In the Name of the Father

Father Series

by Morticia Knight

In the Name of the Father - Morticia Knight
Part of the Father Series series:
Editions:Kindle - 1: $ 4.99

I was living a lie. I couldn’t be caught in my deception, or my family and friends would abandon me. But my fears became reality and I was cast away as if I were garbage. Then this man, a stranger, took me home and showed me that love can take on many forms, that I’m not filled with sin or doomed to go to hell because I’m gay. He showed me that I’m not broken. I don’t need to be fixed. What I need is to be nurtured and cared for.

 This man showed me that it’s okay to be his boy and to call him daddy…

Seth was a good Christian son raised in a very conservative church.

He learned early on that the world is evil and filled with sinners—but the most horrible thing you can be is gay. When his shame is discovered, he’s shipped off to a special camp that fixes deviants like him. Years have passed since then, yet he still runs from himself every day.

Malcolm was a good daddy for almost 10 years before his boy died.

No longer daring to be too close with another man again, he’s avoided clubs and old friends that remind him of a life filled with a joy he can no longer have. Unable to find a purpose in his lonely existence, he spends night after night in a dive bar at the edge of town. However, witnessing a scared young man being harassed by two bullies jolts him out of his misery.

No one messes with someone vulnerable and helpless on his watch…

Potential Triggers: Off-page past physical and emotional abuse and trauma.

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Malcolm took a measured sip of his favorite single barrel bourbon. He sat at the bar with his back to the room, one foot on the rail and the other on the rung of the thickly padded, red leather cushioned barstool. Most of his nights were spent at Woody’s. The low-key gay bar at the edge of town provided him with the basics. Top shelf booze, marginally edible food, no hassle and a decided lack of dancing or other hook-up encouragements.

He was done with that shit.

Resting his elbows on the counter, he clutched the half-full tumbler between his hands. Or half empty. The cliché was one of the many he despised. The trite statement meant nothing when life unexpectedly reared up and kicked you in the balls. Not that he wallowed in self-pity—far from it. He had much to be grateful for. He still gained a lot of enjoyment from life and understood that he had it better than many.

However, that knowledge did nothing to take away his personal pain.


“Excuse me. Bartender?”

Malcolm glanced sideways at the young man who was now leaning toward the counter, but for whatever reason, hadn’t edged the other empty stools out of his way to do so. He stood a few seats down from him, and while his voice held a masculine edge to it, he spoke with little confidence. Malcolm’s immediate assessment of him was that he needed someone else to take charge.

The man leaned forward more. “Um, excuse me? Bartender?”

Or to learn how to speak up.

“I don’t think he can hear you.” Malcolm turned from the man who’d appeared startled to be addressed by him then called out to the unaware barkeep. As usual, Larry was at the far end of the long bar chatting up a bear, yet on the wrong side of the alcohol barrier. Only a regular like himself would know Larry was employed at the joint. “Hey, Larry! You’ve got a customer.”

Larry acknowledged him with a jerk of his chin then went back to whatever conversation he was engrossed in. Malcolm chuckled then regarded the poor kid who wasn’t having much luck getting a drink.

“He’ll remember he has a job in the next minute or two.”

The young man nodded shakily as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Thanks. I’m in no hurry.”

Malcolm gave him a non-committal smile then went back to staring into the deep amber abyss of his whisky. Most nights he could be found at Woody’s nursing a drink or three. The goal wasn’t to get shit-faced or even all that buzzed. An alcohol overload wouldn’t do him any favors. Booze was a downer and too much of the stuff could launch his emotions into places he’d rather avoid. The idea was to keep the feelings at a safe distance. Not drown in them.

No, marking time at Woody’s was about not being alone with his thoughts in a big, empty house. The less of his past he dwelled on, the better chance he had of maintaining his sanity. Malcolm glanced up right as Larry jogged over. He seemed a bit rushed and a tad breathless for someone who was working an especially slow night.

Larry regarded the young man. “Before I ask what you want, can I see some ID?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

The kid dug around in his slightly baggy jeans that appeared as if they’d seen better days, then retrieved his wallet. Malcolm hadn’t been paying much attention to the guy, but now he realized the T-shirt he had on was a bit worn. There weren’t any stains or holes that he could detect, but whatever design or logo that had once been pressed on the front of the khaki green tee was almost completely faded away. And even though the chill of the fall Oregon air had gotten sharper in the past couple of weeks, he wasn’t carrying a jacket.

Maybe he left it on a chair.

Malcolm tore his gaze away, took a sip of his drink and willed himself not to look around the room in search of the kid’s jacket. It wasn’t his business—wasn’t his responsibility to worry about this stranger who was standing next to him and buying a drink while radiating vibes of desperation. Malcolm purposely tuned out the discussion regarding what beer the young man wanted and whether he’d prefer bottle or tap.

Not listening.

