Bound and Determined (32 page)

friends, never sharing what he was.

He didn't want to broadcast the details of what he and Owen did, not out

of shame, but because there was something appealing about the idea of having

this additional layer to their relationship, unsuspected, intimate. Private. From

what he'd gathered talking to Owen and Alex, not many of the club members

did talk about it outside their circle.

Sterling would never be a Freemason like his father, but he understood

the value of loyalty to a group of like-minded people.

Posing as straight to all the visitors who'd throng this house over the

vacation, though—that galled him. Being gay just wasn't a big deal these days,

but try explaining that to his father.

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He reached the foot of the stairs, intending to go in search of something to

eat in the kitchen. William turned away without looking at him, but Audrey

touched her husband's arm, her eyes full of appeal, and he hesitated and

glanced back over his shoulder at Sterling.

“Good to have you back, son.”

The words sounded stiff, scripted, but Audrey's face lit up with relief and

pleasure, and it was for her sake that Sterling took the few steps needed to

bring him close enough to his father for a handshake, brief and impersonal.

He didn't brace himself for a hug; William Baker didn't hug men, even

when they were his only son.

The door closed behind William, and Audrey turned to embrace her son

warmly, both hands moving on his back. “Thank you,” she whispered. Pulling

back, she smoothed Sterling's hair and smiled. “I know your father can be

difficult sometimes, but he does love you.”

It would only hurt her to insist otherwise; Sterling knew because he'd tried

a dozen times or more before finally giving up. Let her have the lie—it was

small enough, and in the long run it didn't matter if she chose to believe it,

except to her.

Justine was sitting at the granite island in the large kitchen on one of the

two leather-topped wooden stools, eating fruit salad with her fingers.

“We do have utensils,” Audrey told her as she and Sterling entered the

room.

“I know, but I can't tell which grapes are good and which ones are gross

with a fork.” Justine raised her hand and made a pinching motion with thumb

and forefinger to illustrate the superiority of her digits.

Audrey moved to the wall oven and opened it, looking in at a casserole

dish. “I'd hope none of them were gross.”

“You never know. Sometimes there's a bad grape.” Justine picked up one

and squeezed it experimentally, then set it beside her bowl. “Like that one.”

Sterling pulled out the stool beside her and sat down. “You can tell it's bad

just by touching it?”

“It's squishy,” Justine said.

Sterling picked it up and rolled it around in his palm. “Seems okay to me.”

“It's not.” Justine frowned. “It's bad.”

“I think I'll eat it and find out.”

“No!” Justine made a face as Sterling popped the grape into his mouth.

“Gross!”

“It's fine,” Sterling said, chewing. “A little soft, but it tastes normal.”

“So. Gross,” Justine pronounced and flounced to the sink with her bowl.

“Is that lasagna?” she asked her mother.

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“If you can't tell and you have to ask…” Audrey shook her head sadly.

“Maybe it's gross too. Maybe it's best if I just throw it out—”

“No!” Justine wrapped her arms around her mother, tall enough now that

her head came up to Audrey's shoulder. “I love your lasagna. Do we get garlic

bread too?”

“Homemade, with lots of butter,” Audrey promised, smoothing back

Justine's hair. “Now set the table for me, please?”

“Can we just eat here in the kitchen, as a treat?” Justine begged. “It's

Will's first night back.”

Audrey bit her lip, and Sterling heard the echo of his father's voice

insisting that the formal dining room be used for the evening meal, each setting

perfect, a heavy linen napkin beside each plate. The additional work for Audrey

as she laundered the napkins to pristine smoothness and polished the

mahogany table to a mirror gloss didn't matter; the fact that it was just the

four of them, with no guests, was irrelevant. Standards had to be met,

appearances were important.

“Just this once,” Audrey said finally. The unspoken
don't tell your father

was understood.

Without being asked, Sterling went to the refrigerator to see if there was a

salad waiting for them—he knew that lasagna meant garlic bread and salad as

well as Justine did. He took out the large glass bowl and set it on the island,

then asked his mother, “Want me to make some homemade croutons?”

Audrey gaped at him. It might have been the most surprised look he'd ever

seen on her face, which was pretty funny when you considered he'd asked

about croutons. “Since when do you know how to cook?”

“I have a friend,” Sterling said, because it was better to keep it simple.

“He's shown me a few things.” Owen played down his talents in the kitchen,

but he could produce food that was edible and looked good, a combination

Sterling admired.

“Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of progress,” Audrey said and

gestured at the stovetop.

“I want to help! Can you show me?” Justine asked.

It didn't take long to cube the bread, season it, and toast it in a pan that

was nicer than the ones Owen had inherited from his parents by about four

times. When they'd finished, Audrey had taken the lasagna from the oven and

was slicing the garlic bread.

A bottle of red wine would have gone well with the meal, but Sterling

didn't suggest opening one. He was permitted to drink a single glass of wine at

dinner and had been for several years; William believed in men who could hold

their drink and appreciate good wines, but Justine would wrinkle her nose,

and Audrey would only sip at hers. He got water for all of them instead and

grinned at the holly-sprinkled paper napkins by each plate.

