Page 71 of Just Forever

“Lake, my boy,” he says in a booming voice that makes people turn their heads. In my head, he sounds how a sloth would if they could speak.

I get up, and once Scott’s in front of me, we do that thing where I think we’re headed toward a handshake, and he’s aiming for a hug, so my hand ends up being awkwardly slammed between our bodies as I receive an equally awkward hug. To be fair, it’s me making the hug awkward. Scott—at least, the Scott I remember from my childhood—was always the life of the party. The kind of person who never got into embarrassing situations and could talk to anybody.

Scott lets go of me after a hardy pat on the back and takes a seat. He takes a look around.

“Quaint,” he says. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing in his book or not.

His teeth are very, very white.

“Come here often?” he asks, studying the chalk menu above the counter. “What’s good?”

“It’s my first time here,” I say. I let out a deliberate breath. I might as well remove that stick from my ass for a momentand at least try to be civil. What’s even the point of being here otherwise? “The tea is supposed to be good here.”

“Never been much of a tea guy,” he says, affable as ever. “But hey, why not? Trying new things is supposed to be good for the soul, isn’t it?”

He gets up and heads toward the counter, where he leans his elbow on the wooden surface and starts to chat with the woman behind the counter. She laughs at whatever he says and then starts to twirl a strand of hair between her fingers.

It’s weird to watch because I’m suddenly very aware that technically, that’s my father there, which obviously doesn’t make this moment weirdat all. To Scott’s credit, he takes his tea and comes back to the table instead of flirting with her.

He settles in. The cup of tea is left untouched, but he does take in his surroundings with mild interest.

“It’s a good location for a coffee shop. Near a campus, so there’s theoretically a steady clientele. I don’t know about you, but I drank a lot of coffee when I was in college. Mostly when I had to look human in class the morning after a night out.”

He flashes a smile my way. It’s very charming, I’ll give him that.

“Sure,” I say because try as I might, I’m the furthest thing from likable. It’s a shame genetics didn’t figure that I might need that trait in life and instead cast that aside in favor of painful levels of introversion.

Take small talk. I’ve never mastered that particular skill. I know the theory, but sit me down opposite a stranger and my head goes pitifully empty. All my thoughts flee, and I’m left scrambling for something to say. It usually ends in silence.

“So,” Scott says, “how are things?”

I wonder if he sees anything familiar in me when he looks at me.

“Everything’s going well.”

He waits for a beat to see if I’m going to say anything else, and when I don’t, his smile stretches a tad wider as if to compensate for my lack of social skills. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. Your mother tells me you’re studying medicine.”

I blink at that. “You talk to Mom?”

“We keep in touch,” he says easily. “She and I reconnected about a year ago. It’s been great. I always loved your mother.”

I really have no idea what to reply to that. It’s honestly impressive how he says that without looking the tiniest bit uncomfortable. Like it’s no big deal to have an affair with your brother’s wife.

“Look, Lake”—he leans forward—“I’m a man who believes in second chances. We’ve all done our fair share of stupid things when we were young.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Some more than others.” He drops the smile then. “I never got to settle things between me and your father. I deeply regret not putting things right with him before he died. I will never get that chance again. But I do hope to set things right with you.”

He sounds and looks completely sincere, which throws me off a bit, mostly because I’ve never really been one to give people the benefit of the doubt.

“I would love to get to know you, Lake,” Scott says.

I think of Ryker. More specifically, I think of what Ryker would do. The answer is obvious. He’d give that second chance because that’s just the kind of person he is. And we’ve already established that Ryker is a much better person than I am, so the only logical conclusion is that I should do what he would do.

Trust doesn’t come easily for me. It hasn’t for years.

Even so, I’m filled with this strange calm.

It’s okay to hope for a good outcome.

“Why now?” I ask.

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