When his phone buzzed, he instantly swiped away from the dog photo to the chain of messages he’d sent since yesterday, but there was no response from his man, and the notification had just been a prompt for him to continue his Latin lessons on Duolingo.
Ros groaned and put a pillow over his face to silence his scream.
He’d fucked up. Shane was no angel and had crossed the line when he tried to push Ros into doing the recording, but Ros shared the blame for how that interaction had spun off the rails. Fucking electrician. Why had he said that? He’d needed to come up with something, but the way Shane had stared at him in that moment could have frozen a man to death. Why couldn’t he have stayed in the room like Ros had asked him to?
He flinched when a loud knock disturbed the peace of his room.
Father. Only he would have banged on his door in a way so demanding and then walked in before Ros could have decided how to respond. Dressed in a woolen waistcoat over a black shirt, and his best glasses, his father looked ready to have festive pictures taken, for everyone to see what a happy life he led with his family.
It didn’t matter that in reality, the temperature of their relationship was closer to freezing than familial warmth when a bit of photoshop could tweak the colors and create the image of domestic bliss.
At least Dad hadn’t invited a professional photographer this time.
“Why are you hiding in your room? I know Jessica’s helping in the kitchen, but you should pay her some attention. You’re being rude.”
Ros dragged himself up to sit on the bed. He’d even complied with the boring dress code of a light blue shirt and khakis, so Dad would leave him alone, but that sacrifice hadn’t been enough.
“What kind of attention should I pay her? I don’t know her.” Ros knew exactly what was expected of him, but he disagreed with this attempt to make him interact with the kind of girl he ought to be dating and wouldn’t do it without prompting.
Dad stared at him for several seconds before speaking in a softer tone, as if he were worried they might end up being overheard. “Your mother raised you really badly if you don’t know that if there’s a single lady in the home, the young single man should entertain her, not play games on his cell phone! Lisa invited her over because her whole family’s away, and you are neglecting her!”
What Dad really wanted was to pair Ros with the pretty brunette in a perfectly conservative sweater and knee-high boots that made her fit right into Instagram’s #ILoveFall. There was nothing wrong with Jessica, but he was gay, and what he wanted was for Shane to text him back, then fuck his brains out, not sample pumpkin spice lattes with a girl he didn’t know.
“How do you know Shane?” he asked, wanting to divert Dad’s attention to the topic he was actually interested in. Something had been off in yesterday’s conversation, and Ros could smell it from a mile away, but Dad wouldn’t let him get a word in, instead ranting about Shane being “scum” and “inappropriate company”.
“Oh, so he has a name?” Dad snapped despite having ignored that topic since their arrival last night.
Ros got to his feet because he would not have this conversation with Dad looking down at him. “He introduced himself. What I don’t understand is how you know he’s an ex-con.”
Father took a deep breath, but his body remained tense, as if he were a predator gathering the energy for an attack, which was particularly jarring in the large bedroom that was still decorated with reproductions of Ros’s favorite paintings. “I know him because he hit a pedestrian while driving my car. The question is, why is he hovering around you?”
Ros stared at him, going hot and cold at the same time. Shane hadn’t disclosed why he’d served time despite claiming he had been falsely convicted, and Ros hadn’t pried.
“What? How did that happen?” Ros crossed his arms over his chest with a frown.
“Why the hell would that matter to you? Why was he in the frat house, Rosen?” Dad snapped, his round face turning purple.
The hurt that had passed over Shane’s face yesterday kept away the reflexive need to lie. “We’re kinda friends, okay? I didn’t want to say because I knew you’d have a problem with it! And you should be happy I want to know your side of the story.”
“My side of the story? Whatever he told you is lies! I should have never even looked at him, and paying him to drive me home had been the worst error of judgment in my life, but that poor woman’s death is still partially on my conscience. It’s a cross I need to bear, but I will not let you be anywhere around that piece of trash!”