I reach for his hand. “I’m damaged and broken and have a lot to work through, Steve. But you’re not responsible for my baggage.”
“What sort of baggage?”
I think about how I’m going to tell him about my past without scaring or losing him or sending him off into another man’s arms. “My father was a violent alcoholic. He used to beat me with a belt and humiliate me by calling me names. I was worthless to him.”
“Nobody should have to go through that.”
“I’ve struggled with low self-esteem for many years,” I say. “I’m still surprised that I’m in this profession, and that I’ve made it this far.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I drank a lot to get through most of my adult life, to escape my father, and his hatred for me. I wasn’t even sure I’d survive being a police officer. I had so many fears that other officers would torment me for being gay like my father did growing up.”
He interlocks his fingers in mine.