Letting Go (11 page)

Her aunt had been mean when they were small, but not around their granny. Around granny she was all smiles. “She’s getting old; we should head down for family Christmas this year.” Jessie grinned and Kelly knew she was up to something. “I’ll drive my new Beemer, that’ll make them scream.”

Kelly laughed, turned the music up and spent the rest of the drive trying not to think of Grant.

Chapter 9

Grant slowed to a crawl on Main Street. He glanced at his dashboard clock, nine-thirty. He’d made good time. Kip had invited him to no-holds-barred, pussy on tap party tonight far away from his district. His dad would piss all over himself if he knew the night he planned, but his blue balls drove him out the quiet house into the night. The past month he’d campaigned non-stop, the primary was in two weeks, but he’d never make it if he didn’t decompress.

Since he gave up alcohol, and Kelly, his mind eased in, he needed to do something with his hands and mouth. Tonight’s party promised to provide lots of uncomplicated sex. Needs met without the emotional crap sounded like a refrain from the blissful choir he willingly embraced. The plastic bag on the passenger seat held a brand new box of condoms and the music filtering through the sound system kept his mind on the night ahead.

Neon lights flickered at the lone movie theater up the road, bars with live music blasted into the night. College students filled the coffee and internet shops, laughing and having a good time.

Traffic stopped as a group of youngsters ran across the street, many too young for college. He smiled in remembrance of his college days. Hanging out on the weekend, hell, even weekdays, had been one of the highlights. He inched his car forward a few feet and stopped at the light.

“What the hell?” He looked at the license plate of the car parked to his right. “What’s Blair doing way out here?” His son told him he’d be at the movies with friends, but this theater was two hours from home. Concerned, he searched the crowded sidewalks for his son. There were so many people walking around he almost gave up until he saw the back of his son’s head. The light turned green, but he was in no rush. Frowning, he drove slow, following at a distance, and watching. “This isn’t the movie in town,” he murmured as his son turned and laughed with the guy walking with him. The black guy topped Blair’s six feet by a couple inches and was wider through the chest. If Grant had to guess, he’d say the other guy is an athlete, maybe a defensive player or running back.

Laughing, Blair pushed the guy. The guy grabbed Blair in a neck hold. Instead of his son pushing away, he wrapped his arms around the other guy’s waist. It looked as if they were in a weird embrace. Confused, Grant waited until a car pulled out of a parking space not far from the movies. His son and his friend gazed at each other as they talked.

Grant stared.

The conversation didn’t look anything like when he and Kip talked. They joked and kidded each other, who didn’t. But this was different. He couldn’t put his finger on why it made him uncomfortable watching his son gaze at the guy in the intense way he did. Grant’s gut became jittery the way it did when he walked on the field and one of the key front linemen sat on the bench. As quarterback, he knew he’d be taken down soon after the snap. That same sense of foreboding robbed him of breath now as he gazed at the two walking to the ticket booth. He swallowed hard when the other guy bought the tickets for the movie. Inside, they stood close to each other in line, talking before placing their orders.

Heaviness weighed down his chest at the way they behaved, too close for casual friends. The thought left a bitter taste at the back of his mouth, but it described the scene.

He blinked and stared. Did he see what he thought he just saw? Closing his eyes, he ran his palm across his face. That boy did
not
just touch his son’s ass. Worse, his son did not respond in the manner he should’ve.

No. He had to be wrong. He leaned forward to see them better as they headed into the movie.

“Did he rub his hand across Blair’s back?” Somewhere laid an explanation. Grant sat still, waiting for the questions to settle in his mind. His son dated girls, appreciated women. They had stared at pretty women many times together. But he couldn’t erase the images he had just seen from his mind. From the car, his son had looked like an adoring groupie staring up at the other man. Grant had been on the receiving end of those gazes too many times not to recognize it.

“What the hell is going on?” Needing answers, he stepped out the car and bought a ticket to the movie that had just started. Ignoring the concession stand, he headed toward the back, gave the guy his ticket, who pointed him in the right direction. He stopped at the door, exhaled and debated over the wisdom of his plan. What if Blair caught him? How’d he play it off? What would he say? No valid response came to mind being this far from home. He turned to leave, convinced nothing was wrong with two friends hanging out at the movies.

He frowned with the realization he had never seen the other guy. Not on Blair’s high school football team or at any games or at the house. He didn’t know this guy. Grant turned and stared at the door. Curiosity burned in his belly.

The door opened without a sound into the dark room. The movie had started. Grant paused so his eyes could adjust. He stepped around the small partition and looked around the theater. Less than twenty people sat in the entire room. A couple turned to glance at him when he took another step. Afraid to draw more attention, he scooted into the aisle seat on the last row. From here he had a good view of Blair. The two boys sat slumped with their heads showing above the backs of the seat.

A few moments later, the guy leaned close to his son and spoke into his ear.

“Okay… okay, that’s normal. He needs to be heard,” Grant murmured, his eyes locked on them. Despite the hollowness in the pit of his belly, he remained seated, scared shitless of what he may witness but determined to have answers.

Blair pushed the guy with his shoulder and said something. Grant relaxed at the bantering between the two friends. Nothing improper happening, just teens at the movies. And then the guy put his arm around Blair’s shoulder and pulled him close.

Grant stopped breathing. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t, believe what he saw. Seconds ticked as he waited for his son to remove the guy's arm. It took everything within him not to remove the offending arm himself. Instead, Blair’s head rested on the arm, cozy, like it belonged.

