glass in one large swallow, then slapped it down on the top as well.

  “What did you just say?” he rasped.

  “I’ve known a long time. I just never wanted to say anything. But Mom knows… and I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

  He spun, looking at me with hard, cool eyes. They were the eyes of a stranger. Of a businessman with no soul.

  I’d never seen him look at me that way.

  “You told your mother?”

  I nodded. “She sort of figured it out.”

  “Who else knows?” he asked, his voice cold, void of emotion.

  “No one. I don’t plan on telling anyone else. I just wanted you to know.” I wanted you to know the real me.

  He turned his head and looked toward the large windows on the other side of the room. They offered a spectacular view of everything around the office building. At night, it was even better, when everything was all lit up against the darkness.

  He didn’t say anything, just stared off.

  I began to fidget. My stomach cramped. My mother’s words, the look in her eyes when she said them… It started to haunt me.

  I wasn’t ready to give up yet. This was my father. The man who raised me. The man who just moments ago talked to me with almost booming pride about Syracuse.

  “This doesn’t have to change anything,” I told him. “I’ll still go to Syracuse. I’ll play soccer and pick a major. I’ll still do everything we planned. Maybe someday I’ll come out, but not until I’m ready. Not until—”

  My words were cut off, but not by his.

  Not by anything he said or even did.

  By the bitter, cold draft that blew into the room and brushed around my body like a kiss.

  The kiss of death.

  This was the moment my life changed forever.

  A moment I would forever look back on as the dividing line of then and now.

  Dylan died that day.

  Well, maybe he didn’t die right then. He got sick… with an incurable disease, and it slowly began to eat away at me until there was no more.

  The incurable disease wasn’t that I was gay.

  It was him. The man I looked up to. The man I admired. The man I’d spent almost eighteen years trying to make proud.

  After moments of that soul-chilling silence, he turned his head to look at me. He looked through me.

  “You are not gay. You are Dylan Lorhaven, son of Sullivan Lorhaven. A descendent of a long line of strong, powerful men. There is no room for weakness in this family.”

  “I’m still me. I’m not weak. I’m just not into girls.”

  His eyes hardened. “You are. Not. Gay. I forbid it.”

  “You forbid it.”

  “Whatever silly things you’ve been telling yourself, stop right now. You are in control of your mind and your body. No son of mine will be flaunting around telling people he’s a man lover. It’s gross, it’s unmanly, and it soils everything our family name stands for.” His voice began to rise, and with it, so did my shock.

  “Me being gay doesn’t ruin the family name.” I argued.

  “You are not gay.” All at once, he shot forward, stalking with heavy footsteps to my chair, and planted his palms on the arms, caging me in.

  His face, which had turned a flushed shade of pink, leaned down and pushed close to mine. His eyes drilled into mine, his stare intense and dark.

  “I forbid you to be gay. I never want to hear this again. We will never speak of this again. You will date women. Only women. You will play soccer, go to college, and when the time comes, you will get married… to a woman.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” I challenged. The anger and defiance was coming back. It was beginning to take over the shock over his reaction.

  My mother was right.

  She’d been right. I never should have told him.

  He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. In fact, it was so chilling, goose bumps rose along my arms.

  “You don’t have a choice. You are my son, and you will do as I say when I say it.”

  My eyes leveled on his; I sat forward, a bit of challenge in my posture. “Or what?”

  In one swift movement, he shoved back and threw out his fist. It came fast and hard. It was so unexpected I had no time to react.

  His tight fist plowed right into my nose. White-hot pain exploded behind my eye sockets and radiated across my cheekbones. I flew back in the chair. He punched so hard, I toppled backward. Me and the chair landed in a heap on the rug.

  I lay there for one second, stunned.

  Then I dabbed at my nose. My fingers came away red.

  My brain switched off. I went into autopilot.

  My father—a man who had never lain a hand on me before—just decked me in the face.

  I scrambled up, dabbed once more at the blood running down over my upper lip.

  “Your life is in my hands.” He spoke, deadly calm. It didn’t even faze him to see my bleed. “Your college tuition, your car, the roof over your head, and the food you eat—that trust fund with all those zeros? It can all disappear. These are privileges; gifts given by me and my good name. If you want them, you will respect my authority. My son is not a fag, and you will never claim to be one ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Is this why Jace left? Is this why he’s never around? Are you a giant dick to him, too?” I yelled. My voice sounded slightly stuffy, and I knew my nose was swelling.

  “Your brother would agree with me right now.”

  It was another blow. One I allowed to strike. I believed him. I worshipped Jace, looked up to him. Would he also look at me in a cold and angry manner if I told him the way I felt inside?

  I don’t think I could take it.

  “Mom said she loved me anyway,” I said, defeated.

  He barked a laugh. “Your mother is a weak, stupid woman.”

  I lunged across the room and grabbed him by the neck. His eyes widened in shock. He wasn’t expecting such a move.

  “Don’t you dare talk about her that way!” I yelled. “That’s your wife. My mother!” I spat.