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Maybe this visit would go well for once, with no arguments. He'd changed,

after all, the sessions with Owen teaching him patience and restraint. He'd

learned how much he could take without breaking at the hands of someone

who cared about him. He wanted more than caring and affection from Owen,

but he could let himself hope that Owen would give it to him soon, along with

so much more.

Okay, thinking about Owen relaxing that stupid rule and what would

happen when he did wasn't the best idea. He sat at the table, dropped his

napkin into his lap, and took a gulp of ice water.

“Why are you blushing?” Justine asked.

“It's hot in here.”

“No, it's not.” She snagged a huge chunk of garlic bread and bit into it.

“Are you thinking about your girlfriend? Do you have one? Is she pretty?”

“Justine, talking with your mouth full isn't allowed, whatever room we're

eating in,” Audrey said, her eyes begging Sterling not to respond.

Little sisters were a pain in the ass; how come he always forgot that

essential truth?

“No, I don't have a girlfriend,” he said finally, then added something

guaranteed to get the conversation to veer off its track. “I was thinking about

the puppy we found that time, at the park, remember?”

Justine's eyes lit up. “Yes! It was so cute, but Dad wouldn't let us keep it.”

“Dogs are a lot of work,” their mother said diplomatically, giving Sterling a

grateful look. “And they make a lot of mess.”

“It was still cute,” Justine said. “When I grow up, I'm going to get a puppy.

Two
puppies. Maybe one like President Obama's dog—what kind is it again?”

“A Portuguese water dog,” Audrey said.

Justine nodded as Sterling took a bite of lasagna that was every bit as

good as he remembered. “Maybe
three
dogs,” she said.

“A whole pack,” Sterling agreed, and then the conversation veered again to

a book Justine had read about a pack of wild dogs living on the streets, and

Sterling forgot about the stress of coming out to his sister, which he definitely

had to do sometime soon.

* * * * *

because Sterling did what his father wanted him to do and put in an

appearance. He was doing his best to keep things civil, for his mom and

Justine's sakes, so he wore a somber dark blue tie instead of the rainbow-

striped one he'd bought a few months back and considered wearing up until

the last minute.

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137

He went back up to his room when things started to die down, figuring

that no one would miss him. There were only half a dozen people left at that

point, and Justine had already gone to bed.

An hour later, Sterling heard his father coming upstairs. He thought

William would just walk on by on his way to his parents' bedroom, but to his

surprise there was a sharp, loud knock at his own bedroom door before William

shoved it open to slam against the wall with startling force.

Sterling, who'd been sitting on his bed with a book, jumped at the sound.

“What—”

“How
dare
you behave that way?” William said. “Are you
trying
to destroy

me?” His voice was low and filled with anger.

“What way?” Sterling was genuinely perplexed.

William took a step into the room, glaring. “You deliberately ignored people

when they tried to speak with you, and then you disappeared without saying

good night! I had to make half a dozen apologies for you. I've never been so

embarrassed!”

“Oh, I think you probably have,” Sterling said. “It's not like this was the

first time I ever embarrassed you. Remember when I got the lead in the senior

play?”

“You will not drag this family down into the gutter with you—everything

I've worked for, everything I've sacrificed—”

Sterling tossed his book aside and stood, facing up to his father because

that was what he did and always had. William had taught him never to back

down, how to find an enemy's weak spots, how to manipulate a person or

situation to his advantage. He hadn't intended for his son to use those skills

against him, of course, which really, when you thought about it, was pretty

fucking stupid of him. “The only thing you've sacrificed
is
your family. I grew

up despising you, and Justine, well, she doesn't even
know
you. Nice job, Dad.

Stellar.”

The angry flush on William's face darkened ominously. Jesus, he looked

as if he was going to have a stroke or something. Sterling thought back to the

party, unable to pinpoint what exactly had triggered this outburst. His father

was maybe a little drunk, but even smashed out of his skull, Sterling couldn't

see William Baker losing control. Time to calm the troubled waters and all that

shit.

“Look, whatever I did or didn't do, it wasn't on purpose, okay? The only

people left when I came up here were your poker buddies, and I'm not even on

their radar.” Since his dad played cards with people like the mayor and the

chief of police, Sterling liked it that way. “And ignoring people…who, for God's

sake? I talked to half the goddamned town tonight.”

“Don't defy me and don't answer back.” William strode over to the bed,

quivering with a rage that seemed out of proportion to whatever it was he

thought that his son had done. “Every man there with a son knows he's got a

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future, someone to pass his business on to, someone he can trust. What do I

have? A filthy degenerate—oh, I saw you flirting with that young barman we

hired. Shaming me. You cost him his job, do you know that? I'll call the golf

club—get him fired—”

Sterling rolled his eyes. Carl was midtwenties, good-looking, and worked

at the golf club bar, busy even when the green was closed for the winter. He

sometimes got side jobs bartending private parties, mixing drinks with a

friendly smile for the men and a flirtatious wink for the women. Sterling had

chatted to him as he waited for Carl to uncork a Pinot Noir, their brief

conversation forgotten moments after he'd walked away.

“Newsflash, Donald Trump; Carl's not gay. He's banged half the women at

the golf club. And even if he was, I've
got
a boyfriend and I don't cheat—”

A sharp gasp from the doorway startled him into turning his head, so his