His own boy, Everett, had been gone for almost ten years and Malcolm was done with that life. Didn’t socialize with that crowd anymore, didn’t go to clubs that catered to men who enjoyed dominating and boys who loved submitting and he sure as hell never went after any of the guys who patronized his almost nightly hangout. As crappy of a place as Woody’s was overall, it was his social safe haven. He didn’t shit where he ate, or whatever that stupid cliché was.

After what seemed like ages, the attractive, well-built man took his bottle and went to sit down, or play pool, or lean against the wall or whatever it was he was about to do.

Still not looking.

Malcolm rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, sighing as he wondered what it was about the guy that had made him take stock—even as he’d been convincing himself he wasn’t. Yeah, okay, he hadn’t been able to help but notice the muscled biceps and broad shoulders, the strong jawline and how the old T-shirt fit across his defined chest. After all, the kid hadn’t been wearing a jacket.

Unavoidable. That’s all it was.

But now, the young man was gone, and he could go back to sitting, sipping and staring at nothing.

As Malcolm pondered whether he should check in with his buddy Nate and see if he wanted to do some hiking at the Arboretum that weekend, a smarmy-sounding voice behind him interrupted his thoughts. However, it was the gentle one that responded that really drew his attention.

Malcolm sighed. Seriously?

Since the most exciting thing that ever happened at Woody’s were the play-offs or the occasional domestic spat, he wondered what cosmic short straw he’d picked that day to be drawn into a potential showdown.

“Come on, pup. We can show you how it’s done. We’ll give you a lesson you won’t ever forget.”

Malcolm peered over his shoulder. The young man was sitting a couple tables back from him, clutching his beer bottle to his chest as he stared wide-eyed at the muscled hunk who loomed over him. A shorter version of the first asshole stood on the other side of the poor kid, leering and snickering.

Never seen these two shitstains in here before.

Woody’s didn’t tend to attract a rough crowd.

“Uh, no thanks…I’m…I just want to sit here and have my drink. That’s all.”

The young man licked his lips and Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose.

This kid is completely out of his element.

Malcolm forced himself to look away. It still wasn’t any of his business. Sure, the guy was young, but he didn’t appear helpless or weak. He was an adult, could take care of himself. Malcolm shifted on the stool, uncomfortable and on edge. Maybe not helpless, but definitely clueless. Scared. No confidence. The muscles of Malcolm’s clenched jaw worked under his skin, his teeth hurting from gritting them so hard.

“Yeah, pup. Like my friend said. We’ll break that ass in for you.”

“L-look, I’ll just leave, okay? I’m flattered, but I didn’t come in here for anything like that.”

The sound of a chair scraping along the floor could be heard.

“Perfect. We’ll be glad to escort you out.”

“No! Let me go!”

Malcolm pressed his lips together. Fuck this shit.

He slammed down his glass, whipped his body around then launched himself off the stool. Within two large strides he was right next to the larger goon who had one hand clasped around the struggling young man’s arm. Malcolm grabbed the asshole by the collar of his denim jacket and held him there.

“What the fuck? Get your fucking hands offa me!”

“Don’t care for it too much when it’s done to you, huh?” Malcolm growled out. “He told you to let him go. So, let. Him. The fuck. Go.”

Reviews:Josh Dale on M/M Midnight Cafe wrote:

This is such a deep story that really touched my heart. Seth is 23 and has been taught and brainwashed to believe he is the worst kind of person there is. Coming from a very strict religious family and having survived two stints in conversion therapy camps.

Seth is so broken by the constant torture he has suffered throughout his life. He hates who he is but has come to realize he can not change his sexuality and is tired of hiding it....

....The story is so well written and covers the issues of homophobic families and religion. Which of course are important issues that we shouldn’t even still be hearing about today! But the story is more about how Seth has survived his youth, the strength he does not realize he has. And it is about Malcom’s healing from the grief of losing he partner. Through helping Seth, Malcom has helped himself to heal.

The characters are so well developed and defined, and the story is such a touching and heartwarming without being too sweet and sugary....

....I really look forward to future books in the series, who knows we might get to see how Daddy and his boy’s relationship grows.

About the Author

Author Morticia Knight spends most of her nights writing about men loving men forever after. If there happens to be some friendly bondage or floggings involved, she doesn’t begrudge her characters whatever their filthy little hearts desire. Even though she’s been crafting her naughty tales for more years than she’d like to share—her adventures as a published author began in 2011. Since then, she’s been fortunate enough to have several books on bestseller lists along with titles receiving recognition in the Rainbow Book Awards, Divine Magazine and Love Romance Café.

Once upon a time she was the lead singer in an indie rock band that toured the West Coast and charted on U.S. college radio. She currently resides on the North Oregon coast and when she’s not fantasizing about hot men, she takes walks along the ocean and annoys the local Karaoke bar patrons.

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