The Power Dynamic

The Call Dynamic

He blinked before his eyes found the lamp beside the bed instead of me. "Will you talk to me about what your father said?"

I didn't want to. God I didn't. But I had to. Cyrus needed to know my father was coming home. I picked at my nails and shuffled on my feet, "He tried calling you."

I watched his lips thin. "What did he say exactly?" His tone was edging on Dom.

"Just asked if I heard from you. That he tried to call and got no response. Something about business matters. " I left out the part about the colorful hobbies.

His irises were almost slate grey when he looked at me, "I will return his call Monday as is appropriate."

I swallowed again.

"That's not what upset you, Danny." The authority in his tone was undeniable, even if I was a brat by nature.

"He's coming home next week."

No reaction. The man was stone. "I see."

I broke under the weight of his stern words and icy disposition. "He's gonna make me quit the Q. He said I was being defiant and obstinate. He doesn't understand. The Q is important to me. This sort of work, using some of my privilege to help others is important to me. Some of those kids have to couch surf. Some can't get hormones because their parents won't let them. I don't want to work for some company that exploits workers and pollutes the planet for profit. But he won't care. He never does. All he sees is money." My voice thickened with each word until tears burned my eyes again. "I don't give a shit about money. It doesn't mean shit if I can't help people."

Cyrus softened instantly, setting the paper down to hold his arms open for me as he rose from the bed.

I buried my face in his t-shirt while desperately trying not to cry.

His arms encircled me, cupping my shoulders and rubbing my back. "I know, baby. I know how important that work is to you. I know you don't care about the money."

"I don't want to do anything else, daddy." I choked on a sob.

He set his cheek on my hair. "You don't have to, baby. I've got you. I'm here for you."

The tears came then.

Cyrus held me as I cried out all my frustration and hopelessness. He let me sob and weep, ruining his shirt with tears. The whole time, he caressed my back and held me tight. Until the tears stopped and left a wake of salt on my cheeks and phlegm in my throat.

Only then did he lean into me and ask, "What do you need, baby?"

Just him. Always just him. I circled his waist with my arms. "Just you, daddy."

His hand stroked my crusty cheek. He kissed my hair. "You have me, baby."

"Maybe some chocolate ice cream too."

He chuckled in my hair. "We can do that too, baby."

The chocolate ice cream melted on my tongue as my spoon clinked against the bowl. I ate my ice cream curled up against Cyrus' side in bed. His eyes scanned the words of the finances section of the newspaper as I would have expected of him. My anger settled in my stomach with my ice cream, liquid and cold. I didn't want to think about my father. I tried to focus on the paper but kept getting distracted by the attractive man at my side.

So instead my eyes dragged up Cyrus' prone figure. His firm thighs disappeared under the crinkling paper in his hands. His tight cotton joggers hardly hid his bulge from me as I scooped more ice cream into my mouth. His shirt hugged a shapely torso, not a fitness magazine ripped but enough muscle to make me self conscious. I resisted running my hands under his shirt. Oh his arms. I got hot inside just looking at them, knowing the force of every blow he ever gave me in scene came from those arms. But nothing could compare to the sharp planes of his face under those steel glasses. Fuck those glasses were hot on him.