Page 19 of Snared Rider

Even with the banging head (and the inquisition), I had a good time. Right up until I saw their arsehole brother. For the hundredth time in the past decade I wonder what they would think if they knew about me and Logan.

I wonder what everyone would think.

Mostly, I wonder why the hell we kept the whole thing a secret in the first place.

I move back to the counter and grab the coffee container. I can’t go there, not today.

I drop a spoonful of coffee into the mug. Then, I add a second because one is not going to cut it this morning.

“So, what’re your plans for today?” Dad asks.

Avoid Logan Harlow like the plague.

“I thought I’d do some work. Dean also said he might pop over to take me out on the bike for an hour or two.” I pull open the fridge and grab the milk.

“You be careful on his bike, love.”

I roll my eyes, reverting back to sixteen suddenly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Beth—”

“Dad, I’ll be fine with Dean.” His eyes narrow, but he lets it go. I suspect this is because he knows I will be fine with Dean. Not one to kick a gift horse in the mouth, I seize the opportunity to change the subject to something else that is troubling me.

“I hate to say it, but Grandad’s health is deteriorating.”

I had little chance to speak to him last night. He left about half an hour after I arrived, much to my dismay. He was tired and feeling unwell, so I didn’t want to push him to stay, but I would have liked more time with him. It was upsetting how much worse his health is since I last saw him.

Dad winces as he runs a hand over his jaw, then his eyes dim. “He’s been on a downward spiral for a little while now,” he admits.

It physically hurts. I should have been here for them; I should have done more. Avoiding Logan has stopped me from being here when I was needed and this pisses me off.

“You should have told me.”

Dad waves a hand. “I didn’t want you to worry. I know you have enough shit to think about with that job of yours.”

I swallow my guilt, focusing on stirring the milk into my coffee. “You still should have told me. Is there nothing more the doctors can do for him?”

“He’s seventy-four, Beth. He has a chronic lung condition and he’s still getting through a pack of cigarettes a day. I’m not sure what else they can do for him.”

I grab the mug and bring it over to one of the empty stools next to Dad. I slip the mug onto the counter and sag onto the seat. “Have you talked to him about the smoking?”

At this stage it won’t stop the progression of the disease but it might give him some respite. Dad laughs a mirthless sound.

“That man has smoked since before I was born, love.”

“I know, but if it’s making him worse surely we have to try to stop him doing it.”

“You ever tried to get Jimmy Goddard to do anything he doesn’t want?”

Good point.

Grandad isn’t the easiest man to deal with. There is a reason he co-founded a motorcycle club in his late teens. I roll the mug between my hands. “There must be something we can do.”

“Yeah, make him comfortable, help him to manage his condition as best we can. The man has never been good at doing what he’s told; he’s not going to change at this age.”

While Dad is right, I hate that he is. Watching someone you love slowly dying is a horrible thing to endure, and while Grandad’s disease is mostly his own doing it doesn’t make it any less painful to see.

I blow the steam from my coffee and take a tentative sip.

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