with their thick, viscous tendrils.
“No,” he choked out, but the word was barely audible over his clenched-back crying. “No, Da. I just don’t… I didn’t know what. This is all fucked up, and I don’t know what I’m doing with this. I never wanted this . I don’t want this now, but here it is, and I’m drowning in it. I want this fucking shite to go back to wherever it came from, but I can’t stop from thinking about him—worrying ’bout him, and it’s making me crazy.”
“Let’s be talking first about why ye’d think I’d be disappointed, Con.” Donal pulled back and wiped his eyes, smearing away the tears his son’d brought to his face. “What were you thinking, boyo?”
Connor’s face ached, pressure from the vent of emotions inside of him. There were too many threads of whys and why-nots in his mind, reasons he’d felt he failed his father in this one thing Donal asked of him—to be a man like Donal—to be someone others could look up to, a man who’d pick up the family’s burdens on that one horrific day when they’d need him the most.
And the words came, pouring from him as if he were a five-year-old confessing to eating the last donut, a horribly heavy and dense donut he’d baked solely to anchor himself in life.
“I needed to be you, Da,” Connor heard himself whisper. Every word grated in his throat, raking barbs through his heart and soul before bleeding off his tongue. “I don’t know when, I don’t know why, but there it’s been. In me. All this time. Everything I do—everything I am.”
“Oh, Connor boy, I never meant for you—” A look of horror crept over Donal’s face. “Are ye a cop because ye think that’s what I’d want for ye? Please tell me—”
Connor gave his father a rueful look. “Maybe. In the beginning of it all.”
“Ach, Connor.” Donal said something in Gaelic, too low and too soft for his son to hear. “I’d never have wanted any of my children to take up the badge if they didn’t want it.”
“I was a little boy, Da,” he explained. “And you came home wearing a uniform and carrying the world. How could I not want to be that man? Be you? And yes, I probably wanted to be a cop because you were one, but I love it. It’s who I am. It’s the part of me I don’t question.”
“But ye question this man in your life? That ye love him?”
“I don’t know if I love him. Maybe. Maybe I’m just… I don’t know.” Connor collapsed back into the soft couch, rubbing his face in frustration. “Everything’s gone cattywampus and upside down. I had a plan—career, house, and then a wife. Children. And now….”
“No one is saying ye can’t have those things. Well, except for the wife. This Forest boy might be having a problem with that,” Donal teased as he ran his hand through his son’s hair.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that. For this.”
“I’m going to ask ye a question, and I want ye to think about it before ye answer,” Donal said gently. “Is he the first man ye’d thought about this with? To be with?”
Connor leaned into his father’s touch, a comforting, firm hand on the back of his head. They’d sat so many times in the same position, often in the dimly lit study while his father watched footie games on the television or while working on his reports. Donal’s touch anchored Connor as much as his dreams had, a forever kind of tether to the world around him.
He’d feared he’d lose that touch, that anchor, when he’d spilled his secrets to his father, and now in the light of a Sunday afternoon, Connor found himself adrift, even with his father holding him steady and firm.
“I’d watch Rafe,” Connor admitted softly. “When we were in school. Something about him. Before we were really close, and he was just Sionn’s friend, I’d watch him. I used to tell myself it was because he was… lost, because he needed saving of some kind, but now I don’t know.”
“Rafe’s a handsome boy,”
“No,” he choked out, but the word was barely audible over his clenched-back crying. “No, Da. I just don’t… I didn’t know what. This is all fucked up, and I don’t know what I’m doing with this. I never wanted this . I don’t want this now, but here it is, and I’m drowning in it. I want this fucking shite to go back to wherever it came from, but I can’t stop from thinking about him—worrying ’bout him, and it’s making me crazy.”
“Let’s be talking first about why ye’d think I’d be disappointed, Con.” Donal pulled back and wiped his eyes, smearing away the tears his son’d brought to his face. “What were you thinking, boyo?”
Connor’s face ached, pressure from the vent of emotions inside of him. There were too many threads of whys and why-nots in his mind, reasons he’d felt he failed his father in this one thing Donal asked of him—to be a man like Donal—to be someone others could look up to, a man who’d pick up the family’s burdens on that one horrific day when they’d need him the most.
And the words came, pouring from him as if he were a five-year-old confessing to eating the last donut, a horribly heavy and dense donut he’d baked solely to anchor himself in life.
“I needed to be you, Da,” Connor heard himself whisper. Every word grated in his throat, raking barbs through his heart and soul before bleeding off his tongue. “I don’t know when, I don’t know why, but there it’s been. In me. All this time. Everything I do—everything I am.”
“Oh, Connor boy, I never meant for you—” A look of horror crept over Donal’s face. “Are ye a cop because ye think that’s what I’d want for ye? Please tell me—”
Connor gave his father a rueful look. “Maybe. In the beginning of it all.”
“Ach, Connor.” Donal said something in Gaelic, too low and too soft for his son to hear. “I’d never have wanted any of my children to take up the badge if they didn’t want it.”
“I was a little boy, Da,” he explained. “And you came home wearing a uniform and carrying the world. How could I not want to be that man? Be you? And yes, I probably wanted to be a cop because you were one, but I love it. It’s who I am. It’s the part of me I don’t question.”
“But ye question this man in your life? That ye love him?”
“I don’t know if I love him. Maybe. Maybe I’m just… I don’t know.” Connor collapsed back into the soft couch, rubbing his face in frustration. “Everything’s gone cattywampus and upside down. I had a plan—career, house, and then a wife. Children. And now….”
“No one is saying ye can’t have those things. Well, except for the wife. This Forest boy might be having a problem with that,” Donal teased as he ran his hand through his son’s hair.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that. For this.”
“I’m going to ask ye a question, and I want ye to think about it before ye answer,” Donal said gently. “Is he the first man ye’d thought about this with? To be with?”
Connor leaned into his father’s touch, a comforting, firm hand on the back of his head. They’d sat so many times in the same position, often in the dimly lit study while his father watched footie games on the television or while working on his reports. Donal’s touch anchored Connor as much as his dreams had, a forever kind of tether to the world around him.
He’d feared he’d lose that touch, that anchor, when he’d spilled his secrets to his father, and now in the light of a Sunday afternoon, Connor found himself adrift, even with his father holding him steady and firm.
“I’d watch Rafe,” Connor admitted softly. “When we were in school. Something about him. Before we were really close, and he was just Sionn’s friend, I’d watch him. I used to tell myself it was because he was… lost, because he needed saving of some kind, but now I don’t know.”
“Rafe’s a handsome boy,”
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