Page 41 of Yours on the Canvas

My dad keeps looking at me, then turns his body slightly in his chair. “I have to say, it’s a real shame it takes a public spectacle to finally catch you, Jackie. Five years is a long time for a father to miss his boy. We had to come all this way just to make sure you were still breathing… though looking at you right now, with those bruises barely hiding under your collar, I’d say you’re doing a piss-poor job of looking after yourself.”

His voice is smooth, almost gentle, almost sounding concerned. But I know better. My skin crawls, and my ribs throb at the memory.

“We miss you, son,” Dad adds softly, leaning back in his chair with a sickening display of paternal warmth, twisting the knife with that gentle tone he uses when he wants to hurt the most. “I’m was so disappointed when you ran, Jackie. Family doesn’t just abandon family because of a little disagreement. But I suppose you always did have a flair for dramatics. Running off, playing shopkeeper like a child hiding from his responsibilities.”

I walk away, saying nothing because I’m terrified that if I open my mouth I’ll throw up right on their polished shoes, and plant myself in front of the espresso machine. My hands brace against the edge of the stainless-steel counter, knuckles white from the grip. I force air into my lungs, but they feel raw, my throat scratchy and thick, every breath an agonising drag.

I can hear my uncle’s voice cutting straight through the dull hum of the café, followed by my father’s easy, melodic laughter. Chatting as if everything were completely normal. As if they hadn’t just invaded my sanctuary.

The ring on my finger feels heavy, like an anchor dragging me straight to the sea floor. How can he sit there acting like nothing happened? Acting like he didn’t have anything to do with her death.

I make the coffees, my hands shaking so badly the porcelain rattles against the saucers as I walk them over. A heavy hand clamps down on my arm as I place them on the table causing me to stop dead.

“Good to see you, nephew,” Ray says, his tone a low, velvet purr.

I turn my head and look down at him. His smile is pure, razor-thin cruelty. “Told you I would see you again.”

I yank my arm out of his grip and stare at him, pouring every drop of burning hatred I have into my glare. I glance at my father, quick, instinctive, but he isn’t even looking at me anymore. He’s just staring quietly into his coffee.

Fucking coward.

“You need to leave,” I say quietly, poisonous, meant only for them.

Ray just smiles, lifting his mug and taking a slow, unbothered sip, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Oh, Jackie, we’re just here for coffee. But you know, Jackie… a boy with a messed up face like that shouldn’t be running a business where people look at him. It’s unseemly. Makes people wonder what kind of trouble you’re mixed up in. Maybe it’s time you let us take you home, clean you up, and put you back where you belong. Your father’s been lonely, and it’d break his heart if anything worse happened to this pretty little café of yours while you’re busy playing tough guy.”

His words slide under my skin like oil, coating everything, suffocating. My stomach twists. My ribs throb. The room tilts.

He’s not threatening me. He’s threatening everything I built. Everything that finally felt safe.

And he’s doing it with a smile.

“We could even find you a nice girl. Some little fling to settle you down.” His smile is lethal. Dangerous. “Get you married, make you a proper life, and put an end to this little phase of yours. I mean, this is enough now, Jackie. We cannot have a faggot in the family, Jackie. It’s really time to grow up and stop this nonsense.”

My body locks, my heart slamming a frantic, terrifying rhythm against my ribs as I listen to him dismiss everything I am as a meaningless distraction, implying that I can change who I am, that I’m disgusting. His words cut straight to my core—a suffocating threat wrapped in family obligation. Just standing here, the sheer weight of that terror threatens to swallow me whole, dragging me right back under.

Forcing my leaden feet to move, I turn my back on them, walking blindly toward the counter to clean up a mess I didn’t even make

* * *

Half an hour later, my breathing has settled slightly, and my heart is no longer threatening to slam out of my chest when I hear a knock on the top of the counter. I turn with a smile, ready to greet a customer, but my body jolts at the sight of the two men standing there, watching me.

“We’re heading out, Jackie. Have to say, it was good to see you,” Ray says, pulling out his wallet. He taps his card once I’ve rung it up and turns to walk away. “Was really good to see you.” His smile is cunning as he leaves.

The door bell rings as he leaves, but I can’t look away from my father. My body won’t move, stuck in the invisible hold he still has over me, still controlling me with just a look.

“You know, Jackie…“ My dad’s voice pulls me from the shock of the tip, “…just so you know, you can play independent all you want, hiding behind espresso machines and your security friends.” Dad’s voice is smooth, almost bored. “But a stray dog always comes back to the porch where it was fed. Especially when it realises the leash was never actually removed.”

I see the old proprietary look in his eyes. The man still thinks he owns me, who still thinks he has a say in my life. Even though I ran; even though I disappeared, now that he’s found me, he thinks he can take back that control. And the thought chills me straight to the bone.

I can’t go back. I won’t.

I see someone move close to my father and hear them speak, but my words won’t come, stuck in my throat.

“Jack?”

My body recognises that voice before my mind does, and it turns slightly toward it.