KNIGHT
Chapter Thirty-Six
Having a dead dad who wasn’t supposed to die anytime soon gives me certain liberties.
For example, when I tell Sullivan I want him to come home with me, he can’t really say no, can he?
Not when he made me wait an entire extra day for him to get here, and not when I probably look like I’ll start ripping doors down next if he refuses.
Shortly after he shows up at the lake house, I drive the two of us back to my house where the atmosphere has shifted once again. Tonight it’s more fond memories and “Yes, I’ll take another glass please.”
The ever growing contingency of family members is gathered out back around the fire pit. The kids are in the pool while Dillon and Derek swim with them—lifeguard duty, I guess, and yet, despite the light, laughing conversation, complete silence descends when Sullivan and I walk out onto the porch.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. It’s not like we’re all over each other. We’re not even holding hands. I gesture at him. “This is Sullivan.”
Many, many looks are exchanged before my mom gets up and tipsily makes her way over. She throws her arms around my boyfriend and says, “I’m so happy to finally meet you officially.”
“Good to see you again,” he says. “And I’m so sorry for—”
She shushes him before she has to listen to those words one more time, and honestly, I don’t want to hear them either. Her eyes shine. “We’re drinking tonight. And remembering.”
Yeah, no I’m gonna want to skip that. Remembering my dad—who he used to be to me—has been a pastime of mine since I left for college. It’s private, and it’s personal, and now it’s also fraught with wondering what he really thought about me.
“He’s had a long drive. We’re gonna go inside.” I give a wave to the gathered crowd of uncles and aunts, grandparents and longtime family friends. Also Deandre. It’s a funeral before the funeral.
D follows us to the door and welcomes Sullivan himself with a side hug. “How was the drive?”
“Longer than I think it’s ever been.”
“There’s food. You guys want anything?”
“Are you good?” I’m too close to running out of patience. Some of it was restored with Sullivan’s arrival, but it’s slipping again.
“Yeah. Just trading some war stories with your uncles. Are you good?”
That’s an insane question, then I realize I have my answer right beside me. I put my hand on Sullivan’s back, in that familiar notch where it fits between his shoulder blades. “Better now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
He nods. “Good night.”
Sullivan gives D a pat on the shoulder as they separate before coming back into the house with me.
“I know they all play on offense, but I think of them as your D-line,” Sullivan says as we approach the stairs. “Get it?”
I do get it, and I snort a laugh. “Good one.”
He slides his hand into mine and squeezes it as we climb the steps. “You wanna tell me what I’m doing here?”
“My mom apparently knew I was gay from day one—so did my dad, incidentally—so I figured fuck it. Now you don’t need to wonder what you’re gonna do with yourself all week. You can just be with me.”
“We might need some time to unpack that.”
“Unpack it all you want.” I gesture at my open bedroom door and release his hand so he can go inside. I close and lock the door behind us, finally letting out the rest of my breath. I’m so fucking glad he’s here. So grateful to be alone with him. My sore eyes are soothed by the sight of him.
“You want to shower?” I ask.
“Yes, please.”
I nod and point him toward the bathroom. “I’ll go get your bag from the car.”
“Thank you.”
“If you want—” he starts then stops himself. “Never mind.”
“What?”
He shakes his head. “I’m good. Can you get me some water, too?”
“Anything you need,” I tell him.
He gives me a smile that reads as a little sad, then he goes into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked.
No matter the circumstances, thinking about Sullivan in the shower is one of those things that usually gives me a boner in no time flat, so it’s better if I’m out of the room for this part anyway.
On the way back into the house with Sullivan’s bag, I pass my uncle Luke coming out of the kitchen holding four necks of fresh beer bottles. I attempt something like a pleasant smile, but he’s eyeing me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“Sullivan, huh?” he asks.
“Yep.” I start past him, done with the pleasantries. If my dad thought I was gay, then my uncles probably did, too, so I don’t see much point in slowing down to get his hot take on my sexuality.
“Knight,” he calls after me and I stop, nearly to the first step, stiffening with my back to him. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
I nod to let him know I heard him and continue up the stairs.
It’s nice that everyone seems willing to give a me a few minutes of their time to listen, but other than the friends I brought with me, everyone in this house has lost someone fundamental.