  He allowed my hands to close around his neck and squeeze for long moments before he shoved me off.

  “Don’t touch me again.” He warned.

  I stared at him. Really looked. I saw the things I’d been to blind to before. As if this short but damning conversation had unmasked the truth. Like a blindfold I didn’t even know I’d been wearing was suddenly pulled free.

  I saw a lot of things now.

  It was an ugly, ugly view.

  His shirt was rumpled, especially where it was tucked in. Part of it was coming out, and his zipper was halfway down.

  He smelled like perfume… not the kind my mother wore either.

  The image of his assistant slipping out of this office with smeared lipstick and her clothes askew passed behind my eyes.

  “She was in here blowing you,” I said.

  His eyes flew to mine.

  I shook my head. “You’re cheating on Mom with your assistant. Was she under the desk when I knocked, Dad? You’re a sick bastard.”

  “No.” He straightened his tie and rose. “I’m a man. A straight, virile man. Men have urges. They like women. They get it everywhere they can. Your damn right I’m putting it to my secretary. She loves it. When you walk out of here, she’s going to come back in here and finish what she started.”

  What the fuck?

  I made a sound and lunged at him again. He was ready for me this time, though, and he grabbed me and tossed me aside.

  “Be careful,” he growled.

  Mom and Jace were right about him. How had I never seen it before? How had I never known what a colossal douchebag he was?

  “Does Mom know?”

  “I keep my affairs to myself,” he
said. “And you will, too. I provide a very comfortable life for your mother. You wouldn’t want to do anything to disrupt that, would you, Dylan?”

  I felt my eyes flash. “Is that a threat?”

  “Lorhavens don’t threaten.” He instructed.

  “You can’t stop me from being gay.”

  “I can. I will.”

  I swiped at the blood on my lip and turned to go. This wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. Sure, I didn’t expect it to be how it was with Mom… But this? This was something I hadn’t even imagined.

  “We have dinner this weekend at seven. A colleague of mine is coming. Bring a date. An attractive one.”

  I left the room with all the pride I could muster. I admit it felt like the only bit left clung to the bottom of my shoe like used toilet paper abandoned on the bathroom floor.

  Once in the hallway, I gave a shuddering breath and leaned against the closed door.

  Numb. I was numb. I felt nothing… Shock pressed in on me like frostbite. It took away all my feelings; all that remained was burning pain. I lifted the hem of my shirt and used it to clean up the blood on my face. Then I shoved off the door and walked down the hall. It felt like it took one hundred years until I stepped into the reception area.

  The slut secretary who’d had her lips wrapped around my father’s dick was sitting behind her desk, acting like an innocent little employee.

  She made me sick, and the room tilted a little.

  I shoved it back and strode forward, leaned on the top of the counter, and looked down at her. I stared until she hung up the phone and glanced up at me.

  Her lips pulled into a pleasant smile.

  How she could smile at the son of the woman whose husband she was screwing was beyond me. So messed up… Everything was much more convoluted than I ever let myself see.

  I fished my lip balm out of my jeans as I stood there and smirked. Carefully, I stood the small tube on its end right there on the counter in front of her.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “You’ll probably need it once you’re finished blowing your boss,” I said.

  Her eyes widened.

  I leaned in and whispered, “Might wanna get checked for STDs. According to the old man, he gets around.”

  She made a sound.

  I pushed off the counter. “See ya later, slut,” I called over my shoulder and strolled to the elevator.

  Once inside, I leaned against the paneled walls and took a deep breath.

  I realized something.

  When I first arrived, he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t ask why I wasn’t at practice. It was the first thing Mom noted. He hadn’t even known I was supposed to be at practice.

  He didn’t know anything about me at all.

  He didn’t care who I really was.

  All my father cared about was that I turn out to be the man he wanted me to be.

  I didn’t bring a date to dinner.

  The asshole seemed to know I wouldn’t, even though I never told him I wasn’t.

  Remember that physic-type link I said parents must have had with their offspring? Yeah, I hated it. I wished I could somehow sever it. I would search for ways until one day I could.

  Until then, I was stuck.

  I showed up for dinner in a suit and combed my messy brown hair so it looked groomed and neat. I hadn’t brought a date, but there was one there for me, waiting. Sully had made sure of that. It was the daughter of his colleague. She was tall and thin, her dress tight and short, her hair long and sleek.

  She was pretty, but even if I were straight, she wouldn’t be my type. Not that I knew what my type was.

  But it wasn’t her.

  I thought about throwing a fit and leaving just then. Showing him I wasn’t going to bend to his rule or be his puppet.

  The thing was I didn’t want to piss off my father.

  I played along. She groped me under the dinner table the entire night, and I sat there with food lodged in my throat while my father gave me knowing looks all throughout the meal, like he knew she had her hand on my crotch and was trying to get me to cum in my dress pants.

  He probably paid her to do it. A thought I never would have had in the past, but now I knew it was the truth. It was just one more way he could prove I wasn’t gay.

  Because you know, some girl with her hand on my dick made me hetero.

