Page 114 of This Time Around
“That’s not any better.”
“That’s as good as I’m going to get.” He let go of her hands and placed his on either side, palms down on the polished wood. “You did your best, Albatross. You spilled your guts, you learned some lessons, and you did the right thing in the end. Now the ball’s in his court.”
“We’re back to the hockey analogies.”
“That’s a puck.”
“Whatever.” Allie frowned. “So you’re saying it’s over with Jack. That there’s nothing I can do.”
“I’m saying if you love someone, set them free?—”
“—if he comes back, it’s meant to be.” Allie rolled her eyes. “And if he doesn’t?—”
“I call in a client with mob ties and we fit the bastard with concrete galoshes.”
Allie folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”
Wade grinned and leaned back in his chair. Picking up the little rake from his zen garden, he began making fine little lines in the sand.
“Have a little faith in the guy, Albatross. After this many years, I think he’s earned it.”
Chapter 18
The smell of antiseptic hung over the room like a sticky net as Jack stood looking at his father from the end of a hospital bed. This was his first time visiting his father’s home, and he rested his hands on Paige’s shoulders, not sure if he was trying to lend his daughter strength or trying to bolster his own.
“You sure you want to be here?” he whispered to her.
His little girl nodded and looked up at him. “He’s your dad and you’re my dad,” she whispered. “So we should all be here.”
That all made sense in a weird way. The hospice nurse had told them it was fine to wake his father, but Jack wasn’t ready yet. Ten feet away between a brown refrigerator and an overgrown asparagus fern hovered his dad’s wife, Barbara. She was a mousy woman only a few years older than Jack who looked at them with wary eyes that made him think of a cat that had its tail stepped on too many times.
The thought of cats made Jack wonder what Allie was up to and how she was getting along. He missed her a helluva lot more than he’d expected to, which pissed him off. She’d lied to him, dammit. Shouldn’t he be over her by now? He’d had a tight feeling in his chest all week, and he knew it had little to do with his decision to visit his father.
Jack cleared his throat too loudly. Just like he expected, his dad’s eyes fluttered open. He stared at Jack for a good five or six seconds while Jack stood rigid with his hands on Paige’s shoulders.
“Son.”
There was no tenderness in the word, but something about it made Jack’s spine feel rubbery. He kept his posture erect and nodded. “Yes.”
He wasn’t willing to call the guy Dad. Not now. Not after this many years and this many missed opportunities for connection. The old man had had plenty of chances to reach out, to prove himself as a father.
He’d never taken one of them.
But standing here now, staring at the withered man under a tatty cotton blanket, Jack felt some of the anger seep from his pores. He didn’t have to like the guy, but he could at least acknowledge the DNA that linked them.
“This is my daughter, Paige,” Jack said slowly. “Your granddaughter. She’s ten.”
For once, Paige didn’t rush forward with handshakes or hugs. Jack wondered if she sensed her father’s trepidation, or if the presence of tubes and wires held her back.
“Hello,” Paige said softly. “I’m sorry you’re sick.”
The man laughed, a good two or three seconds of joviality before a racking cough seized him. Barbara jumped from behind the fern, but the old man waved her off.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jack’s father grumbled. “Sick, yeah. Dying, if you want to get right down to it. That’s okay, though. Probably deserve it.”
Jack tightened his hold on Paige’s shoulders, but said nothing. His daughter glanced up at him with wide, silvery eyes, and Jack felt his heart crack down the middle. His father had the same damn eyes. He didn’t have to look at his dad now to know that.
“So,” the old man said. “Looks like you went and had a kid of your own despite having a total fuckup for a father.”
