“I hate that question,” he muttered.
“Oh, why, do you get it a lot?” she asked snippily.
“Yes! Women always want to know where the relationship is going. I don’t know, okay?”
Stung, she snapped back, “No, it’s not okay.”
He leaned back from the table. “What do you want from me?”
More than you can give, she thought. And she knew, just knew that it wasn’t fair of her to ask.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” She set her napkin on the table. “I think I’d like to go home now.”
His eyes went wide. “Liz, don’t—”
“Just take me home, okay?”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ryan leaned back in the vinyl booth of The Fresh Café, waiting for a Saturday lunch with the man he’d never wanted to see again. He’d agreed to meet Jack in his newly adopted town of Fieldridge because Ryan hadn’t wanted to run into any of the busybodies he knew in Clover Park. His coffee remained untouched in front of him, his gut tight, while he watched the door. A range of emotions flashed through him—anger, resignation, fatigue. He was so damn tired. He’d had a stakeout late last night, and not being with Liz was wearing thin. He had no idea where things went wrong with her. Sure, they’d had a pregnancy scare, but that was over. Last weekend, he’d taken her to an expensive restaurant. Most women would’ve loved that. Instead, she’d gotten pissy and demanding and left early.
He had no idea what his next move should be.
The door opened, and his eyes locked with the matching hazel eyes of Jack O’Hare as he walked toward him. The old man looked pretty much the same. His hair had some gray in it after all these years, and there were a few more lines on his face. Ryan studied the man he’d taken after so much in looks. It was like looking into a fucking mirror to the future.
“Ryan, thanks for meeting me.” Jack smiled and sat down across from him.
He didn’t return the smile.
“I was really glad that you called,” Jack said.
Ryan inclined his head, barely, in acknowledgement.
Silence.
Jack looked down at the table, then raised his eyes again. “I’ve been sober three years. I got help. I’m very active in my church. I even met Gina there.”
“Real happy for you,” he replied sarcastically.
The waitress appeared to take their lunch order.
“Just coffee for me,” Ryan said, indicating his cup. He wouldn’t be staying long.
Jack glanced at the menu. “I’ll have a BLT, thank you.” He handed the waitress back the menu.
Silence fell between them again. Ryan had no intention of making it easy on him.
“So this is how it’s going to be?” Jack finally asked. “Just going to sit there mad at me? I am sorry.” He lowered his voice. “You don’t know how much I regret those years. Your mother—”
“Don’t talk about her,” Ryan ground out.
“She was the love of my life. I just…lost myself when she—”
Ryan pounded a fist on the table. Jack jumped. “I said don’t talk about her.”
A few customers looked over, and Jack held up a hand, indicating he was okay.
“I’m only here because it makes things better for Gran,” Ryan said through clenched teeth.
They sat in silence. Jack folded his hands and seemed to be praying. Ryan wondered how long he had to sit here to make things right for Gran.
The food arrived, and Jack tucked into his sandwich. Ryan sipped his coffee and eyed the old man. He looked in good health. Guess he didn’t destroy his liver. He was fit and tanned. He took care of himself now. Or Gina did. Not like the wreck he was when Ryan last saw him.
He remembered Jack reeking of booze. It had seeped through his sweat, his stained clothes. His father turned to the bottle in his grief over his wife’s death.
Ryan had been the one to find her. Seventeen years old and he found her after school, dead from an overdose of sleeping pills. She’d left a note:
I’m going to a place where there’s no pain.
I love you all—
Lisa
Ryan had tried to revive her, shouting her name, trying to shake her awake. He called 911, called his father, but it’d been too late.
Too damn late.
He’d always known something was wrong with his mother. She’d spent long days just sitting in a ratty old robe, staring at nothing. She’d been so sensitive too; anything could set her off in a crying spell. Shane was sensitive. Ryan kept a close eye on him over the years, looking for signs of depression, determined Shane would get the treatment their mother never had, if necessary. But Shane was fine. Sensitive, not depressed.
Jack should have made sure she saw a doctor. Ryan thought that then, and he thought that now.