Bells clanged in Grant’s head. He leaned back against the seat staring at the masculine arm and what it meant. Explanation after explanation flitted through his mind, why it would be okay for his son to be two hours from home in a movie theater with that guy’s arm wrapped around him.

Nothing made sense. No reasonable explanation came to mind to connect the dots, except one. He slammed the door on that. Unable to stomach any more, he left the building and spit the bad experience from his mouth. The night turned darker in his mind. He made a U-turn in the middle of the road, blowing off honking horns and irate students.

During the drive he kept seeing his son’s face talking to that guy. It wasn’t right. Guys didn’t look at other guys like that. Blair in the head-lock holding onto the guy, and in the theatre sitting close, rolled like an out of control movie clip in his mind. He made it back to town in record time.

“I need a damn drink,” he muttered. “My son…” He cleared his throat. The words refused to budge. Just as he accepted he was an alcoholic and dealt with it, he would deal with this. “My son is…” Closing his eyes, he shook his head. His mind argued both sides of the coin, making his head hurt.

“You don’t know for sure. They could just be friends. Then why allow him to hug him? Hugs are quick. That arm remained around Blair for at least ten minutes until I left.” Back and forth, he argued, trying to twist what he witnessed into his own truth. He pulled up to the entry to his subdivision, pressed the gate key, and the gate swung open.

“Hiya doing, Grant?”

He heard the security guard, but numbness stole through his body and worked its way up to his mind. On autopilot, he cleared the gate and headed home. Gut-sore, he threw his keys into the dish and turned off the alarm. Thoughts of his son begged examination. Grant’s excuses became ridiculous. Amazing what lengths a person’s mind would go to fool him.

In his bedroom, he pulled the short sleeved shirt over his head, tossed it on the chair and slipped off his shoes. His cell rang. He glanced at the caller ID.

“Mom, it’s late for you to be calling, everything okay?” He wondered if his dad had lit into her again about spending money. Grant never understood why his dad was so tightfisted; the man couldn’t take it with him.

“No… I was just calling to check on you. Everything okay?”

He frowned. Why would she ask him that? “I’m good. What’s happening?”

“Where’s Blair? Is he home?”

Grant froze. Please no. Not his mom. Did she know? Had Blair seen him leave the movies and call her to check on him? That made no sense. If his son had seen him in the theater, he would have said something; at least he wanted to believe that.

“He went to the movies.” He wouldn’t volunteer any other information.

“That’s right; he and Robin were going to the movies.”

Grant sat forward. “Robin?”

“Yes, he told me he and Robin were going to the movies Friday so he couldn’t go to the charity show tonight with me. It was for teenagers. I thought he’d enjoy it.” He could imagine her shrug through the phone.

“Oh.” The name sounded familiar, and then he remembered one of Blair’s favorite singer’s name was Robin. He wanted to ask more questions, but his mom would ask more questions than she’d answer.

“Good, he’s dating, have you met her?”

Grant looked up at the ceiling. “No… no. I just got home and want…” He looked at his hands and for some inexplicable reason,
he
felt dirty. He had spied on his son.

“Grant…”

He unsnapped his jeans and pushed them down his leg. “Huh?”

“Have you been drinking?”

That stopped him. “What? No. Why would you ask that?” Not yet, but he wouldn’t promise anything, not after the night he'd just had.

“Porter called and said you were behaving oddly.”

“Porter?” He kicked his clothes aside and headed for the shower.

“He works security on the weekends. He spoke to you at the gate, but said you looked out of it. You haven’t started drinking again have you?”

“No.” He stopped at the bathroom door and leaned his hand against the wall. This was why he hated living so close to his parents.

“After the last time you came home drunk and we rushed you to the hospital, you promised Blair you would never do that again. You’re supposed to be setting an example for him… not being a drunken playboy.”

Wow, a playboy and a drunk. With her on his campaign team he’d win for sure. He closed his eyes. He would never live down that last drunken episode, never forget. Not that his loving family would allow him to retire it to the file labeled past mistakes.

“I already told you, I’m not drunk. I haven’t had a drink in two years. How about you listen to me instead of accusing me next time.”

“If you had answered me…”

“I don’t have to answer you, Mom. It’s late. I’m tired, not drunk.” He hung up and stepped into the shower. His thoughts gave him no peace. It was inconceivable that he had failed so big. “No way I produced a gay son, there’s an explanation for this,” he murmured as hot water rolled down his back.

Chapter 10

The thudding in Grant’s head increased in tempo. Last night after talking to his mom, he needed to get away, and so he drove to his condo. Unable to reconcile his thoughts or rid his mind of the images of his son and the other guy, he got sloppy drunk. This morning his head felt like it was split in half with salt poured on the open wound.

Bells and chimes floated above him. He rolled to the side, his stomach lurched in protest. The chimes stopped, giving him a moment of peace. Then they started again. He covered his ears.

“Stop,” he whispered. Miracles of miracles, the sound stopped after a few seconds. Uncertain of the chimes' trustworthiness, he took his time removing his hand and exhaled. His bladder demanded his attention. With slow incremental moves, he sat up and opened one eye. The blurry picture on the wall moved. He ran the back of his hand across his eyes and opened the other. It hurt, but his bladder reminded him of its urgent needs. He pushed up, steadied himself, and moved with slow care to the bathroom door.

When he finished, he splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, and stood under the shower in his underwear. The foul, sour taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue. When he stepped out and peeled off his briefs he looked human. The chiming started again. He recognized the sound of his cell phone and moved back to the bedroom to pick up the call.