BRUISED LOVE

Maverick's Pov

(Three Years Ago)

I shouldn’t have gotten so nervous. It was ultimately of no use.

David’s hand brushed mine as we stood outside the dining room door, and he gave me that small, soft smile that always told me I wasn’t alone. Something in me had felt hopeful. Brave, even. I smiled back.

Mom had always wanted me to tell my dad. She said he would come around someday.

She wasn't here anymore.

While nothing about the man sitting behind that shiny oak table ever looked like ‘coming around’, still… I wanted him to know. I wanted some sort of honesty between us, maybe to try and build something in the gap Mom had left behind.

And I wanted him to be proud. Because I wasn’t confused anymore

I led David into the room.

Dad didn’t look up immediately. He finished scribbling something on one of his papers before glancing over his glasses at us. He looked tired, irritated, bored— his usual trifecta of emotions.

“Evening,” he said, the word clipped but polite enough. “You must be… David.”

He must, because I had told him he was coming. And I’d said it in a way that hinted at who David was to me, although I don’t think he caught it.

“Yes, sir.” David smiled in that bright, open way he had as he walked up to offer his hand like I’d told him. “Nice to meet you.”

My father revived his handshake firmly, then sat back down. “Welcome. Please, sit.”

For a moment, everything felt surprisingly normal. We sat around the long dining table, candles lit, silverware gleaming, the help sliding dishes in front of us like ghosts. If you didn’t know better, you’d think we were just another well-adjusted Manhattan family.

My father cleared his throat.

"So," he continued, curiosity joining the mix, "how long have you and David been friends?"

The word ‘friends’ slid across the table like a lifeboat to a drowning man at sea. David shifted slightly, waiting for me. I swallowed. For a moment, I nearly caved. Because if I did this, there would be no going back.

But I didn’t take it.

“Dad… he’s not my friend.”

My father lifted a brow, a smile tugging at his mouth, still oblivious. “Ah. Teammates, then? Do you boys play ball together? Or is this a high school thing? Classmates?”

“No,” I said again, slower this time. “He’s not my teammate, or my classmate, or my friend.”

I could see the confusion in my father’s forehead, his mind having ruled out all the possibilities. My heart raced so loudly that it almost drowned out my voice when I said, “He’s my boyfriend.”

The smile froze on my father’s face. It didn’t fall, didn’t disappear or bleed away — it froze. Like he was trying to decide if he heard me correctly or if his brain needed to reboot.

“What,” he asked flatly, “did you just say?”

David tensed up beside me. I forced myself to hold my father's stare. “He’s my boyfriend,” I repeated. “Dad, I’m gay.”

Silence.

A heavy, stifling silence.

Then, my father jerked his hand in a sudden, swift motion. The coffee cup he'd been holding slipped, crashed onto the floor, and shattered.

A maid rushed forward instantly, but my father raised a hand without even looking at her because his gaze was on me. “I’ll call you if I need you,” he replied coldly.

She bowed slightly and, picking her way through the shards and spilled coffee, left the room completely. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and… burst out laughing.

Actually laughed.

“Best prank you’ve tried in a while, Maverick,” he said, wiping a tear of amusement from the corner of his eye. “I’m not falling for that nonsense.”

In that moment I think he didn’t fully believe it but still he was giving me an out; a way to back up and we could continue just as we were.

But we couldn’t.

“It’s not a prank,” I sighed, resignedly.

His laughter cut off like a switch was flipped. His gaze sharpened, moving slowly from me to David and back again. “What?”

My stomach twisted. He was giving me one last chance, I knew it. But I’d already decided.

“Dad it’s not a prank, I’m—”

“You will not say that again.” His voice dropped, low and lethal. “You will focus on your studies, in that school I pay stupid money for and one day bring home a wife. Not whatever the hell this is.”

David took a soft, almost silent breath. Up until now, he must have been holding his breath.

The sound was like a lit match, and anger flared hot in my chest. “Whatever the hell this is?” I shot back. “My life? This is my life!”

"I don't want to hear about this," he barked. "Enough."

“Why not?” I demanded. “Mom knew. She accepted me. She didn’t judge me. Why are you—”

“Your mother is dead,” he snapped, and it's true but I rear back at the venom in his voice, as though that fact negates anything she could have thought.

“And I have built a reputation over twenty-five years. I have investors, shareholders, business partners— men with families, men with expectations, good men! And you expect me to parade around with a son who— who tangles with his own gender?”

My stomach knotted as I watched my father get red in the face as he yelled. David shifted, voice careful but calm. “Sir, I understand this may be—”

“You fucking stay out of this,” my father barked.

David stopped, leaning back into his chair. I gritted my teeth, as my father's gaze swiveled back to me. His chest heaved and now, he looked at me as if he was thinking of how to rid me of a great evil.

“You’re ashamed of me now.” It's almost a whisper but I might as well have screamed it in the tense silence of the dining room.

He didn’t deny it. That hurt more than anything. I hadn't even processed it yet, but he didn't care because he continued, twisting a knife deeper in my chest.

“I have responsibilities, Maverick. I have a company, and… and another family to think about now too.”