“Some of it,” he answers carefully, as if he’s concerned it’s the nitty-gritty story I’m after.
I’m done. I slap the table. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions for you. Right now, I want… I don’t know.”
“Whatever you need. I’m always here for you.”
And that right there is one of the only truths that matters. “You’re one of the few people who’ve always been there for me, Rock. I don’t think I’ve ever really thanked you for that.”
“You don’t have to thank me for anything. I’m proud to have you as my son. You need to know that. So whenever, if ever, you want to tell anyone and go public—I’m leaving it up to you.”
That’s an awfully big decision with many possible consequences that he’s thrown in my lap.
Go public.
An uncomfortable sensation crawls over my skin. No one can know about this. For now, the truth about my paternity needs to remain a secret.
But in the back of my mind a red warning light blinks.
Secrets always have an expiration date.