Jack also should’ve been the one to find her.
Ryan found out later—in one of Jack’s drunken rambles—that she’d called him at work and begged him to come home early, saying she needed to see him. He’d said he’d come home right away. But he hadn’t. Believing him, she’d left the note and went to sleep forever.
Ryan knew his mother would not have wanted him or his brothers to see her like that.
Things got worse.
Jack lost his job, unable to stop drinking. He left them for days on end, leaving Ryan to keep Trav, fifteen, and Shane, thirteen, in line. He learned quick how to scramble some eggs and make the most out of spaghetti for their ever-hungry pits. He spent his own measly savings from mowing lawns for food. And when that ran out, he had to steal cash from Jack’s wallet. He only got the chance to do that once.
He’d stolen fifty bucks before school while Jack slept the deep sleep of the drunk. When he got home from school, he was met at the door by an awake and angry Jack. His eyes were bloodshot, and he gripped an open bottle of whiskey.
“You little thief!” Jack yelled, his words slurring. “I know it was you. I want my money!” He grabbed for Ryan’s backpack, but Ryan spun away.
He’d already spent the money on food, and it was in his backpack. No way was he handing it over.
“Get back here!” Jack charged him unsteadily.
Ryan wasn’t as strong as his father, but he had youth and speed on the drunk man. He managed to dodge his father’s punch and put some space between them.
“We need food,” Ryan said. “Look at you! You’re drunk. Get it together. Trav and Shane need you.”
“Trav and Shane…” Jack muttered as he came closer.
“Yes, Dad—”
Jack threw a right hook that sent Ryan reeling. He put his hand to his cheek where it was already swelling. Jack was coming for him again, ready to pound him.
Shane came home then. Trav was God-knew-where, getting into trouble again.
His brother ran between them. “Dad! Ryan! Stop it!” Jack’s fist connected with his younger son’s chest, knocking him down.
Shane started crying.
“Shane! I’m sorry,” Jack said.
“Get out!” Ryan yelled at his father. “We don’t need you around here!”
Jack stood over Shane unsteadily. “Are you okay?”
Shane held a hand to his chest and nodded.
“Get out, or I’ll call the cops!” Ryan yelled.
Jack left, eyes downcast, shoulders drooping, whiskey still in hand.
And he didn’t come back.
Ryan had tried to find him, but no one knew where he was. He’d been afraid to report his father missing because he and his brothers could all end up in separate foster care homes. He held their little family together for as long as he could, trying to keep up the appearance of a normal family. Finally, two weeks later, exhausted from school, the extra lawn-mowing work he’d picked up for cash, and lack of food, he’d called Gran.
“I’ll be right there,” she’d said. And she’d been there for them ever since.
Unlike this a
sshole, he thought, as he looked across the table at Jack.
“Gran took better care of us than you ever did,” Ryan said.
Jack winced. “I know I was no kind of father to you after…what happened, but I was there for you before. Don’t your remember all the dinners I burnt? All the time I spent playing ball with you guys on the weekends?”
Ryan’s mind flashed to a dinner of burnt burgers. Bits and pieces of terrible meals his father had made came flooding back—dried-out chicken, burnt burgers, burnt fish sticks. He’d hated those meals. He and his brothers lived for their Friday night pizza. He’d always blamed his father for the awful food, but now he knew why he did it. Because Mom couldn’t. She’d wander around the house, snacking here and there. Her idea of a meal was giving them chocolate pudding and oranges. Which he’d loved as a young kid, but as he grew older and ate more at friends’ houses, he’d realized that wasn’t normal.
He remembered catch in the yard with Jack too, of course he did, but the memory was such a painful contrast to Jack’s drunken abandonment that he couldn’t go there. His father had abandoned them, left them to fend for themselves. Pizza and ball could never erase that.
Ryan fixed Jack with a level stare. “So you blame the alcohol.”
