Page 97 of Bidding War

I take one last deep breath before I turn the doorknob. His office is just as cold as I remember. Not the temperature. But the feeling. It's enormous and gray, with windows overlooking the city. No piece of furniture in the room is comfortable, other than possibly his desk chair. However, I wouldn't put it past him to have an uncomfortable desk chair just to remind himself to be hard.

The one thing that does surprise me in the room is his smile. It's the same smile that he uses for Mom. I am instantly uncomfortable. What is he trying to hide?

He comes around the desk to shake my hand. He even claps my shoulder as he does it. If someone else were watching, they would think he actually liked me. “Anderson, it is good to see you. I hope the trip was not too arduous. Take a seat.”

If I weren’t on edge before, I would be now. I take his guest chair, and unlike every other time I have come to his office, he takes the second guest chair next to me instead of his desk chair. My father never puts himself in proximity to anyone except for my mother. He's acting like a different person, and I have no idea what to expect.

He begins, “How are you feeling today, son?”

I'm not even sure how to respond to that. I don't think this man has ever asked me that question in any serious capacity. “Uh, fine.”

“No need to be nervous. This is just a friendly chat.”

“We have those?”

He smiles to cover a wince. “I'm glad to see you up and about.”

“I'm glad to be able to be up and about.”

“I am sure that you have heard from Moss regarding the ride-alongs. You will be on them no longer.”

“Can you explain why?”

He firmly says, “I want you in the office again.”

“I thought you didn't want me in the office. That I'm not good enough to be in the office. That I'm training to be some new kind of dog for you.”

“It was never like that in the first place, and you know it. There are many aspects to this business that I need you to learn. Not all of them will be pleasant. But those kinds of unpleasantries are in the past now. They are no longer for you. Too many bad things have happened. I cannot risk you.”

I don’t … what is he up to? “Are you saying that you regret sending me out?”

He takes a breath to say something but then changes his mind mid-thought. “Let's just say mistakes were made. When we make mistakes, we course correct. That's what this is. A course correction.”

It's funny. I never expected an apology from my father. And I'm pretty sure I'll never get one, but that was close to it. At this point, I'll take what I can get.

I sit back a little and try to take a deep breath. There's a tightness in my middle still that hasn't gone away with physical therapy yet. He must have seen my pained face because he makes one of his own. “I?—"

“Do you need a medication? Was coming down here too much for you? I can send for a car to drive you home.”

I hold my hands up for him to stop. “I'm going to need you to stop with all of this parental concern that you have going because it's freaking me out. Who are you?”

For a moment, he looks offended. But then he chuckles. “I suppose it is a bit of a change. But I don't know that I can stop it.” His voice goes thick with emotion. “I nearly lost my boy.”

I have no idea where this is coming from. It would be refreshing if it weren’t so far out of left field. “Well, I'm here now. So let's move forward.”

He scrubs his hand over his face and takes a deep breath. Somehow, that wipes away all the emotion from his face. He clears his throat and then looks me in the eye. “Moving forward is a great idea. When you come back to the office—and there's no rush on that—we will make things as easy for you as possible. I know you're still recovering. I don't want you to stress out about the office. It takes time to get past something this big, Anderson. But I also understand the therapeutic use of work. So, if you're anxious to get back at it, I can definitely send some things your way. Work has always been a great distraction for me in trying times. But that's entirely your choice.”

I frown deeply at him, still unsure where this latent parental concern is coming from. “I'm supposed to meet with Elliot West. About yay tall, a bit of a bastard. Do you know where he is?”

He laughs once, shaking his head. “There's that trademark wit of yours.”

I can't believe he didn't come out swinging. “Dad, are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“I believe I have expressed myself clearly.”

Okay, he isn't gonna give me anything else on it. I asked how he was doing. His emotional wall went up. At least, this is more familiar territory to me. I know how to deal with him when he walls up. Cold and bitter, I can do. Kindness and caring are not in my wheelhouse of how to manage my overbearing father.

“Fine, fine. I don't think I'm quite ready to jump back into a full day of work, but if you wanna send me a couple of things, then I could take a look at them.”

---