Rough Canvas by Joey W. Hill Read Free Book Online Page A

the syllables.
    “That’s up to your son to decide. If he needs me, I’m here for him. It’s between the two of us, not you.”
    “You’re just manipulating him for your own purposes.”
    “Manipulating? That’s a pretty big word for around here. You must be filling up your lonely evenings with extra courses at the community college.”
    Okay, that was petty and downright cruel. Thomas was going to kill him. It was past time to get out of here.
    “You think you have us all figured out, don’t you?” Elaine squared her shoulders, not even swiping at the tears that had fought past her restraint and spilled onto her cheeks. “Narrow-minded, ignorant backwoods country people who pound their Bibles.
    Well, I’ve raised children long enough to recognize one with a chip on his shoulder I didn’t put there. You think twice before you use this family as the whipping post for your past, and sacrifice my son on the altar of your demons.”
    Marcus stopped, his hand on the car door. He increased his grip, holding himself where he was instead of lashing out at her as he wished to do.
    “Why is it so fucking difficult for you to love him as he is?”
    “I do love my son. How dare you—”
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    Joey W. Hill
    “No, you don’t.” He cut across her. “You love what you want him to be, something you want so much you’ve convinced yourself it is him. He senses it, knows it, and so he’ll spend his entire life here, trying to be everything he thinks you want him to be and nothing that he is.”
    “Aren’t you doing the same thing?” she shot back. “Don’t you love him only for
    what you want him to be?”
    He inclined his head, flashed his teeth. “I want him to have it all, everything his talent deserves, every dream he’s ever had. I want to see it happen for him.”
    All I ever wanted was…him.
    To hell with it. He shouldn’t be doing and saying things she had no way of
    comprehending, things that would just feed her revulsion and fear of who and what he was, but he was weary of anger. He stared down at his own reflection in the window, spoke to it instead of her.
    “When he was living with me, there was one night… I couldn’t sleep. I got some
    wine, came back and leaned against the bedroom door. There he was, asleep, the
    moonlight on every inch of him.” Every perfect naked inch.
    When he turned his head, from the color in her face, he knew he’d made that clear enough, but he had no intention of stopping now.
    “Those incredibly talented fingers were on my pillow. He did that whenever I got up at night, to know when I came back. I looked at him and I couldn’t speak, couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t even move.”
    He made a fist, pressed it against his chest. “I wanted everything for him. I wanted to see him achieve every dream, embrace every desire. I wanted to protect him from anyone who would cause him harm or a moment’s pain, tear them apart with my bare hands. Never let him out of my sight, even as I wanted him to stretch out his wings as far as they could go and soar. And at the bottom, top and middle of it all, I just wanted to stand there, just that way forever. Not disturb him. Just look at him and love him. Do nothing but simply love him for everything he is, a creation too perfect to be anything but God’s gift to the rest of us.”
    He straightened. “You may recognize my ‘chip’, but you don’t know what that chip made me. Don’t you ever assume you fucking know who I am.”
    Getting into the car, he slammed the door and left her standing on the side of the road. Her face was in her hands, her shoulders shaking. His gut was in a hard aching ball. No wonder Thomas was probably getting an ulcer. But even as he thought it, he couldn’t ignore the way it felt, leaving her like that. He was a bastard. A selfish bastard.
    Just as she said. Just as Thomas had said.
    You don’t know him the way you think you do…
    “Want to bet?” he muttered grimly. You have no idea.
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    Rough