Chapter 1

1

“Rory. Come with me.”

Immediately I heeded my grandfather’s directive. When he told you to do something, you did it. Not that he was a scary man. Far from it. Though he’d seen his eightieth birthday, John Cameron was still as strong and tall as an oak. Weathered by the years, yes, but sturdy and stalwart. He was the patriarch of our little family, and we always did what he said.

Because Grandda was always right.

My da, John Junior, caught my eye as I followed Grandda out of the room. He raised an eyebrow and jerked his head toward his father. I just shrugged. I had no idea what he wanted, but I wasn’t going to keep him waiting while I talked about it with Da. He caught my hand as I walked by and gave it a quick squeeze of support. My stomach clenched, and I suddenly felt like I was about to get in trouble.

All the way down the hall, I wracked my brain. I didn’t thinkI’d done anything to raise Grandda’s ire, but I couldn’t be sure. Sometimes something little would set him off, and one or all of us would be subject to a lecture—mild and softly spoken but a lecture nonetheless. Grandda never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. His disapproval alone was enough to make us rethink whatever we’d done or said.

Grandda was already sitting in his favorite leather chair when I stepped into the den. It was quiet. Only the ticking of the clock on the mantel broke up the silence. Everyone else was in the living room, and the book-lined floor-to-ceiling shelves muffled the sound completely. When he motioned to the door, I shut it behind me. Nerves fluttered in my stomach, but I did my best to swallow them down. What had I done to rate a private audience?

“Sit.” He pointed to the highbacked chair next to him. An antique end table sat between them. I perched on the edge and clasped my hands between my knees so he wouldn’t see them tremble. Long moments stretched out the silence. I was sure he could hear my heart pounding.

“Rory.” He sighed, a hiss of sound, and I jerked my gaze to his face. He didn’t look upset. I could usually tell when he was. It was all in the eyes—the same blue he’d passed down to his son and to me and my brother and sister.

I had the strange urge to burst out with, “I didn’t do it,” much like I would have as a kid. Instead I made myself take a breath, let it out slowly and soundlessly, and then said, “Yes, Grandda?”

He nodded like that was the right response, and a little of the tension eased from my shoulders.

“You’re thirty-five now, Rory, my boy. It’s time you settle down and have a family.”

And just like that, the dread was back. He knew I was gay. He was the first person I’d told, and he’d just hugged me and told me he loved me. Thanked me for telling him, even. I was fifteen and scared out of my skull, but I knew it had to be Grandda first. If he accepted me, then everyone else would, too. He said it was as natural as anything else, and I should never be afraid to tell him anything.

So why was he now, out of the blue, changing his mind? After all that time, he suddenly wanted me to find a nice girl and have a couple of kids? Panic welled in my throat, making it hard to breathe, but I forced it down, focused my brain, and opened my mouth to explain that I wasn’t bi, I was gay, and no woman would ever turn my head.

“With a man, ye daft idiot.” The insult was tempered with humor, and everything in my chest released.

“I don’t want kids,” I blurted.

He cocked his head to the side and studied me shrewdly. After a long minute of silence, he asked, “Who said anything about children?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Uh, you said family, so—”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “A family can be just two people, aye?”

“Yes,” I agreed immediately because he wanted me to. And because he was right. “Absolutely.”

“Do you know what today is?”

The abrupt topic change startled me, and it took me a second to answer. “Umm…Thursday?”

Instant scowl. Oh. Wrong answer. I tried to think of something else, but I had no idea what he was getting at.

“Winter solstice.” Grandda’s voice held a note of disapproval, but he couldn’t blame me. He was pagan, had been his whole life, but at the insistence of his wife, he hadn’t passed the traditions and ideals down to his children. I’d never met my grandmother. She died before I was born, but by all accounts, I was lucky.