  When dinner was over, I did my “duty” and escorted her out of the room so they could talk business. Mom retreated to her suite, and I was treated to a blowjob by my date.

  I let her blow me. It felt good to get off. I closed my eyes and pretended I was somewhere else, with someone else, and gave myself the escape for a few.

  When the night was over, Dad slapped me on the back like he was proud.

  It made me feel sick.

  I was pissed off with him. Hurt. So incredibly hurt I still felt numb. I lay in bed at night and stared at the ceiling. I replayed the day in his office over and over again.

  I replayed the look in his eyes, the way his words cut deep, and I heard the sound of his fist plowing into my face.

  Jace came by once. I hid in my room, pretending not to be home. I didn’t want to see him. I was too afraid he’d disappoint me like our father had.

  Part of me knew Jace wouldn’t be like that. The logical side to me knew the reason Jace was never around was because he knew who our father really was.

  Now I did, too.

  Then there was the illogical side of me. The emotional one. The one that’d just been pummeled by a man I’d foolishly thought would love me when I told him my deepest secret.

  What if I told my brother and he rejected me, too?

  Then what?

  How could I be myself if it cost me everything? What would I have left? My ideals? My feelings?

  Sure, I’d have my mother, but c’mon. I might be gay, but I wasn’t a momma’s boy.

  Don’t get me wrong. I loved my mother. I always had. In fact, I probably did more now. She earned my respect. Something I hadn’t realized until recently parents had to earn.

  It was because I loved her I couldn’t lean too heavily on her for this. She’d seen my face when I walked in the door that day. She’d seen my puffy nose and the dried blood on the hem of my shirt.

  She knew.

  She knew without me saying a word or confirming he was the one who did this.

  I didn’t tell her he was cheating. I should have, but I couldn’t. My life was blown apart enough already, it seemed cruel to blow hers apart too.

  Besides, I’d already sort of done that. I heard them fighting that night. I heard her yelling at him, something I’d not heard very often my entire life. My father yelled too, but she didn’t back down. I stood in my room, in the dark listening with muscles so tense they ached the next morning.

  If he dared raise one hand to her… he’d see just how much of a man he didn’t think I was.

  They just argued and fought. He worked so late the next night and the night after, I’d fallen asleep before I even heard him come home.

  Mom never asked me what he said that day, she didn’t tell me “I told you so” either. She just hugged me and whispered she loved me.

  I knew my parents’ marriage wasn’t great. Hell, even a guy with his head in the sand couldn’t miss that. But it was much worse now. Because of me. Because of who I was.

  I tried not to be gay. For years. Even now, I sometimes tried. Especially now.

  It was like telling the sun not to come out. Even when it was behind a cloud, it was still there; the sun was still the sun.

  It had been a mistake, a naïve thought that I could come out to my parents and still live my life the way I had. It was too hard to process, the ramifications of this, the reason I insisted on outing myself when I hadn’t had to.

  Being gay was so easy perhaps that’s where I went wrong. It was so easy inside me, so natural of a thing, realizing others would hate it so fiercely was almost impossible to fat
hom.

  I walked around in a state of perpetual shock, everything just moving on autopilot. I smiled at the dinner, spoke when spoken to, and went to soccer practice and school. I watched “normal” porn on my laptop and tried to like it.

  One night, my father came home early, though it was already dark outside. I was lying across my bed, playing some mindless game on my phone when the bedroom door swung in and he filled the doorway.

  “Dylan,” he said.

  I winced. I hated that name more than ever now.

  “Your date will be here in five minutes.”

  I whipped around. “My date?”

  “A client’s daughter. I told him you would show her a good time on the town tonight.”

  I turned away. “Gonna be hard to do that considering I don’t have a car anymore.”

  He’d taken it right after the night I showed up with no date and got a shitty blowjob from the whore he’d paid.

  He was having it “serviced.” New tires, the works. And he was sending it away for the work because he only wanted the best. It was a lie he told to placate my mother. He really did think she was stupid.

  He took my BMW as another way to prove he was in control. Another way to make me not be gay.

  Almost eighteen years I lived with him, and never in all that time had I thought he was capable of treating me this way.

  Joke was on me, I guess. But really, what did that say about him… and about me?

  “You can take the Jag,” he said. A set of keys landed on the mattress beside me. I didn’t spare them a glance.

  “I’m busy.”

  “It wasn’t a request.”

  “Arrow, honey…” My mother’s voice came down the hallway.

  “What did I tell you about calling him that?” my father snapped. I glanced up to see him scowling in the direction from which her voice had come. “His name is Dylan. Quit coddling him, Donna. It’s probably the thing that put the fag thought in his head.”

  There was a beat of electrified silence following his declaration. Order. Or maybe it was just a plain asshole slur. I couldn’t tell with him anymore. I was used to him telling me certain things I was doing were “making me gay.”

  It was the first time I’d heard him tell Mom not to call me Arrow. She’d been calling me that from the day I was born. She wanted to put it on my birth certificate, but—big surprise—Sullivan wanted something “less weird and hippie.”