Bound by Tradition by Roxy Harte

seemed I’d always known.
    “I’m going to open a real can of worms here, and this is probably the wrong time to talk to you about it, but I’m worried about you. Tell me what the deal is with your dad? Why does he push you so hard? I mean, I get it, you went undefeated for eighteen years, you’ve never lost, never taken second, but from what I’ve heard, he acts that way even when you take first.”
    “I guess I’m his legacy. It’s about carrying on a tradition.”
    “The tradition of being an asshole?”
    I went rigid in his arms. My father might indeed be an ass, but no one called him that—at least not when I was around to defend him—and I did not want to fight with Shiro. I really wanted to fuck a couple more times before he left.
    “What heritage are we talking about exactly? The one where he intimidates you into carrying on the family business? And then what, you have children that you coerce into carrying on the—”
    “Stop. No. If I ever have children, and that’s highly doubtful at this point, they are not ever walking onto a karate deck. I am not letting my children’s childhood be stolen like—”
    “Like yours was?”
    “You know what it’s like, right? You took classes from your dad. Your sister did. And your dad probably learned from his father. You have a real legacy. I have a father who would do anything to turn us Japanese.”
    “You don’t believe that.”
    “You haven’t seen our house, or the dojo behind the house. If you took it out of the Nevada desert and smacked it onto a Japanese landscape, it wouldn’t be out of place. Same goes with the interior. We sleep on mats on the floor. We have different shoes designated for inside and outside. And even other shoes for the gardens. We eat with chopsticks every day.”
    “What?” Shiro’s eyes went wide. “That’s not normal?”
    “Normal for you. Both my parents were full-blooded Italian.”
    “You sound bitter.”
    “I’m not bitter. I’m tired. And for the first time in a long time, I really miss my mom today. I wonder if my life would have been the same if she’d lived. I just feel off-kilter…and the tension between me and my dad may or may not be worse because of who beat me, not because I lost.”
    “Took second.”
    “Same difference,” I argued but was silenced by his kiss. By not asking what happened to my mom, he got extra bonus points. Although he probably already knew that my mom was killed in a car wreck when I was ten.
    He lost points when he broke off the kiss and said, “Your father is a bully.”
    I shook my head, denying the truth.
    Shiro pulled me closer. “He’s never hurt you, has he?”
    I started to pull away, but he held me tighter.
    “Has he hurt you?”
    “Only on the deck,” I answered softly. “And only to teach me to be better, to teach me to react faster.”
    He kissed my forehead. “Don’t make excuses for him. Not to me. I don’t ever want you to lie to me about anything.”
    I relaxed in his arms, defeated. I could try to explain my father’s faults, why he was the way he was, but I was exhausted and so tired of defending him. I cried on Shiro’s shoulder instead, and he let me.
    I lay in the arms of the son of my father’s archenemy, and I felt more at peace than I ever had. I felt safe and was certain there was something totally messed up about that, but I didn’t want to psychoanalyze. I just wanted to soak up his warmth and tenderness and acceptance of me. “I’ve screwed my share of strangers because I don’t have the time or energy for relationships, and I hope that doesn’t make you think less of me…but this seems different.”
    “I’m not a stranger. Our families have a deep connection. As for throwing stones, you’ve seen my photo album. I’m no innocent.”
    Sighing, I cuddled closer. “I envy you. Your parents run a large martial art school, but you aren’t pressured into a life you don’t want.”
    “You can walk away.”
    I laughed, and it was