Bound by Tradition (10 page)

He nudged me out of bed. “Get dressed, so we can go check on your father.”

Oh. Yeah. That.

* * * *

The house was empty, and I packed quickly. Not the coward’s way out, just taking advantage of the emptiness and the silence. I took a moment to cry over every memory of growing up here. Shiro was respectful enough to sit on the sofa in the living room while I gathered what I wanted to take to his place. In the back of my mind I thought maybe I should try to find a cheap place of my own. But the thought of an empty apartment compared to moving in with Shiro didn’t make me nearly as happy, and wasn’t that what this whole moment of enlightenment was supposed to be about? Discovering what made me happy?

I’ve already argued that it’s too soon. We’re strangers. But every argument ends with the same thought
. I want this. Now.

And for the first time ever, I’m doing what I want.

We put my bags in the back of the Jeep, and then I took him by the hand to see our dojo. I found my father inside doing kata. He’d been working out for hours by the looks of him. He was alone and covered with sweat. I bowed out of respect for the sacred hall as I stepped through the threshold. Shiro bowed too without my asking him too. We left our shoes in a special alcove in the hall.

When he saw me he charged, “You missed class.”

I approached him warily. “It was necessary.”

He harrumphed.

“It’s been a strange week. I’ll make up the work; I’m not worried about that. I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you because I’m worried about
us
.”

“You brought that boy here,” he accused.

“He has a name. Shiro Miura.”

“I know his name. He looks like his mother.”

I felt sorry for Shiro, sitting across the room on a low bench, waiting. I felt weird talking about him, knowing he could probably hear every word. That was one of the great things about our dojo. The solid wood floors and ceilings made for good acoustics. I pulled my father’s hand, taking him to the other side of the room. We sat on a similar low bench. I swallowed hard before I went into the speech I’d rehearsed in my head on the drive from Shiro’s to here.

“Dad, I’m twenty-two. I graduate next semester. It’s time for me to figure out who I am and what I want out of life.”

He grunted. “You knew who you were and what you wanted before you met
him
. He is bad news.”

“This.” I pointed between him and me. “Us. Isn’t about Shiro. It isn’t about whatever happened between you and Rumiko and Gichin Miura. This is about me deciding what makes me happy.”

“Happiness is in finding peace within your duty.” He laughed, and it was harsh. “You think you have a future with that boy? Wake up, Stephanie. He’s Asian; when it is time for him to get married and settle down, it won’t be with a white girl. It will be with a nice, respectable Asian girl.”

I shook my head, not knowing what to say, knowing he was only saying what he was saying because the woman who’d broken his heart was Asian. “Look, no plans to get married. No plans beyond today. Right now I am seeing Shiro, maybe tomorrow someone else, but the key is I will be seeing someone. I want to have a life outside the dojo. This life is your life. Not mine.”

“So. What?” He stood, glaring down at me, making me feel small and inadequate. Just as he always did. “You’re walking away from all of it? You don’t want to compete? You don’t want to train? You don’t want to teach?”

I stood and faced him, talking to him as an equal, whether he wanted me to or not. “I want to take a break. I need to take a break. At least until after graduation; then I’ll reevaluate.”

“They’ll call you a quitter. They’ll say taking silver did this. Made you quit.”

“Who? Who’s they?
Everyone in my life who gets to watch a part of my life that should be just a portion of my life has somehow turned into everyone watching every waking minute when I wasn’t looking?
Because I don’t know anyone outside of this dojo, I don’t have time for friends, and I don’t really give a damn about what strangers are saying. So if they want to talk…let them.”

“Big speech, little girl. You’ll come crying back here.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. But I have to leave to come back, don’t I?”

“Maybe you won’t be welcome here.”

I turned around to leave, planning on letting him have the last word, but it was the wrong last word, so I turned back to him, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “I love you. I’ll be here in the morning to run at five. You be ready,” before I walked away, not looking back.

I took Shiro’s hand at the door. When we backed through the threshold, bowing, I saw my father had sat back down on the bench. He looked defeated, and it took all of my strength not to run back to him and cry on his shoulder.

Walking to the Jeep hand in hand, Shiro asked, “You okay?”

I sniffled, clearly not okay.

“Growing up and moving on is hard, but you’re tough, balls of steel.” He helped me climb into the Jeep, closed the door, and walked around the vehicle to climb in. He nodded toward the dojo, and I looked to see my father standing in the doorway. He lifted his hand to wave. I lifted my hand to wave back. His voice carries well, after years of screaming on the dojo deck. “Don’t be late!”

I screamed back, “I won’t!”

When Shiro pulled away from the curb, my shoulders were shaking and tears were streaming down my cheeks. He squeezed my knee. “You’re going to be fine. Your relationship with your father is going to survive your growing up.”

“Is that it? Great words of wisdom from the shibari master?”

He laughed. “Well I was going to tell you that I’ve thought of about a dozen new ways I’d like to tie you up, but then you started crying, so I had to wing it.”

I chuckled, thankful he was here for this painful moment of growth.

I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Maybe we can celebrate my moving in with you with a little shibari ceremony.”

His face went thoughtful, and he tapped his chin. “I think I can do that.”

At a stop sign, his gaze lingered on me, not the road. I tried to hide that I was still crying by hiding behind my big dark sunglasses. He smiled widely, his million-watt smile, looking devilish. “I think your moving-away-from-home night is going to be very memorable, little bird.”

I smacked him and couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “You will not start calling me little bird.”

He leaned over and kissed my bare shoulder. “How about if I just call you
mine
.”

“Mine is good,” I told him, feeling happier than I’d felt in a very long time.

He started driving, and I put my hand over his where it still rested on the gear shift and, seeing that he was done shifting, twined my fingers through his to bring his hand to my mouth. I kissed his knuckles. “So tell me about these dozen ways you’d like to tie me up…”

The End

Loose Id Titles by Roxy Harte

Actually, I’m Gay

Bound by Tradition

Control

Edge

Painted Lady

So, You Want a Job?

Survival Instinct

Trust

Voyeur

You’re Invited

* * * *

“Submission”

Part of the anthology
Dom/sub

With B. D. Dark

Roxy Harte

Roxy Harte is a multi-published author who lives in a small town north of Cincinnati with her husband, teen daughter, two boisterous dogs, and two independent cats. She falls asleep to the sound of howling coyotes and awakens to honking geese flying overhead. She can be found penning her next novel almost any day of the week. Writing for her is like breathing and sex: it is a requirement for survival.

Check out the latest on her Web site at
http://www.roxyharte.com
or at Roxy’s Flog Blog at
http://www.roxyharte.blogspot.com
. You can also find her on Twitter, Facebook, and Myspace.

Roxy loves to hear from her readers! You can email her directly at [email protected].

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Loose Id Titles by Roxy Harte

Roxy Harte