The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,67
his fears of speaking in front of others, but then the bullies had teased him for a different reason, labeling him effeminate and worse.
He hadn’t told his dad any of it. What would be the point, when Garth already saw him as a failure anyway? Not by his grades; the only time his dad vaguely looked at him with pride was twice a year, when the end of semester brought reports. Rory had always killed it with straight As because he had half a brain in his head, particularly for figures, and spent more time studying than most because he didn’t have any friends. His dad had been mighty impressed when he’d chosen to major in economics; less so when he turned his back on a lucrative career in business to tumble around a movie set instead.
As he rang the doorbell, Rory wondered what his dad would make of his impending fatherhood. Not that he’d tell him now, but he knew Garth would view it as yet another disappointment.
A housekeeper he didn’t recognize opened the door, a woman of about sixty wearing a plain black dress and her blond-turning-silver hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. “You must be Rory. I’m Bertha.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m here to see my dad.”
“He’s been called away on business, but he asked you to wait for him.” She opened the door wide. “Come in. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine,” he said, clamping down on a flash of indignation. Why hadn’t dear old dad sent a text or called him to let him know about the change of plans? They could’ve canceled this catch-up today and rescheduled. He hated having to wait around like his time wasn’t as important as his dad’s.
“I’m in the kitchen doing an online grocery order if you need anything,” she said, closing the door. “You know your way around.”
She left him standing in the marble-tiled hallway, feeling like a stranger in what had once been his home. Not that it felt like one. Too many pristine glass surfaces and shiny floors. He’d hated having to take his shoes off at the front door before he came in, in case a speck of mud dotted the floor. And that had been just one of the many rules he’d had to live by.
Always sit at the table for dinner, even if his dad never spoke to him. No screens after nine p.m., including TV, computer, cell, and laptop. No mixing with the scholarship kids. No social media profiles that could reflect badly on him. Lights out at ten, unless he had tests and had to study. No going out on school nights, which was ironic, as he’d have to have friends to do that. On and on, a long list he’d hated almost as much as the fraught silences whenever he was with his dad.
He often wondered why Garth didn’t ship him off to boarding school. Would’ve made their lives a hell of a lot easier. Instead, they’d coexisted in this mausoleum of a house, tolerating each other with frosty silences.
He paced the hallway a few times, tempted to slip away. He could text his dad with the same excuse Garth had used, “called away on business.” Glancing at his watch, he decided to give him another fifteen minutes before heading off.
He strolled into the library, a large room where his dad did the bulk of his work behind a monstrous mahogany desk, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling matching shelves filled with law texts and classics. No commercial fiction for Dad.
As always, whenever he entered this room, his gaze landed on the single framed photo on the wall near the door, the only space not covered by a bookshelf. It must’ve been taken when he was about one. His mom held him, and his parents were both resting their heads against his, wearing matching doting smiles.
After his mom left, this photo had given him hope: that she’d come back, that she still loved him despite her absence, that his dad actually cared. But as the years went by, she never returned and his father grew more taciturn, leaving him to resent the faux image of a happy family.
However, seeing the photo now made a tiny bud of hope unfurl in his chest. Maybe he could be a good dad, one who looked at his kid like that until he was old?
Buoyed by an uncharacteristic surge of nostalgia, he headed for the one place he might find some of his baby things: the