Page 60 of Broken Trails
I scoff. “Who the fuck said I’m shy?”
“You’ve been starin’ at her for five minutes straight.”
“Maybe I’m just thinking.”
He arches a brow, unimpressed. “Thinkin’ about whether or not to grow a pair, maybe.”
I snort, rubbing the heel of my hand against the back of my neck. “It’s not that simple.”
Joe hums low in his throat, setting his mug down on his knee. “Nothing ever is, son. But when you find a woman that’s got your head this twisted, it usually means one of two things. She’s either the wrong one, or the right one at the wrong time.”
That hits harder than I expected.
I don’t reply right away. It’s funny. Joe’s not usually a man of many words. He never forces advice down your throat, never gives more than what’s needed. But every once in a while, he drops something that sticks. And tonight, it lodges somewhere deep. I smile to myself, just a flicker, before I can stop it.
Joe notices it immediately. “Did I say something funny?”
“Nah,” I mutter, shaking my head, still half-smiling. “Just didn’t expect you to be such a goddamn philosopher, is all.”
A grin tugs at his weathered face. “Don’t spread it around. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
I huff out a breath, then glance sideways at him. “The other day… Harrison called you Dad.”
Joe shifts slightly in his chair. “You caught that, huh? We had a conversation not long ago,” he continues, voice quieter now. “Part of what Dr. Lowes told him… was about accepting the things in his life that he can control. Y’know, stuff that brings him joy. Said he should start seeing it for what it is instead of running from it. One of those things was me. Apparently.”
Joe’s expression is unreadable as he continues. “He’s always been stubborn,” he murmurs, “but that kid’s got a good heart. Always has.”
A faint glint in his eye catches the light from the fire, and I lean back slightly. “Oh, don’t go cryin’ on me now, old man.”
Mum’s voice pipes up from beside him. “Who’s crying?”
“No one, I’m not cryin’,” Joe says with a chuckle, though there’s a wobble there he can’t hide. “Just… proud.”
My chest tightens unexpectedly at that. He’s done more for us than I could ever repay. Picked up the pieces when our sperm donor of a father blew through our lives like a fucking cyclone and left nothing but broken shit in his wake. Joe never had to step in. Never owed us a damn thing. But he did anyway. Every time. Never asked for anything in return. Just… showed up. Every single time. And he kept showing up.
“I do see you both as my sons,” he says softly. “You know that, right? You may not be my blood, but you’re here.” He touches his chest, over his heart. “So when Harrison decided to start calling me Dad, well… bloody fuckin’ oath.”
Mum slips her hand into his then, and I watch the movement. The ease of it. Then it hits me. He’s been there for her, too. Solid as bedrock. No man’s ever been that good to her. Not once.
Until him.
I grin. “So does that mean I should start calling you Dad, or Daddy, now too?”
“Oh, piss off, you little shit.” He laughs, shaking his head with a snort, and when our laughter dies down, the quiet that follows isn’t awkward. “You can call me anything you want to, Michael.”
That sticks in my throat. Around us, the fire crackles, and the noise of everyone else drifts on, unaware of this small moment unfolding just off to the side. Joe leans back in his seat.
“You’ll figure it out. You always do. You’ve got your head screwed on right. Just… don’t take too long. Good things have a way of walkin’ away when you wait too long to claim ‘em.”
Across the fire, Zoe’s still in that same chair. Same posture. Same guarded expression that gives me nothing. I haven’t exactly moved either, but something in me already feels different.
I lean over and clap him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Joe. I want you to know that you’ve always been a father to me. Always will be.”
His nod is slow. “I… appreciate that, son.”
I take Joe’s words with me as I stand. Behind me, I catch Mum’s voice. “He’s right, you know.”
“About what?” Joe asks.
