Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I don’t say anything, for once holding my tongue. Maybe it’s the softness in his tone or the words themselves, but I find myself wanting to hear him out.
“See, because I don’t want you and your brother to have the life I did. I don’t want you to work so hard that you go periodically blind in one eye from the stress. I don’t want you to ever forget expressing how much you love your kids or your wife someday. I don’t want you to work so damned hard all your life that you forget to … to have some damned fun, damn it.”
I cross my arms and nod, sucking on my tongue as I let his words marinate.
“Fun,” he repeats. “And joy. And heart. And love. You got any love in your life? Other than for baseball?”
I fight a smile as I stare my father in the eyes. It always comes right back to Caulfield, doesn’t it?
“Well?” he grunts.
I slowly nod. “Yeah, Dad. I … think I do.”
He’s surprised by that, which appears to be too much emotion for his face to handle apparently. “Really? You’ve got someone in your life now?”
If he only knew. “Yep.”
“So? What’s stopping you from inviting her over for dinner sometime? Other than the fact that you moved your ass out of the house for no reason?”
“For no reason?”
He sighs and grumbles, then amends himself. “Other than the fact that you moved your ass out because of your pigheaded father.”
I nod appreciatively, then answer his question. “I guess I just wasn’t ready yet.”
“Wasn’t ready to introduce this new woman to us?”
“It’s not a new woman.”
He wrinkles up his face. “So it’s someone we know?”
Seriously. This is more emotion than I’ve ever seen him show. I’m concerned that his face might freeze in one of these totally over-emotive expressions, unfamiliar as his facial muscles must be to them.
“Yep,” I affirm. “Someone you’ve known for quite some time, too. But I don’t think you want to know who it is.”
My dad’s eyes flicker with annoyance. “Don’t tell me what I want to or don’t want to know. Just say who it is already.”
I swallow hard. “You sure about this?”
“For shit’s sake, son. Out with it.”
I have no idea where my confidence comes from right now, but I feel a sudden and very appropriate urge to be reckless with all my precious feelings. My dad asked for it; he’s about to get it with the subtly of a bomb.
I clear my throat, then come out with it. “Ryan Caulfield.”
My dad still doesn’t seem to follow. That, or his face really did just get stuck in his last expression.
“Ryan,” I repeat. “He’s the person in my life, Dad. He’s always been the person in my life.”
“Shit, son.” My dad slaps a hand to his forehead and shakes his head, then squints at me. “You sure?”
“More than I’ve ever been about anything.”
“Ryan?” He points back toward the hall. “That Ryan?”
“The one and only.”
My dad starts rubbing the back of his neck while he paces the lounge in one slow circle around the couches. He comes to a stop right where he was standing in the first place, still speechless.
“I …” He seems, for the first time in his life, at a loss for words. Partly, it scares the shit out of me. Partly, it fills me with a sense of pride. “I’m …” He clears his throat and runs a hand over his face before finally getting the words out. “Well, I don’t know what your mother’s going to think about all this. Shit, she’ll probably say she already knew. She’s smart as a whip. Always been smarter than me. Told me a hundred times I should have gone easier on you after your injury, and hell if she was right. She’ll tell me I should have seen this coming, too.”
I just stand there and let my dad get all the words out. I still don’t know where his heart and mind stand when it comes to learning that his minor-league-quitting son—his once pride and joy—is a guy who likes other guys.
“Well, shit,” he grunts, coming back to life. “I want to say I’m surprised. But come to think of it, I’m not. You two were … were something else, growing up.” He eyes me suddenly. “Were you two doing stuff back when—? Shit, don’t answer that.” He slaps a hand to his eyes and gives them a rub, then pinches the bridge of his nose, his face scrunching up as he massages it. “This is going to take some getting used to. For your mother and I, both.”
“Nah. Mostly just for you.”
He eyes me again. There’s a whole lifetime of tension, anger, unvoiced frustrations, disappointment, and parental resentment between the pair of us. I realize that there’s a level of that between any parent and their child. My dad isn’t any better or worse than anyone else. He tries just like others do to provide the best for his family. Sometimes he makes mistakes, and sometimes he makes gold out of nothing.