Page 214 of Captivated
“I did before, but now I see him with you?” Dad beamed. “You two are such a good fit.”
Nate knew that, balls to bones.
There was still an elephant in the room, and if his dad wasn’t going to bring it up…
“And you’re okay with him being?—”
“I know he’s older, Nate. Fifteen or so years, if I figured it right.”
“Sixteen, next month.”
Dad was quiet for a moment. “You remember asking me once if I’d ever felt something so huge that it overwhelmed me?”
He nodded. “You said you had—once. Then you showed me his photo.” He widened his eyes. “He was older than you.”
Dad smiled. “By more than a few years. His name was Enoch. He was a sweetheart of a guy, willing to do whatever to make people happy. Had a spine of steel, though. Never let them push him around. Anyway, I met Enoch when I was twenty-two. He was forty-six.”
“You said you regretted not telling him how you felt. Was it the age difference that made you scared to tell him?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe? His mom took ill, and he went to San Antonio to be with her. Having him there must have helped, because she bounced back.” He gazed at Nate with warm eyes. “The reason I’m telling you this is because I loved Enoch. Sometimes I wish I had gone with him when he asked, but I had a life in Idaho. A good life. Then eight years ago an eighteen-year-old bundle of joy walked into my life.”
Nate laughed. “That’s not how I’d describe me.”
Dad chuckled. “But I would. I don’t regret staying, because you’ve made my life richer, fuller. But age gaps? If you’re in tune and want the same things? They’re as strong as a mountain.”
His words brought renewed peace.
“Robert said you’re living in the cabin?”
“For the moment, yes. I don’t know if we’ll stay there, but for now, it works.” He gestured to Dad’s jeans and shirt. “No leather?” he teased.
Dad chuckled. “Tomorrow. I’ll be in full Dom mode then. I won’t ask you to visit the Leather Barn and see me in action, however. I know it’s not your kind of place.” He paused. “Look, Nate. I know you’ve never seen me when I’m here. If you’d like, I’m happy to just visit with you and?—”
“Dad,” Nate blurted. “I’m going to be here from now on. You can’t change your entire life just to avoid me seeing you. I think you’ve already done enough to make me comfortable and happy. Now it’s your turn. Besides…” Nate fought the urge to laugh. “Imighthave visited the leather barn already.”
He blinked. “Oh really?”
That was as far as Nate was willing to go.
Time to change the subject.
“So what do you think about my idea for Zeeb to write a book?”
The silence that fell made his stomach churn.
“I get it, Nate. I really do.” Dad paused. “But are you sure this is the right move?” He held his hands up. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t tell your story, but this is a big step. If you do this thing, and you publish it, people are going to read it.”
“That’s sort of the idea,” Nate quipped, despite his roiling stomach.
“People are going to have opinions,” Dad continued. “And not all of them are going to be kind.”
Nate rolled his beer bottle between his palms, then met Dad’s gaze.
“I know. I’ve thought about it a lot. But that’s exactly why I have to do it. If my dad—ifCaleb—is out there telling everyone that conversion therapy ‘worked’ on me, that it saved me, how could I let that stand? How could I let him paint this picture of me that’s so… wrong?” He swallowed. “I have to set the record straight. Not for him, but for me. For all the other kids who are going to go through what I did.”
Dad nodded. “I get why this feels like the right thing to do. But Nate… I know how much you’ve struggled with all of this. How hard it’s been for you to even talk about it. Writing it all down, putting it out there… It’s going to stir up a lot of stuff. I’m just worried it’ll pull you back into some of that darkness.”
“I don’t think it will, Dad.Ithink it’ll set me free. I’ve carried this thing around for so long, trying to bury it, trying to pretend it didn’t happen. But it did. And ifhegets to tellhisstory to the whole world, I deserve the chance to tell mine too.” He scowled. “My story isn’t his to tell. It’s mine.”
