Page 111 of I Blame the Club

My spine stiffens, “I need to talk to you now.”

“Quit being a nuisance, Maurice. I’m working.” He scowls at the computer, the prominent frown line the same one I’ve seen in the mirror too many times.

“It’s 10 PM.”

Jonathan lifts a brow, “And yet you were able to contact Johnson and get him to fly you out here. Guess working through the night is not such a rare occurrence after all.”

My teeth grind together at his condescending tone, “He’s my uncle.”

“But still on my payroll.” He shoots me a pointed look, “Don’t make me ask again, Maurice.”

“I want to extend my part-time contract.”

That gets his attention.

Pushing the papers on his desk to the side, Jonathan leans back in his chair, displeasure etching through his features. Silence spans between us, my father assessing me from his position at his desk while I remain standing in the doorway.

It’s poetic, really, looking at the ten feet of space separating us. In all the years that has passed since my mother died, Jonathan has yet to put in the effort to bridge the gap between us.

When it comes to my father’s priorities, work always comes first.

He tilts his head and the remnant rays of the sunset catch the silver streaks in his hair. The stretch of grey seems to have doubled in the last five years.

“Who is she?”

I frown, “I’m sorry?”

“Who. Is. She.” Dragging out the words, Jonathan pierces me with his stare, “The only reason you would want to extend your contract is because someone changed your mind.”

I exhale slowly, “My decision is not made on behalf of someone else. I’ve come to realize coaching lacrosse is something I enjoy and I would like the opportunity to explore it further.”

He drums his fingers on the desk, his cold gaze never leaving mine, “But there is someone.”

“Yes.” I hold his gaze and push out the rest, “His name is Nico.”

I see the moment my words sink in. Like a vintage jukebox, every thought shuffles across my father’s face, his stoic expression ripping apart at the seams.

“I knew this would happen.” Jonathan hisses out a breath, “Your mother insisted you were just having a bit of fun at that gay club but I should have stopped that nonsense back in your freshman year.”

I blink, my world tilting on its axis, “You knew aboutLifestyle?”

“Of course I knew.” His fist slams on the desk, “Who do you think reviews your credit card statements, Maurice? Did you really think I would let the future head of this company out of my sight?”

He opens a drawer and throws a thick envelope on the desk.

“I know everything, Maurice. There is nothing and no one you’ve done that I don’t know about.” Jonathan lets out a bitter laugh, “I blame the club. Until then, you only ever fucked girls.”

I flinch, my mind whirling from the newfound information. My father knew about my sexuality all along. Mymotherknew and convinced him to let me explore.

My racing thoughts get caught off by Jonathan rounding the desk and closing the distance between us. His strong build,identical to my own, stalks across the hardwood and comes to a stop in front of me. I’ve got a couple inches on him, but that has never impeded his ability to look down on me.

“Listen to me.” His eyes narrow into slits, the expensive sleeves of his suit within touching distance, “You will come back to MacNeil Incorporated like we planned and you will terminate this ridiculous fling. The only reason I’m not cutting you off right now is because you have an appetite for both sexes, so we can chalk this up to a simple misguided phase.”

Matching his glare with one of my own, I hold my ground, “You would disown me for being homosexual?”

He scoffs, “Don’t play the pride card with me, Maurice. This isn’t about public image, this is about me not wanting a freak for a son. To think I wasted hours teaching you the nature of being a man when all along you were just looking for someone to bend over-

The punch sends him stumbling back, blood spurting from his nose. I calmly shake out my hand, my jaw clenched hard enough to break teeth.

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