Beautiful Boy(41)

I stared him straight in the eyes and said, "It'll look like I'm missing a leg and can't stand for long periods of time."

"Don't do that shit. Don't play the victim card."

His harsh tone made me hold my tongue and take a deep breath. I'd heard  him say those words to me before. Most of the time, it was because I had  played the victim, used my disability as an excuse to not do something.  But I hadn't done it in a while. And this time wasn't anything like  before.

"I'm not playing any card." My voice was low. I didn't want to garner  the attention of the few people around, yet I made sure my words were  strong and sure. "You asked what it would look like. It's a reasonable  answer."

"You know what I mean," he said, his voice lower, his words harsher, gritted out through clenched teeth.

A small part of me felt vindicated, as if he'd proven my doubt right.  However, it was only a small part. The rest became a jumbled mess of  sadness and animosity. I didn't care to be right. I longed for my father  to come to me because he wanted to.

Because he desired to have me in his life.

Not because he sought something from me.

But the more this conversation went on, the more I realized I'd never  get what I needed from him. I was nothing more than a talking point on  his campaign trail. A bullet point in a speech.

I balled up the paper trash from my straw, threw it on the table, and  leaned back in my seat as defeat heavily weighed my shoulders down.

"Nolan, just listen to me, please." He waited until he had my attention  before continuing. "Every person who's ever run for the Oval Office has  always had a strong, public backing from his family. You and your mother  are the only family I have. If you don't want to be a part of this for  me … do it for her. Do it for your mom. She needs your support."         

     



 

He knew mentioning my mother would get to me. I would do anything for  her. After all, when I came home from the war, disfigured and broken,  she'd been the one to take care of me. She was always the one at my  side, making sure I was okay. My dad may have found the shrinks and paid  the bills, but it was my mom by my side, holding my hand every step of  the way.

"I think you should come back home and stay with us for a while during the campaign. I think it will be good."

Fire lit my insides. "For who? Me or you?"

His eyes narrowed at me before he sucked in a long breath. "For  everyone. This isn't just about me, Nolan. Ever since you've moved back  here, we've barely heard a word from you. Your mother misses you. She's  going to need you."

"She doesn't need me. She only needs to know I'm okay. I don't have to  be there for her to know that. Not to mention, how is any of this good  for me?"

"You can help with the campaign. Be involved like you've never been  before. It'll give you structure, purpose. Your therapist said you need  drive and determination. You need the ambition if you ever plan to  become a productive member of society again."

I hated to hear those words. Both his and my therapist's. They were true  at one point, but what neither could ever understand was being in that  house with him, listening to the quiet conversations he'd have behind my  back. That's what hindered me. I may not have fully recovered, or even  met his standards of a "productive member of society" since moving away  from them, but I was a hell of a lot better now than when I lived with  him.

I didn't need his idea of a purpose.

I didn't need his version of structure.

I only needed Novah.

"I'm doing perfectly fine here, Dad."

"And what is it you're doing here?"

"I have a job. I run a company. I own a condo. My life is here now. I  understand your logic and why you believe I should go home, but it's not  realistic. I can't just uproot everything, pack my bags, and move six  hours away."

"Don't you have a partner to handle the business in your absence? Can't he pick up the slack while you're gone?"

"I deal with the administrative aspect of the company, and he handles  the legal side. I can't ask him to take over the whole thing. It doesn't  work that way. It wouldn't be fair."

He picked up the straw wrapper I'd discarded and rolled it into a tight  ball between his fingers. "Nolan … I am happy you've decided to try and  make something of your life. After so many years of watching you beat  yourself up, it makes me proud to see you making strides to stand on  your own two feet again. But we need you. The campaign needs you."

My stomach grew weak and threatened to leave me ill. No matter how many  years had gone by, how many miles I put between us, my father still had a  twisted way of controlling me. I may not have seen it when I was  younger, but I saw it now.

You've decided to try and make something of your life. I wasn't merely  trying … I was making something of my life and myself. Not an attempt.

It makes me proud to see you making strides to stand on your own two  feet. He hadn't even been around to know. For all he knew, I could've  been standing very tall and strong on my own. Making strides?

"You're not listening to me, Dad. I don't want to. I don't have any  aspirations to be hands-on in the election. I don't want to learn how to  campaign, and I don't want to move. I have no desire to have any part  in this."

"So your plan is to stay here and do this for the rest of your life? Be  an admin for a company when you could be a leader? Share  responsibilities with someone else when you could have it all?"

I clenched my fists beneath the table, my foot bouncing with the  amplified frustration rolling through me. "I own my own business. Yes, I  share responsibilities, but only because it's in the best interest of  my company."

"You want to catch shoplifters forever?"

I huffed, defeat slowly consuming me until I didn't believe I could do  or say anything else to get through to him. "It pays the bills. It keeps  me employed. I live in a very nice condo, drive a luxury car, and never  have to worry about anything."

"You share the company with someone else. And from what you've said,  you're nothing more than an administrator. Why can't he take over your  part? What else is keeping you here?" His harsh, penetrating gaze held  mine, not relenting. It was his way of asserting control.

I'd fallen for it every single time before.         

     



 

Not again.

Never again.

"I've started getting back into photography. I have a darkroom set up in  my house. And I'm looking forward to getting some use out of it."

His fiery red cheeks were not surprising. He'd never liked the idea of  me taking pictures. "You can do that anywhere. Just walk down the street  and see the completely self-absorbed population with their phones  aiming at their puckered lips."

My short fingernails cut into my palms. But before I could say anything else, he cut off my thoughts with his own.

"Have you ever thought about being a photographer for the government?  You could do that for a living and not have to sacrifice something you  love … "

"I don't want that." I forced my words through my terse lips, feeling them burn my esophagus and singe my tongue on the way out.

He flattened his palms on the table in front of me, calling my attention  to the fine lines on his fingers. He didn't have the hands of a  workingman. Would my hands look like his when I'm his age?

"There has to be another reason you don't want to leave here. I've given  you many alternatives to your job and to photography. What's keeping  you here, son?" he asked, sounding every bit the caring father he'd  meant to portray.

"I've been seeing someone." My words were quiet, yet he'd heard them. I  wished I could've taken them back, because the last thing I wanted was  for him to start insulting Novah. But it was already out there, and I  had to stick by it. "And she makes me happy. For the first time in  fifteen years, I'm not drowning in misery every second of the day. I  won't give her up."

"Who?" The way he asked told me a few things.

One, he had no idea I'd been seeing anyone, which meant the media hounds hadn't begun to sniff around yet.

Two, for whatever reason, he had an intuition as to who it was, and it  left him displeased. It made me question if it could've been his primary  motive to get me away from here.

And three, he clearly didn't care one iota about my admission of being miserable for half my life.

"Her name is Novah Johnson."

I watched carefully as his nostrils flared and his eyes turned to slits.  His deep breaths were meant to contain his anger, but they hadn't done  their job.

"Absolutely not, Nolan. No."

I wanted to get up and leave. I even shifted in my seat in a small  attempt to do so. But he pushed his hand across the table, silently  warning me against it.

"Listen to me. It's in everyone's best interest if you didn't see her.  And I think you'd agree with me. If my opponents dig into her past,  they'll eventually find out what had happened all those years ago.  They'll uncover what you did to her."