Page 37 of Doyle

On one hand, I understood where my dad was coming from.

Doyle’s job was dangerous, and being with him wasn’t safe, but I had some time to think.

The risk to me was acceptable. I could not bear the thought of not having Doyle in my life.

In hindsight, my dad had said we’d continue that conversation, but we never did.

Maybe he had hoped that by not bringing it up, I would forget about Doyle entirely. But that was impossible.

Doyle had become a significant part of my life, someone who understood my pain and helped me feel whole again.

I couldn’t just erase him from my mind or heart.

"Michael—” my dad began, but I cut him off with a curt, "I'll be in the office."

I locked myself in there, the walls feeling like they were closing in.

I busied myself with paperwork and anything else I could find, refusing to speak another word to my father for the rest of the day.

The tension in the shop was palpable, and every tick of the clock seemed to drag out the silence between us.

When closing time finally came, I gathered my things and left the office, avoiding my father's gaze.

I needed space, time to think. As I walked out, I could feel my father watching me, but I didn't look back.

My mind was already focused on the phone call I’d make as soon as I was alone.

As I walked back home, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me.

My skin prickled, and I instinctively glanced over my shoulder.

A non-descript brown car followed at a distance, its dark color blending into the surroundings.

It had the right state plates and nothing else seemed out of place, but I couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Maybe I was just being paranoid. Perhaps the driver was simply going the same way I was. Either way, I quickened my pace.

I considered taking the bus, but home was just a few blocks away, and walking was faster.

I risked another look over my shoulder, relieved to see the car had disappeared.

Once I was on my street, I chalked it up to my mind going into overdrive.

I overheard Stan asking my dad out for a drink at the shop earlier, so at least I'd have the house to myself for a few hours.

After showering, I called Doyle, eager to hear his voice.

"You never called me back," I said.

"Sorry, I lost track of time," Doyle admitted.

I could hear a few voices in the background.

"Did I call at a bad time?" I asked.

"We're about to start a meeting," Doyle said, sounding apologetic. "Our allies have—no, I shouldn't be talking to you about it."

I felt a little disappointed but understood.

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