Page 29 of Beyond the Stix

“Don’t say sorry.” I point to the box. “What’s this?”

He takes a shuddering breath. “Something I gave my father a long time ago, and he kept it to give back to me.” He then raiseshis hand, the one still holding onto the paper. “He wrote me two letters, but I have only read this one so far.”

“I’m assuming it’s good news,” I say, as he smiles at me, and the tension in my chest loosens.

Connor nods. “He wrote that he loved me and that I’m the best drummer he knows, but he encouraged me to be even better and gobeyond the stix, and he spells ‘sticks’ with an x.” Connor chuckles, carefully folding the letter like it’s precious.

“Beyond the stix?” I ask, not understanding the meaning.

“He used to tell me that it takes more than banging the drum to make life happen, and that I have to be a good person, too.” Connor shakes his head and chuckles again. “Beyond the stix.”

“Ah, I get it now,” I say. “It’s kind of poetic, really.”

“That’s my father for ya. But…” he begins to say, then stalls as he glances between the letter in his hand and the other one sitting on the coffee table. His brows furrow and then his mouth clamps tight, like he’s wanting to say something but jails the words away behind his lips.

“What is it?” I encourage, and follow his gaze to the other envelope.

“I’m afraid to read what’s inside the other one,” he admits as he places the first letter back in the envelope and then in the box.

“You won’t know unless you open it.”

“It’s dated three months after our fight,” he says, picking up the sealed envelope and slowly peeling back the flap.

Connor takes out the letter and begins reading it in silence. The hitch in his breathing has me on immediate alert. “What does it say?”

It can’t be good like the first letter since he’s crushing the paper between his fingers.

With wide, watery eyes, like he can’t believe what he read, he explains, “It’s a confession. He wrote that it was his fault for keeping my Uncle Jessup away. Dad thought since Jessup wasgay, and I loved hanging out with my uncle all the time, that I’d turn gay, too.” Connor begins to chuckle. “After I came out in the seventh grade, my father realized that being gay wasn’t some disease of the mind. Or that it was a choice I made. The man knew the hard struggle I went through that year, finally admitting that I liked boys instead of girls.”

“Jesus,” I utter. “What did they do when you told them?”

“I blurted it out during Sunday breakfast, before we went to church. Danny was there. He knew I was going to tell them, so he slept over to lend his support.”

“And?”

Connor smiles wide. “They both looked at each other for a long moment. Then they got up, came around the table, and hugged me for a long time. Neither one of them said one negative word.” Then his smile drops. “Seven months ago, we argued about the Denver concert tickets I gave to my parents. Dad wanted to bring my uncle instead of my mom. He was insistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer. So I told him I didn’t want to be a part of his life if he chose my uncle instead of me, and then I hung up. What kind of an asshole son am I to tell my dad I didn’t want anything to do with him?” He shakes his head, staring back down at the crumpled letter.

“You can’t blame yourself for feeling like that,” I say, trying to ease the torture I see in his green eyes. I reach over and grip his hand. “I’m telling you, your father loved you. The proof is in those letters and on the wall.” I point to the envelopes and the pictures on the wall around me.

“Yeah, I know. But can I forgive myself for being a petulant fuck?” He swallows hard, and a lone tear slips past the ridge of his lower lashes before Connor swipes it away like it was never there.

I eye the paper. “Tell me what really happened between you and your uncle,” I ask, shifting my gaze to Connor’s face.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers, slicing a wary look toward the hallway, where his mother’s room is located.

“Eventually you’ll need to, Connor.” I get up, moving to relinquish my hand from his, but he keeps a tight grip on mine.

“Not if I can help it,” he mumbles, but I hear every word.

When I came into the room, I had every intention of telling Connor about the conversation I had with his asshole uncle earlier today in the restroom. And also what Lee had found in Jessup’s past—which was nothing, except for a single misdemeanor at age twenty-nine, when he was in a bar fight with another guy over a woman. Otherwise, the man lives a boring life as a computer programmer.

I would have accepted Jessup’s humdrum life, but after learning that Jessup is gay, the bar fight over a woman has warning bells go off in my head. I need to tell Lee to keep digging.

Jessup might be a pretentious dick, and he probably thinks there’s nothing I can do to stop him from seeing his nephew again. But now, watching Connor break down, I vow to make sure Jessup doesn’t get near him.

Still, I need to tell Connor what I did, and insist that he tells me what he’s hiding about his uncle, but that conversation is delayed when his phone chimes with a call.

He quickly picks up the cell and pastes on a fake smile. “It’s Danny.” He taps on the screen and the lead singer’s voice is loud enough that I can hear it.