Page 4 of Go Deep

And our little Beanie girl was also killed by a teenaged kid driving down our street like a lunatic, showing off for his friends.

A lump forms in my throat.

Beanie. I miss her so much.

Fuck, I miss everything. And I hate that I’m the only one who does.

“Dad! There she is!”

Tires screech against the pavement next to me. I look up. A young boy jumps out of the back seat of a navy blue sedan and runs over to us. He throws his arms around Daisy’s neck.

“We found you, girl.” He looks up at me. “She slipped out of her leash and took off. We’ve been driving down every street to find her.”

I ruffle her ears. “She’s a really special dog. Keep her safe, okay? You want to protect her, right?”

The boy nods. “Yeah. I will.”

“You can let her go now. We’re just fine.” A man stops next to his son and Daisy. He pulls his son to his feet. “Come on, Kyle.”

I recoil at the heat of his glare on me. “A thank you would be nice considering I stopped her from getting farther away from you.”

“Yeah, well, nobody asked for your help.” He tugs Kyle away after he secures the leash on Daisy. Then he turns back to look at me once I’ve straightened up. “You know, I was a big fan of yours.Wasa big fan.”

The man twists around and helps Kyle and Daisy into thecar. Then with one last look of disgust laser focused on me, he gets into his car and zooms down the street.

What thefuck?

I swallow the words searing the tip of my tongue because what good would it do? He’s made up his mind about me. And it’s clear he’ll be raising his kid to be an ignorant, intolerant bigot just like him.

Anger bubbles in my chest, tearing open wounds that I’m convinced will never heal. I knew reactions like his would be flung my way once I came out. I had to accept it in exchange for my honesty, but each time I’m faced with the hatred and the blatant rejection, it stings worse than a hive full of wasps.

I’m finally living my dream, something Dad always wanted for me, and he wouldn’t even share in it after he found out I was gay. That was the most painful kind of rejection imaginable.

How the hell could he have gone from being my biggest supporter — always at every football game and practice, cheering me on, the loudest in the stands, beaming with pride when I was drafted by the Crusaders — to a man who wouldn’t even acknowledge me until it was almost too late?

The air around me is thick with humidity, making each breath harder to choke down. Dad died, and I’m the one who has to deal with the aftermath of painful memories that slice at my heart like the jagged edge of a knife. But that’s not all he left behind. Thanks to his genetics, the threat of the same diagnosis looms over me like a toxic cloud that can snuff out my life like a candle in the wind.

How ironic that I’m rushing to a meeting to discuss my financial future instead of to a neurologist to see if I even need a financial future.

Maybe it’s time to find out how much of a future I’ll actually have.

Some scotch might help make that decision. Later, once the civilized world starts day drinking.

Right at this moment, I’m not ready to find out. And I’m sure as hell not about to sacrifice what’s left of my career because of it.

Besides, I still have to figure out how to resuscitate my investment portfolio.

I use the back of my hand to wipe the sweat beads from my forehead. The morning sun peeks over the tops of the buildings, casting just enough of a glow that I need to squint at the numbers on top of the revolving glass doors when I reach my location.

I gaze up at the tall building. It’s got a modern feel with sleek lines, chrome walls, and a lot of windows. A rush of cool air greets me as I head into the airy lobby. Not that there is a chance in hell the sweat stains will be erased by one quick blast.

Why the hell did I decide to walk from my condo in Queensgate to the Central Business District, anyway? Trying to be healthy?

Yeah, like that ship hasn’t already sailed.

At least I can actually breathe now. I stab the Up button at the elevator bank, and after what feels like a million years, the doors finally open, revealing an empty enclosure, frigid as an igloo. Thank God.

The cables creak as the elevator makes its way to the twelfth floor. I step out, grateful for my life. Well, whatever I have left of it, anyway.

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