"Daddy..."

She frowns. At two-weeks shy of sixteen, she wonders if a more grown-up title for her father would be best. Funny how the brain latches onto certain things when procrastination and nerves took hold.

Kinley is standing in her room, pacing as her father sits patiently in the desk chair by her bed. If one word could describe Jonathan Keane, it was patience. For almost four years now, it had just been the pair of them. Jonathan is never talkative, always contemplative. He's a soldier through and through, and for her part, Kinley has always tried to be the same. On nights when she knew he was sad and missing the other half of their family, she took it upon herself to cook them dinner, or just happened to put his favorite movie on. They didn't have deep heart to hearts. Still, she knew that when she was crying alone in her room because a certain memory struck her (or certain hormones, god dammit teenage life is hard), he would be sitting outside her door, just in case she needed him. He didn't pry, didn't hover. He'd tell her time and again "that was always your mother's job. I'm shit at it, Kin." She'd smile and tell him it was the thought that counts. While that may have been just an idiom for others, Kinley always meant it. It meant the world to her that her father cared, that he tried his best.

"You put two notes on my desk and my dresser that you wanted to talk tonight, Kinley Rebecca."

Her middle name had a gentle tone coming from him, not at all a scold. She knows that she could stand there for hours and he wouldn't push. She had written out two separate notes to him, asking if he'd come to her room and talk when he got home from work. She'd worried and rehearsed for three hours until she heard him come home, and even then thought very seriously about sneaking out the window.

There's a stereotype that she's well aware she's leaning into. Men in the military. Certain political affiliations. Love of country and guns and country music. She knows better than that, but fear has a way of twisting what she knows to be true into the worst case scenario. She knows that not all families are so open, so "forgiving" (though there is nothing at all "forgive" in this case. Fear clings to her like tar, as each worst-case idea races through her mind.

It occurs to her that the thing she's worried most over is disappointing him. He's been through so much, they both have. She couldn't bear it if he looked at her differently, if he ever had even the slightest inkling that she wasn't the same as she'd always been. For a moment, she almost loses her nerve. Kinley stares at him, and she can see how worried he is. He always tries to hide it, but his rough, life-weathered hands wring together slowly.

"You're gonna have to come out with it."

She opens her mouth to speak, and exhales sharply. With the exhale, her heart thrums so hard in her chest she can hear it in her ears. It's about all she can hear until the words leave her lips along with the last of her breath. "I'm gay."

Silence permeates the room, and it's deafening. Did she actually manage to say it out loud, or was she just dreaming that she did? Her face is flushed, her breathing shallow. She said it. She can't bear looking at him so she looks at her floor. The stupid bright pink shag rug that she swore would really look good on the hardwood.

The sound that breaks through the silence is not one she expects. Actually, it's one of her favorite sounds. It's the guttural, deep laugh of her father. For a moment, it shocks her like ice water. Is he laughing at me? It's crushing for all of two seconds, before his arms are around her, strong and crushing. His chin atop her head, still taller than her by almost a foot.

"I thought it was drugs ... Well, I really thought you were gonna tell me you're pregnant." She scoffs at his theories, shaking her head as tears spill over her cheeks. She hates crying in front of him. She knows it always makes him worry. There is relief in her tears, but also a fear still stretched between them even if her face is pressed against his chest. He hasn't said anything about what she actually said.

"Ugh," She grumbles to herself, pushing back to spitefully wipe at the tears on her face. His hands are there seconds later. They're rough and strong like the rest of him. He's bent his knees to become more level with his teenage daughter.

"Hey Kinley Rebecca." The way he says her name is so gentle, it swells within her a new wave of tears. "I am so goddamn proud of you. All of you." Her breath exhales between trembling lips, and finally her eyes lift to meet his. She almost breaks from the relief that hits her. Same gaze, same pride that's always been there. She wishes, not for the first time, that her mom was here. She wishes for her sister. She wishes they were still all together, not because this wasn't exactly what she hoped for but never dreamed she'd get as far as her father's reaction went, but because of everything she could share with all of them. "Your mom would be too, for what it's worth."

In the coming weeks, they'll find the new balance of how to talk about things. She'll become slightly less self-conscious about talking about someone she likes. At some point, she'll even introduce him to her first girlfriend. He will never once make her feel unsafe or unwanted, and for that, she will be eternally grateful for. Jonathan puts his feelings into action; he makes sure of it, starting with the rainbow bumper sticker that goes next to the American Flag on his car, less than a week after Kinley tells him her truth.