“Alcoholism is a disease,” Jack said evenly. “I may never be cured of it, but every day I say no to alcohol.” He put a twenty on the table, took a deep breath, and looked Ryan in the eye. “Your grandmother is a wonderful woman, and I thank God you had the sense to call her when I couldn’t handle things. The thing is, she’s done raising you boys, and now is her time. She deserves a chance at happiness. We all do. I’ll admit I was worried at first. It was so sudden, and Jorge is so much—”
“Younger,” they said at the same time.
“I know!” Ryan said. “I told her…” He stopped himself as he realized they saw eye to eye on something.
“You won’t have any problems from me at the wedding,” Jack said. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I hope you’ll still give me a call now and then. I live about a mile from here, not far for a visit.”
Ryan didn’t reply. He wouldn’t be visiting.
Jack leaned forward. “This is my last apology to you. I was weak, and I failed you—something I’ll always regret—but I got help, and I got my life together. I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you.”
“Did that work on Trav and Shane?” Ryan asked sharply.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t an act. It’s a genuine, humble apology. I’m trying to make amends. And yes, it did. It’s a start. One I hoped to make with you. But you’re the tough one, huh?”
“Tough because I had to be.” He stood.
Jack stood too. They were an equal height—face to face. The older man didn’t step back to let him pass. They eyed each other.
A look of sadness passed over Jack’s face. “It’s too late. I see that now. Goodbye, Ryan. I’ll see you at the wedding; then I’ll stay out of your way.” His shoulders slumped as he headed for the door.
Jack is pathetic.
He watched him go.
Aw, hell, he felt like he’d kicked a dog.
Ryan heaved a sigh and stopped his father on the sidewalk. “It’s not too late. It’s just…not easy.”
His father choked out a laugh. “No, it’s not easy.” He held out a hand to shake.
Ryan looked at the hand and then back up to the face so like his own. He shook it, and his father pulled him in for a hug. They pulled apart.
His father gave him a curt nod. “I’ll see you later, son.”
“Goodbye,” Ryan said, feeling the rightness of getting to say what he hadn’t gotten the chance to say the last time he’d seen him. Goodbye.
He felt like a weight he’d been carrying for years had suddenly lifted.
He headed to his car, and his first thought was of Liz. She was the person he most wanted to see when something big happened, like Gran getting married or seeing his father after seventeen years. And if that was just as friends, he could work with that. He was used to people coming to him with their problems, always needing something. Liz wasn’t like that. She was different. Special.
Where’s this relationship going?
He didn’t know, but he knew he didn’t want it to end.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ryan rang the bell at Liz’s place. A moment later, the door swung open, but it wasn’t Liz. It was her sister, Daisy, holding a screaming baby wrapped loosely in a blue blanket. She looked like she wanted to bawl herself.
“Is Liz home?” he asked, looking behind her.
“No.” She thrust the baby into his arms. “Congratulations, you’re an uncle. Now I’m going to tell your brother the happy news.”
“What? Wait!”
The door slammed behind her, and she was gone.
He looked down at the tiny, screaming bundle in his arms. This was his nephew? Had to be Trav. Shane could never keep up with Daisy. He had no time to think too hard on that because the baby was in danger of rupturing his eardrums with his screams.
He turned the baby and held him chest to chest, letting the baby’s head rest on his shoulder. It was like holding a floppy sack of potatoes. With powerful freaking lungs.
He patted the baby’s back a few times. What was wrong with it? Him. What was his name again? Liz had mentioned it last week. Brian? No, Bryce.
He patted his back a few more times. “Bryce, calm down. You hungry?” He searched the refrigerator for a bottle, popped it in the microwave for a few seconds to warm it, then turned the baby into the crook of his arm and stuck it in the wide-open screaming mouth.
The baby sucked for a few seconds, then turned his head away. Waaa-aaaa-aaaa-hhhh!!!!
Where was Liz? How long until Daisy got back? He paced the living room with Bryce.
Maybe he needed a diaper change. He found a huge black bag with a lot of pockets next to the sofa. It had a plastic baby key ring toy hooked on the outside. This had to have diapers. He picked up the bag and realized he couldn’t open the zipper with Bryce in his arms. He laid the baby on the floor so he’d be safe.
