Page 102 of Going Once

“It’s just as well, poor bastard. This is going to leave one hell of a scar.”

* * *

Don Benton was being released from the hospital. He was packing his things when he overheard a conversation between two nurses about Tate’s heroic rescue of Nola Landry. It was yet another reminder that the son he’d rejected had grown into a man of integrity and courage.

He hailed one of the nurses who quickly came running. Being a doctor, as well as a patient, in the local hospital had its perks.

“Which room is Nola Landry in?” he asked.

“She’s down the hall in 217.”

“How is she doing? Is she up to visitors?”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Benton, but I don’t know her status. I can find out for you.”

“Never mind. I’ll check in on her myself before I leave. Thank you for the information.”

“You’re welcome. When you’re ready to leave, call the nurses’ station and we’ll take you down.”

He felt a little unsteady on his feet as he headed down the hall, and he was nervous about seeing her, because he was going to ask a favor. He wanted her to intercede with Tate on his behalf. When he reached the door he didn’t bother to knock, then realized that he should have.

When Tate looked up and saw his father coming in the door, he frowned. The bastard never did know when to quit. Without saying a word, he got up and pushed his father back out into the hall, and then closed the door behind them. Nola was asleep, and he intended to leave her that way.

Don wasn’t happy. He’d hoped to see Nola alone, but he should have realized that might not be easy.

Tate met his father’s gaze unflinchingly.

“What?”

His son’s lack of emotion was unsettling. Don didn’t quite know how to begin.

“Uh, I heard about what happened and wanted to see how she was doing.”

“She’s alive.”

“And the killer is dead?” Don asked.

“I don’t know that.”

“Really? I thought…”

Unwilling for the whole floor to hear their argument, Tate lowered his voice to just above a whisper.

“You don’t give a shit about anything but yourself, and we both know it, so what the fuck are you doing here?”

Don shrugged. “Honestly? I was hoping she might intercede with you on my behalf.”

“With me?”

Don nodded. “I’m sorry if you aren’t prepared to talk to me, but—”

Tate wanted to shake him and had to remember he had recently been in a wreck.

“Remember the night you wouldn’t talk to me?” Tate snapped.

Don sighed. “Yes.”

“Well, so do I, and that is never going to change. You are nothing to me. You were dead to me the night you threw me out of the only home I’d ever known like some stray off the street. Go away. You will never be a part of my life.”

---