Chapter 12
Brendan
Istare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Even with the expensive navy shirt and my hair styled like some posh private school boy, I don’t pass as a middle-class bloke.
Agreeing to meet Chris’s parents is a bad idea.
We’ve only been dating six months after all.
We’re having dinner at their house tonight, and Chris has been at me all day about not swearing in front of his mum.
But I haven’t got a fucking clue how I’m going to stop myself when I’m this fucking nervous.
When we met, Chris was so understanding and accepting of my past. I didn’t tell him everything at once, of course, but, up until now, he didn’t seem to care about me being a little rough around the edges, or about my prison record.
In fact, the compassion he’s shown me for all the shit I’ve been through has brought us closer together.
Chris joins me in the bathroom, surveying my appearance like I’m about to go for a job interview.
He’s got some sort of makeup and a spongy thing in his hands.
“Jesus, Chris, I didn’t think you were fuckin’ serious about that.
” Earlier in the day he’d suggested I apply makeup over the tattoo protruding from under my shirt sleeve and the one visible at my open collar.
Chris grabs hold of my right hand. “Well, I am. I don’t want my parents to get the wrong impression.
I don’t want them to judge you before they get to know you.
Why don’t you just get some of them removed anyway?
I mean, you’ve got your chest and both arms covered, even down onto this hand. And some of them are kind of scary.”
I huff. “You sayin’ my body doesn’t do it for you?”
“Hell no, I love how thick you are. It’s just that you got a lot of these tattoos in prison, and you’re not that guy anymore. I worry it’s giving off the wrong vibes and holding you back.”
Perhaps I should get them removed, but they tell a story—my story. They remind me of all the shit I had to crawl through to make something of myself. In a way, I wear them like a badge of honour. “You know what, Chris? You can cover them up for tonight, but it doesn’t change who I am.”
He stares at me for a moment, thinking, then starts applying the brown stuff to my hand. Using the sponge, he taps it into my skin, and the tattoo slowly disappears.
When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “I know it doesn’t change who you are, and I don’t want you to change, but I’m ready to take this—us—to the next level. I know it’s stupid, but it’s important to me that my parents approve.”
The sponge stops and Chris looks up at me. “I really hope you’ll move in with me soon.”
We’ve built a good relationship—it feels comfortable and easy—but it seems too soon to move in together. I’m not ready. Besides, it’s been good living in my own place the last couple of years, doing what I want when I want.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” I ask as he resumes work on my tattoo. “We’re havin’ a good time, ain’t we? Let’s just enjoy it.”
I place my index finger under Chris’s chin and tilt his face up to mine, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. When I pull back, he looks anxious. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for. “What the hell is this face?” I say, agitated again. “Spit it out.”
“Dan, please don’t be mad, but I don’t think we should tell my parents you were in prison. They won’t understand.”
I step back, putting some space between us. “You want me to lie to your parents?”
At least Chris has the decency to look ashamed. “Well, I already told them you’d been studying business part-time while working part-time to account for those seven years. And I also may have said your goal is to start your own business.”
I push past him and walk out of the bathroom before I say something I’ll regret. I’m fucking pissed, but Chris stupidly follows me.
“Dan, come on, it’s no big deal. Just say you went to Tafe to better yourself and now—”
Turning abruptly, I cut him off. “What the fuck, Chris? You think I need to better myself? Is being a tradie not good enough for you? Are you ashamed of me?”
Chris pales. “No! Of course not. I don’t give a shit about your past, and I love that you’re a tradie.
I wouldn’t be here if I was ashamed of you, but my parents will freak out if they find out I’m dating an ex-con.
I needed to invent a cover story when they asked me about you, and that’s what I came up with. ”
I pace the length of Chris’s bedroom. “If you knew your parents would freak out about datin’ an ex-con, then maybe you shouldn’t have started datin’ one. Hmm?”
“Dan, please don’t be angry.” He places a firm hand on my chest to stop me pacing. “We can tell them the truth after we get married.”
I throw my arms up in exasperation. “Whoa, back the fuck up. I’m not sure I even wanna get married again.”
“Again?” Chris’s eyes widen, then he frowns. “What do you mean again?”
Holy fucking hell! I drop my face into my hands, trying to gather my thoughts.
Chris still doesn’t know about Tiffany or Ethan, and I have no intention of telling him any more than is absolutely necessary.
“Look, I got married young to keep my homophobic prick of a foster dad off my ass. It didn’t last long, and we got divorced years ago. ”
Chris stares back at me, uncertainty in his eyes. “Anything else you’ve been keeping from me?”
I lift my hands up, palms facing him. “That’s it, there’s nothing else. So, are we goin’ or not?”
The drive to Chris’s parents’ house is silent.
I still don’t know how to feel about him expecting me to lie to his parents, but I already know I’ll do it.
I’m not proud of my prison record, but I am proud of myself for getting my life back on track.
It’s near impossible to do. That part of my past will always exist, and I don’t like the idea of pretending to be someone I’m not just to fit in with Chris’s family.
Glancing across at him in the passenger seat, I can’t deny how much better my life has been with him.
Without saying a word, I reach over and take his hand.