A Helping Hand Chapter 8 (Patreon)

All characters engaged in sexual activity are 18 or older.

The Uber driver pulls up right in front of the restaurant, and an attendant opens my door before I can even reach for the handle. I thank the guy and smooth down my shirt, which keeps getting messed up thanks to the damn sling. The facade of the restaurant is dark, sophisticated, but also imposing. I wait my turn in line, and by the time I reach the front, I’m sweating through my shirt. 

“Ah, you must be Mr. Monroe.” The maitre d’ smiles at me politely, eyeing my sling and cast. He’s a handsome man, probably in his forties; his salt and pepper hair and a three-piece suit tie together a distinguished look. “Your parents informed me of your injury. Please allow my colleague to show you to your table.” 

The restaurant is dimly lit by elegant chandeliers that light the way as I follow a server who’s dressed nicer than I am. Patrons chatter softly at their tables, most much older than me, but there’s some younger couples on dates as well, gazing lovingly at each other. 

I wonder what Dean is doing right now. The game should have started a while ago, but I wasn’t able to watch since I had to get ready to come here. Unfortunately, that took a lot longer since Dean wasn’t around to help. 

I wish I could be there with them—with him—instead, I’m stuck at this stuffy restaurant. The server finally slows down, and I spot my parents sitting at a corner table. Mom’s looking at the menu while Dad scrolls away on his phone, probably checking the score. 

I thank the server and take a seat across from them. “Mom. Dad. It’s good to see you.” 

Mom’s eyes light up, and she reaches across the table to take my hand into hers. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s good to see you too. How is your arm feeling?” 

“I’m okay, it still hurts sometimes, but the medication helps,” I say with a smile. She’s been calling me at least once a day to check on me, and I know she texts Dean every day as well. 

“Well, are you eating enough? Do you need us to get you anything? Should we hire someone to help around the apartment?” 

I chuckle. “I’m okay, Mom, really. Dean has been a huge help with pretty much everything. I don’t know how I would have survived without him. He’s even been cooking for me and helps me get ready in the morning.” 

Mom looks impressed, but before she can say anything, Dad leans back in his chair and sneers. “That’s not surprising to hear.” 

I blink at him. “Uh, what do you mean?”

Dad scoffs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Please, I’m not surprised that queer is hanging all over you. You getting hurt was probably the best thing that could have happened to him. Now he gets to be the hero and try to seduce you.” 

My pulse quickens to where I can hear it pounding in my ears, and a warm flush creeps over me while my breathing turns shallow. I grab the cool glass of water in front of me with a shaky hand and take a small sip. Then another one. Then another. Until I’m gulping the entire thing down, trying desperately to drown the panic and fury that threatens to erupt like a volcano. 

Dad has always been the conservative type, but he’s never made a homophobic comment like that before. But I shouldn’t be surprised; it’s just one more thing in a long list of disappointing behaviors from someone who should be a father figure. 

I finally put the glass down, drained to the last drop, and rub circles around the rim. As much as I don’t want to, I meet his eyes. “I… I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Dean has been great.”

Dad’s sneer turns vicious. “Well, maybe that’s because you’re too stupid to see that he’s a fa—” 

“Good evening, are you ready to order, or would you like more time?” A server who wasn’t there a minute ago is looking down at my father with a frown. He’s young, probably around my age, maybe a little older. But the thing that catches my eye is a tiny rainbow flag pinned to his vest, just above his heart. 

“Uh…” Dad looks thrown, and it’s obvious that he’s looking at the pin as well. “We’ll all have the porchetta and a nice wine that pairs with it.” He hands his menu to the server and looks away uncomfortably. 

“Actually, I’ll have the salmon instead.” I give the server my best smile, and he responds in kind while Mom looks like she’s trying to figure out the best way to escape without being noticed. 

Dad grumbles something about them being everywhere just before the server takes the rest of the menus and shoots another glare in his direction. 

It’s quiet for a while after that, but eventually Mom asks about my professors and how I’m dealing with my assignments. And at the risk of another homophobic tirade from Dad, I tell her how Dean got me help with the disability office. Thankfully, he just shoots me a glare but doesn’t say anything.  

Eventually the food arrives, and the server flashes a sympathetic smile that has me wondering if gaydar really is a thing, because it feels like he’s reading my mind right now. 

Unfortunately, Dad can’t help being an ass. “So you’re still out for half the season?”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes at him. “Yes, Dad. It hasn’t even been two weeks since I got hurt. I can’t force my body to heal faster.” 

Dad huffs, cutting into his food with more force than necessary. “Hmph. I played with a broken foot and a concussion during one of our Frozen Four games.” 

Mom glares at him. “You had a hairline fracture, and the doctors and your coach told you to sit it out, but you refused... In fact, I remember you were off your feet for weeks after that game.”

Dad waves his hand dismissively like the details don’t matter. “We still won, though. That’s what matters. I put the needs of my team above my own interests.” 

It’s my turn to glare at him. “Well, even if I wanted to, I don’t have much of a choice. Coach won’t let me play until I get the all clear from the doctor.” 

“This generation is too soft. You’re all a bunch of pansies. You wouldn’t have survived in the NHL when I was playing. It’s a damn shame things have changed so much.” 

I clench my knife and take deep breaths. Clearly, this conversation is going nowhere fast. So I decide to grit through the meal instead. 

Before tonight, I wasn’t sure what to tell my parents about Dean and me. Not without an official label. But now I’m not even sure I can tell them I like guys. Not with the way Dad showed his true colors tonight.