Page 46 of Forever Mine
Chapter Thirteen
ELIJAH
“Son.”
I must have zoned out, and I blink back to reality only to notice we’re standing in my dorm’s parking lot next to Dad’s truck.
“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”
After dinner, Julien reluctantly went back to the condo, Ash went to meet up with Mei, and Fallon left to do… whatever the hell Fallon does. Wanting more time with Dad before he headed home, we decided to go for a nighttime walk around campus. We weren’t the only ones. A ton of people were out strolling the main quad and enjoying the last night of summer freedom.
“Sorry,” I reply. My thoughts have been preoccupied with Julien and the big question I’ve been building the courage to ask Dad. “What were we talking about?”
“Elizabeth.”
Not the most fun topic of conversation, but I wanted to fill him in on everything without Julien around.
“The lead detective is going to want to talk to her,” he continues, then narrows his sheriff’s eyes at me. Not “Dad” eyes, but the interrogation look he gets when he’s in “cop” mode. “What’s going on with you? You were quiet all through dinner.”
I shrug. “Just got some stuff on my mind.”
“Are you upset about your mother?”
“What? No,” I swiftly reply, needing to knock that worry away as quickly as possible.
I’m bummed that I didn’t get to see April today, but I honestly don’t give a shit about my mother or what she does. Not anymore.
“It’s just that…” I pop the tailgate and hop up to sit on the bed, listlessly dangling my legs over the side as I prop back on my hands—which are sweaty. Not humidity sweat but nervous, flop sweat. Still gross. Sitting up, I wipe them dry on my shorts, then clasp them together on my lap. “Can I, uh… can I talk to you about something?”
Dad comes around and plants himself in front of me. The colored light from a nearby police call box makes the right side of his face blue. He looks like William Wallace in that battle scene fromBraveheart.
Dad tenderly cups my cheek in his burly palm, and my head unconsciously tilts, seeking the paternal warmth of his hand. In a lot of ways, and mostly because of his profession, he’s a gruff man who doesn’t show a lot of emotion. But not with me. Dad wears his love for me openly and isn’t afraid to show it to anyone. He’s never once looked at or treated me differently because I was his “gay son.” I’m just his son. Period.
“Talk to me, Elijah. No matter what it is, you can tell me.”
I know I can. Doesn’t stop the flurry of anxiety from taking root.
“I want your blessing.”
His hand drops from my cheek to my shoulder. “Alright. For what exactly?”
“To ask Julien to marry me.”
I anxiously wait for his response as my heartbeat thunders off every second with loudboom-boom-booms. Dad is one of a handful of people I trust implicitly and whose opinion matters. If he says no, it’s going to break my fucking heart. I’ve never gone against his wishes, not once in all my life, but I will. I know what I want. It’s always been Julien.
He scratches his short beard, and a smile plays across his lips. “Aren’t you supposed to ask the father of the groom that question?”
Am I? I’m winging it here. I have no idea how this shit works, or what I’m supposed to do or not do, or what protocol to follow other than the one my heart dictates.
The back of the truck bounces when he sits down beside me. One thick muscled arm curves around my shoulders, and I lean into him, resting my head against the apple of his shoulder. Dad’s familiar cologne is another comfort. When I was younger and would come home from school with bruises and black eyes that Marshall gave me, the one thing I remember most is how Dad’s shirts smelled like vanilla and citrus when he would hold me as I cried.
He rubs a hand up and down my arm as we sit in silence and listen to the muffled noises that carry across the parking lot from the dorms.
“You’re only nineteen.”
Nineteen going on twenty actually.
“I love him. He’s it for me,” I reply.