WAAA-AAA-AAA-HHH!!!! Now Bryce was really pissed. The baby shook his arms—his hands in tiny fists—and kicked his legs.
“Okay, okay, okay,” he told him. “I just need to check the bag for a diaper.” He unzipped the bag. Bingo. He took out a tiny diaper and looked at the baby. There were a couple of tabs. Seemed simple enough.
He picked up Bryce and laid him down on the sofa, figuring he’d like the soft cushions better than the floor. Bryce still wasn’t happy.
“We’ll get there, little man, but you gotta help me. Give me a clue here.” Ryan unsnapped the footed pajama thing and looked in the diaper. Seemed okay. Bryce stopped screaming for a moment, and Ryan felt hope for the safety of his hearing, but it was just to catch his breath.
WAAA-AAA-AAA-HHH!
He tried to snap the pajamas back together quickly, but Bryce kept kicking, making things very difficult. Huh. Somehow he seemed to be missing a snap now. Part of the baby’s leg wasn’t covered, and the fabric bunched funny. He wrapped the blanket loosely around him to cover the bare leg.
WAAA-AAA-AAA-HHH!
What else could it be? Food, diaper, he seemed warm enough. He studied the tiny screaming person on the sofa. Bryce had worked up to a pretty good shade of red.
Ryan mentally reviewed first aid for a person in shock. First thing, lie them down and elevate the feet.
He lifted the baby’s legs. PRRRRR…RRRT. Bryce let out a huge fart. The baby blinked and stopped crying.
Ryan laughed. “That’s it? That wasn’t so bad.” He scooped up the baby and let him lean against his shoulder. Feeling more relaxed, he walked around with him, giving him the tour. First stop, the kitchen. “Here is where your Aunt Liz prepares healthy food. I’m sure you’re in for a lot of that.” He opened a cabinet, did a double take. “Here are the…alphabetized spices.” There were also clear conta
iners with labels that looked like they were from a label maker—sugar, flour, corn starch, rice, kidney beans. He had no idea Liz was so organized. She’d have a field day with the mess that was his kitchen.
The tour continued with Bryce looking on quietly. “Here’s the living room.” He pushed aside the curtains. “Stunning view of the parking lot. Still no Liz or Daisy, but we’ll be fine, just us men.”
He went into the bedroom and showed him the treadmill. “An instrument of boredom. When you get old enough, we’ll run outside like men are meant to.”
Bryce yawned.
They continued the tour, stopping to look at framed pictures on Liz’s dresser—one of her and Daisy as kids running through a sprinkler; another with Rachel and Liz, arms around each other; one of Daisy hugely pregnant. “There’s you.” Ryan pointed at Daisy’s huge stomach.
Bryce made no comment.
Ryan headed to the bathroom and flipped on the light. “Here’s a mirror. Did you know you looked like this?” He turned his back so the baby could see himself.
He was out cold.
Ryan turned off the light and carefully walked over to the sofa. How about that? He’d gotten the little guy to sleep.
He settled on the sofa with the remote to watch some TV while Bryce slept contentedly on his chest.
An hour later, Bryce was still sleeping when Ryan heard the key in the door.
~ ~ ~
Liz shoved open her apartment door, carrying two bags full of gifts from the Baby Boo-tique for her upcoming trip to see her nephew.
“Hey, Liz,” a soft, deep voice called.
“Ah!” She jumped. “Ryan? How’d you get in here?” She walked over to him and saw the baby sleeping on his chest. “Omigod, is that my nephew? Where’s Daisy?”
“I came over to see you, and she handed me Bryce and left.” His voice was low and even.
Liz dropped the bags and sank down on the sofa next to them. Bryce had a blue blanket around him, and he wore an adorable bumblebee pajama sleeper with a matching yellow hat. She took in the baby’s beautiful features. His mouth hung open in a deep sleep. His cheeks were rosy, a tiny button nose, little hands clutched into tiny fists.
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