Page 27 of The Wanderer

Maybe Rick was right. Maybe it was time to confront his dad and lay the past to rest. But every time he contemplated it, he developed an eye tic and he sweated bullets. He’d already lost enough sleep over the years, mulling his father’s callous abandonment and subsequent overtures to make up for it. He’d be damned if he developed an ulcer over his dad’s latest attempt to reunite.

But he couldn’t get the C word out of his mind. Cancer. What if it returned? What if his father died before Logan said all that needed to be said?

He’d dealt with his anger and bitterness over the years, usually by wielding a hammer at work. But he’d been off the tools for a long time now and his dad’s latest call kept playing over and over in his head like a goddamn ear-worm.

"You mentioned you didn't get on with your dad before." She laid a hand on his forearm, the tiniest speck of ketchup dotting her thumb. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," he muttered, tempering it with a sigh when she withdrew her hand. "Sorry, force of habit. I have this theory that if I don't mention him, he doesn't exist."

He risked a glance at her, not surprised to see a raised eyebrow. "Childish, I know, but it's complicated."

"We all have complicated family but if yours is affecting you this much, maybe you should do something about it."

He wanted to chastise her for the psychobabble but didn't want to spoil their day out. This was supposed to be fun, exposing her to a taste of Melbourne culture, to something new she’d never done before. He should never have mentioned his father.

"The game's about to start," he said, raising his beer to his lips and wishing he could down the whole thing in one go to ease the tightness in his throat. "Go Kangas."

She stared at him through slightly narrowed eyes for what seemed like an eternity before averting her eyes and focussing on the field.

Relieved, he slumped into the hard, uncomfortable plastic seat and took a slug of beer. He should be enjoying himself. He had a beautiful woman by his side, he was watching his favourite footy team, and he intended on celebrating with her later back at his place. Instead, the beer burned a trail down his throat and settled in his gut like acid.

'You need to face me some time, Son.'

That fucking phrase reverberated around his head, impossible to dislodge no matter how hard he tried. Footy, beer, and sex: it should be a no brainer for clearing his head. But if the footy and the beer weren't doing the trick, maybe he needed to fast forward to the sex.

He rested a hand on Hope's thigh and leaned across to murmur in her ear. "Want to get out of here?"

"But the game's only just started?" She stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Yeah, but maybe I want to get started in a different way."

She liked his bluntness. She'd told him so. But this time he knew what she'd say before her mouth opened because it pursed in disapproval and a tiny frown slashed her brows.

"As much as I want you, I won't be any guy's temporary diversion." She tilted her nose in the air in her characteristic snooty move he found endearing. Except today. "I want to watch the game."

Okay, so she was paying him back for freezing her out about his dad. But how could he articulate all the shit he'd endured because of that man to a virtual stranger when he could hardly face up to it himself?

He itched to get the hell out of here, to leave and go drown his sorrows somewhere else. But he wouldn't run at the first sign of the tough stuff.

He wasn't his old man.

When she continued staring at him with that all too probing stare, he nodded. "Fine. We'll stay."

But he'd ruined the day and not even a Kangaroos victory by forty-five points or her apparent enthusiasm for his team could salvage what he'd screwed up.

When they left the stadium and headed for his Ute, he felt compelled to ask, "Do you fancy having dinner somewhere?" even though the thought of spending an evening across a table from her seemed unpalatable considering his mood. She didn't deserve this.

"No thanks. Take me home please." Her clipped tone alerted him to exactly how unimpressed she was by his behaviour and he didn't blame her.

It took less than twenty minutes from the Docklands stadium to her place and when he pulled up outside the front of Hope and Harmony she already had the car door half open.

"Hey." His hand shot out to still her. "I'm sorry."

"For what? For acting like a douche all day? For not speaking to me? For treating me like a hanger-on you couldn't wait to ditch?"

He winced and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I deserved that."

"Yeah, you did." Her tone softened and he felt the rigid muscles of her shoulder relax under his touch. "Look, neither of us signed up for a relationship. We're having fun for a short time not a long time and whatever other kind of fling cliché you'd like to use. But today wasn't fun for me and by that residual scowl on your face it was shitty for you too."

---