GAR
Gar cleared his throat. His father had said something kind. Something loving. And he would cherish it. But… but he needed time. "You can tell me, too," he said uncertainly. "I know I'm… I know I've hurt you too. I don't want to."
Reth nodded. "Thank you. I love you, too, Gar."
His father said those words often—so often when he was younger, Gar had stopped believing them. But for some reason, standing there in his kitchen, for the first time in years, they touched Gar right at his core.
His throat pinched and his eyes began to sting. He was forced to straighten and turn, rinsing out his glass and placing it in the deep sink to give himself a moment to bring himself back under control. He cleared his throat before he turned back to find his father had moved away, towards the couch.
His father looked back at him carefully. "Why don't we sit down. I have a story to tell you that might help with your mate."
