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“He’s not homophobic,” Darren continued quietly, “he just . . . had other plans for me.”
Other plans than being happy? “Your mother seems okay with it.”
“She is.” Darren stared at Isaiah’s hands gently pressing into the ivory. “She says to give him time and he’ll come around. I only told them in June.”
“I see.”
“It’s not that he’s ever said anything negative. He hasn’t cut me off, or even threatened to, he’s just different. Like I’ve disappointed him.”
Isaiah played a somber, quiet piece, and listened.
“That’s why I didn’t come home this summer. It was bad enough hearing the disappointment in his voice. I didn’t want to see it in his face. I’m sorry if you thought I was upset with you. I’m not. You’ve made this visit much better than it otherwise would have been.”
Isaiah wondered how much of Josh’s absence this weekend was unforeseen. It made his stomach twist sadly.
“I’m not telling you this so you feel sorry for me—because you shouldn’t. I’m telling you so you know what’s going on.”
Isaiah kept playing. He understood the pain of losing a father, but he couldn’t imagine how it would have felt if his dad had rejected him. If Darren and Josh had been as close as it seemed, Isaiah could see why Darren didn’t want to come home.
“My dad died of a heart attack when I was thirteen.” Isaiah sucked in some air to steady himself. “He always found time for Ian, Isabelle and me, even working crazy hours.”
“What type of work did he do?”
“Manager at a powerplant. He took any extra shift he could so he could save for our future. In the end, he worked himself to death.” He felt the tingle in his nose and closed his eyes tight to hold back the tears. He continued to play but the melody turned decidedly melancholy.
Darren inched closer until their shoulders touched. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”
“It’s okay.” It was, when Darren was this close to him. “He always told us he loved us and was proud of everything we did. When I won my first awards, he would beam at me like I’d signed a million-dollar contract.”
“Sounds like he was better than great.”
“He was. My point is, if he were disappointed in me because I’m gay, I wouldn’t be okay with that. So I get it. Totally.”
He heard movement in the next room, and from the way Darren sat up, he’d heard too.
Isaiah nudged Darren with his knee and whispered, “Thank you for telling me.”
Darren moved his shoulder away, but bumped their legs together again and left them touching. He gave Isaiah a smile. “Thank you for listening.”
Peg appeared in the doorway, smiling brightly. A moment later, Josh appeared behind her. He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and listened.
Isaiah feared Darren would move away, but he didn’t. He pressed his leg tighter to Isaiah’s. Isaiah continued to play, shifting to a much happier song.
In front of his disapproving father, Darren hadn’t moved away.
Darren
The limo passed familiar landmarks as they approached campus, and Darren finally let go of the weight of the weekend. He’d spent the entire trip back to school trying to make sense of things.
His father had surprised him by not finding an excuse to leave on Sunday. No emergency work meetings. No social events.
No paternal affection, either, but . . . maybe it was a start?
Maybe he was beginning to thaw?
The hope made his stomach jerk around.
If that wasn’t confusing enough, there was Isaiah. God, there was Isaiah.
They really needed to talk.
He’d wanted to broach this thing between them on the ride to the airport, or the flight, or the ride back to campus. But Darren had been nervous. He’d failed to spit it out.
It was just . . .
He wanted to hold Isaiah like he had in his room—only tighter, and when Isaiah would remember. He wanted to get lost in those blue eyes, and holy hell, he wanted to melt against those lips every time Isaiah flirted with him.
But it was still a tricky situation. A rather inconvenient attraction.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so screwed.
The car stopped in front of Isaiah’s dorm, and Darren stepped out with him.
Isaiah
Darren was getting out of the car here, too?
“We need to talk . . . about next week.” Darren’s last few words tumbled out in a rush.
Darren handed the driver some money, and Isaiah felt for his wallet. “I can take care of tipping him,” he said in a low voice.
“I know you can,” Darren said, “but MAS is paying for the trip. It’s easier for me to send one expense report than both of us doing it.”
It had a ring of truth to it, but Isaiah suspected Darren wouldn’t submit an expense report to MAS Oil. “Thanks.”
The car drove off, and Darren kept rearranging their bags on the pavement between them.
