Page 176 of Over the Line

Flinching, I sighed again. “I know.” I wiped a hand over my face as I leaned harder against the counter. “I thought about it a lot. Liam and I talked about it, too. We just… I mean, it doesn’t matter at this point, but I was trying not to add to his stress. The baby, hockey season—I just didn’t think it would…” Trailing off, I let my shoulders sag. “I was trying to do the right thing, but I didn’t. And it blew up in my stupid face.”

“I get it. It makes sense.” He was quiet for a moment. “Just let him cool off. He’s overwhelmed, but he’ll come around.”

“Let’s hope,” I whispered.

But I wasn’t sure how optimistic I could let myself be.

Maybe ten minutes after we ended the call, my phone rang again. I snatched it up, silently praying for Chris’s name, but then my stomach dropped into my feet.

Dad.

“Oh, fuck,” I whispered into my empty apartment. I closed my eyes, steeled myself, then took the call. “Hi, Dad.”

There was silence on the line for a moment. Then a quiet cough. “Uh. So I saw the news about Liam St. Clair. And, um. And you.”

The acid in my throat was back with reinforcements. I pushed it back as much as I could. “Yeah?” I croaked. “So you know that…” I couldn’t even say it.

Something on the other end creaked, as if he were shifting his weight or something. “I understand my grandson isn’t pleased about this.”

Fresh guilt joined the ball of acid in the pit of my stomach. “No. No, we’re… We’re working on that.”

“He didn’t know.” Beat. “That you’re…”

“That I’m into men?”

I swear to God, I felt my father flinch.

“Uh, yes.” He muffled another cough. “That.”

I pushed out a harsh breath. “Very, very few people did. Actually, Chris was one of the few. He just… didn’t know who I was dating.”

“I see.”

With a gun to my head, I couldn’t have said what my father’s state of mind was right then. If he was angry? Disappointed? Confused? Disgusted? His cards were so tightly against his vest, all I could do was put one of my own down and hope it wasn’t a disastrous gambit.

“This wasn’t how I wanted anyone to find out,” I whispered. “Not about us, and not about me. I, um… The plan was to tell Chris about our relationship after the season was over. That way we weren’t throwing something at him right when he was feeling all the pressure of making the playoffs and being a new dad. It’s… I feel like an idiot now, but we were trying not to stress him out more than he already was.” My voice got a little thick as I added, “This shitshow was exactly what we were trying to avoid.”

Nothing. Not a sound. Not even a breath.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said unsteadily. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve told a lot of people. I definitely shouldn’t have let this cause so much trouble for my kids, and I⁠—”

“Garrett.” He’d never sounded more gentle in my entire life. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

I swiped at my eyes, grateful he couldn’t see me.

He sighed and went on. “How long have you known you were—are you gay? Bisexual?”

I blinked, startled that my dad even knew the word bisexual. “I’m bi. I’ve, uh… I’ve known for a long time.”

Another sigh. “And you never once thought you could tell me?”

Fuck. I had no idea how to answer that. I was forty-seven goddamned years old, and I suddenly felt like a teenager again. Or even younger. A kid in my dad’s crosshairs with no clue what I should say and even less clue what he might say next.

Somehow, I managed, “I’ve barely told anyone.”

“I’m your dad, Garrett.” His long exhalation made him sound so tired. “You should’ve been able to tell me. I don’t just mean that reporter shouldn’t have robbed you of the chance. I mean I should’ve made sure you always knew you could tell me things like that.” He paused, and his voice was so quiet, it was barely audible, but I still heard the words loud and clear: “I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t tell me.”

I was way too emotionally brittle for this conversation, and I couldn’t stop my composure from cracking. “I didn’t—it wasn’t anything you did. Telling anyone…”