Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Until Mom died.”
He nodded, not speaking for a moment. “I had her by my side for a long time. Over twenty years. A lifetime would have been better, but those years were the best of my life.” He rocked his chair a little, the motion slow and methodical.
“You were so angry over losing your mother. Then you became angry at me. I felt as if I lost you both.”
I sighed. “I was lost, Pops. Mom was always the go-between for us. I didn’t know how to talk to you. Express what I was feeling. You always treated me as if I was an idiot who didn’t know his own mind.”
He chuckled. “When you were younger, you didn’t. I guess I got in the habit of second-guessing you. Your mom always said we struck sparks because we were so alike.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”
I was quiet for a moment, trying to process everything. His truth. Mine. Two people running opposite of each other instead of parallel. Away instead of together.
“Perhaps we can meet in the middle. Two grown men with something in common,” I offered.
“Which is?” he asked, sounding wary.
I met his gaze. “Family.” I paused. “Our family.”
His eyes became misty, and he glanced away, clearing his throat. “I like the sound of that.”
“Okay, then. Lunch tomorrow with Stefano’s family? I’ll pick you up about eleven thirty?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
I stood. “Okay. I have to get going.”
He held out his hand. “Thanks for stopping by, son.”
I accepted his handshake, suddenly feeling odd. Stefano’s family hugged. Joked. Laughed. Expressed their feelings for one another freely.
I wanted to get to that stage with my dad.
I walked down the steps, thinking.
“Brett.”
I turned.
“Remember, we all make mistakes. Sometimes we regret them for the rest of our life. Sometimes we correct them. Think about that.”
I left, mulling over his words, still blown away by the fact that we had actually talked. There had been no yelling or accusations. No him talking over me. None of my usual sarcasm I always had ready to throw at him. We simply talked.
It felt good.
And of all the people in the world I had to thank, it was Kelly.
That was the oddest sensation of them all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brett
Kelly’s face was shocked when she opened her door and found me on the other side of it.
“Brett?” she asked, looking confused. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I assured her. “Could I have a moment of your time?”
She frowned, looking worried.
“Nothing bad,” I said. “Just a private word with you.”
She stepped back and let me in. The apartment already looked different. When Chase lived here, it was rudimentary. The furniture Charly had bought was all he had. No knickknacks or pictures—nothing personal. For him, it had been a place to live, and that was about it.
Kelly had added a couple of bookshelves, and they held a collection of things I assumed she picked up from her travels. On the walls, she had hung some pictures I knew she had taken. She watched me look around and shrugged self-consciously.
“Charly insisted I unpack my stuff and make it feel like home,” she said. “We ordered the bookshelves and spent an evening putting them together.” She laughed lightly. “Thank God for Mary, or they might still be in the boxes.”
I chuckled.
“Did you want something to drink?” she asked, sounding hesitant.
“Sure. Water would be good.”
She went to the kitchen and came back with a tall glass, the cold frosting the sides. “Lots of ice the way you like,” she said, offering it to me.
I smiled and sat down. She sat across from me, crossing her legs underneath her. Her hair was damp, and she was dressed in a loose shirt and yoga pants that hugged her slim legs. She had on no makeup or shoes, looking relaxed and still so beautiful it made my throat tight looking at her.
And my cock twitch.
I shook my head. “I came to tell you that it’s okay for you to come to lunch tomorrow.” I drew in a deep breath. “In fact, you should come to lunch tomorrow. Rosa would be pleased, and so would Charly.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You won’t. I also came to thank you.”
“Thank me?” she repeated, sounding incredulous.
“I went and saw my dad today and looked at the soda machine. We shared a drink after.” I paused. “We talked. Not argued, not yelled. Talked.”
“How did that feel?”
“Good. Really good. He shared a few things with me, and I promised to see more of him. In fact, he is coming to Rosa’s with me tomorrow. I would like it if you came as well.” I paused. “He likes you.”
“I—”
I cut her off. “Please just come. It’s lunch, and there are lots of people. But my dad would be more comfortable with as many friendly faces as possible.”