Page 59 of On the Edge

Once a dad, always a dad. I was tempted to show him my bank account, which, despite meager beginnings when I was a rookie rider, now had a balance that surprised even me. Instead of snapping back like I might have another time, I softened my tone. “Have I said thank you enough? For helping me get my start?”

“Eh.” Cheeks going pink, Dad shrugged. For all our differences, we were equally bad at taking praise. “It’s what parents do. And your sister’s college wasn’t cheap either.”

“Well, thank you.”

Dad shook his head, eyes strangely sentimental. “Still not sure where you got the racing gene from, but everyone says you were born to ride.”

I had to chortle again. “My mom’s off in Antarctica, and my dad runs into burning buildings for shits and giggles, and you wonder how I fell in love with an extreme sport?”

Dad paused before replying as a waiter around my age with an impressive collar of neck tattoos arrived to take our orders. We both got the same Oregon cheddar and caramelized sweetonion burger and fries combo, and I ordered that beer. I had a feeling I was going to need it.

“I guess you did get a thrill-seeking gene,” Dad allowed after the waiter left. “I just always thought you’d be?—”

“A firefighter. I know.” I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Generation whatever of Murphys operating the hose.”

“Hey. I never pressured you to be a firefighter.” Dad frowned, leaning forward across the table to give me a hard stare. “Sure, that’s the Murphy legacy, but I never tried to force it on you.”

“I know.” I exhaled hard as the waiter returned with my beer and Dad’s soda. He was right that he’d never pushed for me to go to the fire academy, but that legacy he spoke of was a weighty thing, present at every family gathering, a continuing reminder of how I didn’t quite fit as a Murphy.

“And honestly, I was going to say baseball coach, which is likely as silly as thinking you’d be a firefighter.” He smiled. I didn’t. However, he continued, undeterred, “You always seemed a little older, quieter than the kids on your team, but you had a good grasp of the game. There’s this natural kindness to you as well. And for all your math scores never showed it, you could spit out stats like nobody’s business.”

“A coach?” I made a sour face, deliberately ignoring his compliments as they made me more than a little itchy. I wasn’t sure I saw myself as kind. I was trying, like when I did nice things for Jonas, but Dad seemed to have a better opinion of me than I did. “I’m not good with kids.”

“Seriously? Eric’s teens adore you, you have tons of kid fans like at the movie night, and your cousins think you hung the moon.” Expression skeptical, Dad gestured to count off examples. “And someday, you’ll be a great dad.”

And there was the other heavy part of the Murphy legacy. No matter how much my dad and other family members complained, matchmaking was in their blood. And once one ofthem found happiness, they wanted that for everyone else. Not to mention the family’s ever-growing size and love of grandkids and cousins.

“Not sure about that either.” My tone was guarded, but as usual, Dad didn’t pick up on the subtext.

“Maybe after racing?” he suggested, oblivious to the gnarly section of track he was wandering into. “Much as you like to fight it, it’s a young man’s sport.”

I made a pained noise. “Dad.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” He held up a hand. “I don’t have to like it, but I know you’re going to race as long as you can.” He used a resigned tone before softening. “I’m your dad. It’s my job to want to keep you safe, even as an adult.”

“You’re a good dad.” My voice came out sadder than intended. He was an excellent dad, and my chest clenched at how long it had taken me to acknowledge that. My demons were mine, not caused by him, but those beasts had certainly added to the distance and tension between us.

“And you would be a good dad too.” Not surprisingly, Dad misinterpreted my wistfulness. “The right person is out there?—”

“I’m queer.” Well, there it was, and after all these years, it was remarkably easy to say. I liked the word, which I’d picked up from Rowan and his colorful friend group. Trying to sort out whether gay, bi, pan, or some other label fit best was tiring. I’d had sex with women but had never felt the sort of emotional connection I did with Jonas. Demisexual was another term I’d picked up from Rowan and Jonas, but it wasn’t exactly accurate for me. Queer, though, worked. I wasn’t straight, and that was the point I wanted to make.

“Okay. This is unexpected.” Dad swallowed audibly followed by an impressive amount of blinking and deep breathing.

“Your food.” The waiter bailed Dad out as he delivered our food in what was either the world’s worst or best timing. I triednot to dwell on whether the waiter had heard us. Too late now, and Dad’s reaction was the one that truly mattered.

I took a small bite of burger simply to have something to do other than catalog the kitschy Portland-inspired decor while waiting for Dad to speak. And considering how talkative the man usually was, his quiet deliberation made my back tense and my feet dig into the hardwood floor.

“I guess what I want to say first is that I love you,” Dad said at last. “I’ve always loved you, and this news doesn’t affect that one bit. But why… I’m sorry.” He shook his head as if he’d changed his mind about something. “Sorry. It’s not my place to question your timing.”

“But you’d like to.” It wasn’t a question as the confusion on Dad’s face was answer enough.

“Well, I always thought you knew this was the sort of thing you could come to your mom and me with.” Totally ignoring his food, Dad quirked his mouth. “And then I came out, so you had to know…” Sighing, he trailed off.

“I was so angry when you came out,” I admitted. I didn’t like to think about that day, how stunned I’d felt, almost physically ill. “I reacted badly, and I apologize for that.”

“Why were you angry at me?” he asked in a low, pained voice. Two bright-red splotches appeared on Dad’s cheeks.

“Not atyou. At the irony.” I met his gaze even though the hurt there made my stomach clench. “I’d obsessed about who to tell and what to say for years, and you just go and come out, boom, done. And everyone’s fine about it. You made it look so simple.”

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