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His quiet question catches me off guard—as many things do lately. I’m used to him telling me what to do, what to eat, how to exercise, how often to get checkups, but not…asking.
Like he’s concerned.
I mean, I know he is. Generally and vaguely concerned. He’s my father. Still…
“Everything’s fine,” I tell him, not sure if I’m trying to reass
ure him or myself. “Really.”
“You’d tell me if anything was wrong?”
“Of course.”
I think. Probably. If I didn’t think it would make him fret and hover. There’s enough of that as it is.
Okay, I’ll say it. The truth is, I’m not really close to anyone anymore, not even to my father, and that’s for the best. It’s in everyone’s interest that I keep some distance.
Doesn’t explain why I’m still shaking, though, and I struggle not to think about it as I return to my office.
***
The PI I set on the case of Riddick’s brother calls me as I leave work, late in the evening. He informs me that he has a new lead he will follow up on, and I grin as I disconnect, glad to have some hint of good news to give to Riddick.
I shouldn’t care.
I really fucking shouldn’t. Whether I can make him smile, or make Brylee laugh. None of my business. Nothing to do with me.
But I’m still grinning as I climb into my car and head to the gym.
What does it hurt, right? To do something nice for them, if it is looking for his brother, or taking them to the lake house. Making it up to them for having been a jerk all this time.
No text message from Brylee or Riddick. No sign of them in the gym, either, as I go through my routine.
Someone else approaches me, though. Dylan Hayes, one of Rafe’s gang, comes to talk to me, a tall, blond guy with tattoos on his arms. A silver ring glints in his lip.
“What’s up, man?” He sits on the leg press next to mine, stretching his arms over his head, his white T-shirt riding up, baring more ink on his stomach. “Haven’t seen you around much lately.”
I squint at him, blinking sweat out of my eyes. “Work.”
I haven’t talked to Dylan more than a handful of times over the years. It’s usually Rafe who comes around to discuss exercises and machines with me, and to invite me to join their self-defense group.
Being such a moody asshole, it’s a miracle that these guys are still trying to have conversations with me. I’d have given up by now.
“I was just wondering,” he says.
“About what?”
“Why you keep yourself so distant.”
I open my mouth to tell him it’s none of his fucking business, and who does he think he is anyway, but I can’t speak past the knot forming in my throat.
The fuck, right?
“I know about your mom.” He says it so casually, when it’s a fist in my guts, leaving me winded.
I’m pretty sure I hide it well, sitting up and wiping my face with my towel, erasing all trace of shock. “Yeah?”
“Rafe’s dad was good friends with yours, once upon a time. Rafe says your mom—”