My mom has always ruled our world, but my father—he was the spark behind it all. The life of the party.
While everyone seemed comfortable on the back porch with their grudging laughter and empathetic smiles, the gathering was about as dead as my dad is.
“It seems impossible,” I tell Sullivan once he’s clean and dressed and in bed with me. “I mean, I get that people die all the time, and it can be sudden, sure, but it’s more that—” I pause, running my hand over my face before gesturing at my door. “He was just here. He was always, always here.”
I’m sitting up and Sullivan is next to me, slightly behind me with his arms around me and his chin on my shoulder. I feel his gaze on me, warm like a late spring sun. He smells like me, having come out of my shower, but beneath all that is that one note I associate only with him. Sweet warmth.
“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
“That’s weak, right? After everything you’ve been through, and I’ve still got all this… I don’t know if I even want to know what you’re thinking about me right now.”
“That I wish I could fix it. That you don’t deserve this. That there’s nothing I can do, and that sucks.”
I rub his forearm, the one encircling my chest. “You’re here. You already know that’s what I wanted.”
“I could’ve taken the flight—”
“You’re here. I’m sorry I was such a dick about it all day. It was just a shitty day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“They say—” I stop. I correct myself. “My mom said that she and my dad knew I was gay.”
“You mentioned that.”
“Did you know when you met me?”
“Not right when I met you but by the time we were walking in the woods, I was picking up on a certain vibe.”
That makes me smile. “You’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. It’s amazing to me that anyone can take their eyes off you.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, nuzzling his face into my neck. “You’re biased, but I don’t mind it.”
“So, I just figured—why not let everyone know? Fuck it.”
“You can’t make a much stronger statement than marching your boyfriend up to your room after a brief introduction, I guess.”
“Sorry about that. I should have warned you there’d be a million people here.”
“Listen,” he says. “I want you to feel your feelings. All of them. Even the not so kind ones. I want you to do whatever you need to do to come to terms with what happened. What I don’t want you to do is lose touch with the person you are, even though losing your dad is probably going to change something inside you forever, you’re still the man he helped raise.
The one I fell in love with. The one with his own dreams and his own life to live. ”
I nod, the room blurring through a fresh onslaught of tears. “I don’t think I was the right son for him.”
“Baby,” Sullivan whispers softly. “I don’t think he ever had a second thought about that. You’re amazing. What father could ask for anything more than a son as talented and brave and kind as you are?”
I sniff loudly. “The kind who wanted his son to be straight.”
“Did he ever say that?”
“No.”
“Do you wish you were straight?” he asks.
My breath comes out noisy and shaky. My head moves on a dizzying swivel. It’s a tiny movement side to side that nevertheless nauseates me. “I wish I wished that. But no. Being gay isn’t really the problem, you know? It’s being alone that’s always sucked.”
“And that’s why you want to come out?”
I find myself nodding.
He whispers, “You’re not alone. Not even close.”
I bow my head and kiss his arm. He hugs me tighter. “How do I get over this?”
“I don’t think you do. I think you learn how to live with it. You go on.”
Is that how he thinks he’s coping, too? “How’s that working out for you?”
A dark, heavy silence follows, and I wish I’d kept my fucking mouth shut, but that’s been impossible since the plane landed yesterday.
Sullivan loosens his grip on me, and I let him, waiting until he lies down on the bed to lie beside him.
He turns away from me, but I don’t attempt to put my arms around him. “I’m sorry,” I finally say.
“Let’s just get some sleep.”
I tried the thing Sullivan told me to do—feel my feelings, but I wasn’t prepared for how bad that would be.
How much like an attack it was. How much guilt I carried or the regrets—like glitter in carpet.
The regrets will always be there. I can’t find them all right now, and besides—I’ve got no place to put them.
So, I drink to help me not notice them so much.
Also, of note, everyone else is drunk half the time, too.
I don’t remember the funeral with much detail, and I don’t want to. Who would want to remember that? As a point of pride, no one can tell how blitzed out of my mind I am for the three-hour ordeal. I’m as still as I can be. I say as little as possible, move only when I’m told.
Half the USM team is here, including all my coaches. It’s a huge service, but the burial is family and close friends only, so there’s that.