lot of people know this, but my parents are politicians. Harlow is my grandmother’s maiden name. I had it changed legally when I turned eighteen. My family name is Clark. The name I was given at birth was Fitz Martin Clark.”
Jack frowned. “Martin Clark?” Realization dawned, and his eyebrows shot up. “As in former Senator Martin Clark?”
Fitz waited for Jack’s shock to wear off. Would it be replaced by contempt or pity? Possibly offense for not being told sooner, or anger that his father had not only been a huge anti-LGBT figure, but one who didn’t support military vets because he believed it was an honor to serve their country and they “knew what they were getting into.” God, Fitz hated the man, and he could count on one hand the number of things or people he hated.
Jack’s expression softened. He stood and moved his chair in front of Fitz’s as he took Fitz’s hand in his. “That must have been difficult for you. Growing up around a man like that.”
Fitz swallowed hard. Rumors of his father’s explosive temper and anger issues had been grossly understated. His father was a vile man, and Fitz never regretted walking away.
“As you can imagine, my coming out was very inconvenient for his political career, what with him so vehemently condemning ‘the fags.’ He loved to throw that word around. I heard it so much growing up I wondered if he got paid for every time he said it. My parents both knew, they just chose to ignore it by pushing girls at me, telling their friends my affinity for wearing eyeshadow or lip gloss was part of my ‘rebellious phase.’ They made me join sports leagues in school because if you played sports you couldn’t be gay, right?” Fitz snorted.
“You would have thought that seeing the baseball jersey I wore during my first game, with the words I love cock bedazzled on the back, would have given them a clue, and yet?” He shrugged, doing his best not to touch his cheek. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the pain in his jaw after his father backhanded him. “I actually enjoyed playing sports, but none more than the sport of pissing off my father.”
Jack’s gaze turned hard. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”
“I always paid for my ‘defiance,’ but I felt it was worth it. After a while I turned it into a game. I’d come up with the most outlandish excuses for my bruises or broken bones, each one grander than the one before. Everything from my wrestling an anaconda to getting into a fight with a little old lady over the last packet of Werther’s Original.”
“And no one said anything?”
“Against my father? It was easier to believe the lie and pretend everything was as he said it was. We were the perfect American family. Like every other politician worth his salt, he manipulated the public’s perception of us. I was a talented theater student, artistic and dramatic. I was going to be famous one day. Dramatic, I was, but I had no interest in theater unless it was of my own making. If my father hated gays, hated me, I was going to be the gayest gay to ever gay.”
The year leading up to his high school graduation had been the worst of his life, but Fitz had been born a stubborn little shit with the soul of a diva and the ferocity of a fucking wolverine—and not the sexy Hugh Jackman kind.
“They made my life miserable, so I returned the favor. Every night for dinner I dressed like a different old Hollywood actress—Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Katharine Hepburn, Joan Crawford… That’s when I realized I wanted to be a hairstylist. I’d sit for hours, watching old movies and doing my hair just like they did for those gorgeous women. I discovered I had a talent for it, and I loved getting lost in the process, in getting every hair just so. I turned eighteen election week, so I waited until my parents’ friends were gathered in the living room, sashayed my ass in there dressed in all my Hollywood starlet glory, and said, ‘I’m gay, I’m leaving forever, fuck you very much.’ I walked out of there and never looked back. Happiest day of my adult life.”
Jack placed a kiss on Fitz’s palm. “I’m so sorry you went through all that, sweetheart. You’re so damned brave.”
“Me? You’re the one who put your life on the line every day,