Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“He’s a good boy.” Dad then turns to me and says, “Amanda has a son your age. He’s a traitor and goes to UNC, but he’s gay too and—”
I groan, cutting him off. So that’s what this is about? Or a combination of school and a guy? “Please don’t, Dad. Since you can’t get me to do what you consider ‘making something with my life,’ don’t then switch to trying to set me up with men.” Especially one who’s the kind of guy he probably wishes his son was more like. Someone with aspirations.
“I wasn’t. I’m not—okay, well, your mother wondered, but I was just making conversation.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “You’ve never had a serious relationship. You’ve never been serious about anything in your life.”
How does he know? Just because I’m not a fucking dentist and don’t have the same goals as him, that means I’m not serious about my life?
“I have zero interest in a relationship right now. I have zero interest in going to college, changing jobs, or doing any of the other things you wish I would do.” I shove to my feet and walk away, knowing I’m acting like a child.
I head straight for the gate and my car. Footsteps sound behind me, and I know exactly what Dad will say. He’ll apologize. He’ll tell me how much he loves me and how he just wants more for me, wants me to be happy. And all those things are true, but he wants me happy on his terms. His idea of my happiness is really his own.
What would he do if I came home with an older man? If he knew the things I’m into, the things I need?
I tug my car door open, knowing I’m being dramatic—I have a habit of that—but right now I don’t really care.
“JT.” Marsh’s voice stops me before I get into the car.
Oh. I hadn’t expected him to be the one to come out. That makes it easier not to storm off. “It’s always something. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him.” For either of my parents, really, but Mom doesn’t come in like a wrecking ball the way Dad does. Mom and I can spend more time together without it coming up.
“That’s not true.”
I roll my eyes at him. He opens his mouth as if to say something about it but then closes it again. See? Even Marsh knows I’m right.
“I’m so tired of it.” I slam the door shut and lean against it.
Marsh does the same beside me. “He’s intense…an overachiever. He always has been. It’s hard for your dad to understand people who aren’t like him, who don’t want the things he does, and he’s putting that energy into you because he loves you. In his mind, he’s doing right by you, helping you reach your potential and doing everything in his power to make his son happy.”
“And that makes it okay?” I snap.
“No.” Marsh shakes his head. “It doesn’t. He needs to stop pushing his expectations onto you.”
My heart thuds, his words repeating in my head. I’ve thought them a million times, but hearing them from Marsh, from the man my dad calls his brother, makes them feel more—makes them bigger, truer. Like a part of me needed to hear him say them for me to believe I’m not being irrational. I shouldn’t put that kind of stock in someone else, and I have no idea why I’m doing it with Marsh, but somehow, it helps.
“Thanks,” I say without looking at him. I press the tip of my right foot against the concrete like I’m squashing a bug.
“JT,” he says, voice strong and strangely demanding.
“What?”
“Look at me.”
With a sigh, I turn to him. He’s got just a little bit of gray at his temples, mixed with his onyx hair. His jawline is strong, set firmly—not in an angry way, but in a studying one. His lashes are dark and thick, eyes deep set and private, if that makes sense. Marsh is hot. There’s no two ways about it. I’ve thought so for a few years now, but it’s never made my stomach twist the way it does in this moment. It’s never made the hairs on my arms stand up. It’s…not something I should be thinking about a man who’s so close to my dad. Jesus, Marsh would be disgusted if he knew.
“I’m fine, Marsh.”
I try to walk away, but he places a hand on my shoulder. No pressure—he doesn’t grab me—but still, it makes me stop.
“You’re a good man. The things you want or don’t want are valid. I love John, but if he isn’t satisfied, those are his issues, not yours.”
“I…” Thank you and I needed to hear that play tug-of-war in my head, but I feel too cut open, too raw and bleeding to say them. I’m used to this shit with my dad, so I don’t know what’s causing it. “I should go back to the barbecue” is what I settle on.