Page 37 of Infinite

I don’t back down. This is a battle I need to fight. “Hale, what did you mean when you said that about your daddy?”

When he doesn’t respond, I adjust my position and lean forward. “Look, if I’m going to help you, I need to know things you may not be comfortable sharing.”

“You mean private things? Things I don’t want others to know?”

It’s not really a question. “Yes.”

What I’ve learned throughout my years of working closely with people is that the more you keep your trap shut, the more people will tell you what you want to hear. It’s not so much a need to spill their darkest secrets. It comes with that desire to be heard.

I wait, watching Hale as he gives the ocean we love so much its due, all the while allowing the memories that stirred his bitter words to take life.

It takes a while for him to speak. When he does, I know he’s ready and wants to be heard. “Do you remember how my daddy never missed any of my brothers’ games, but how he always found a reason to miss mine?”

I’m not certain where he’s going with this and my frown reflects as much. “He had to work. It’s how he made his construction company the success it became.”

My words trail at the slow shake of Hale’s head. “No. That was the excuse my mother always fed me, and the one I’d eagerly swallow.”

“What? I remember seeing him cheering you on all the times Trin and I went to watch you.”

“I don’t think you’re remembering it right,” he says, his voice so hollow, the breeze practically swallows it whole. “My father didn’t catch my first football game until middle school when the coaches were noticing my talent and my teachers were noticing my soaring grades.”

“But he went to your brothers’ games no matter what,” I say, repeating his words, since there’s obviously more there and plenty more that I missed. His brothers were good athletes and made decent grades, from what I remember. But they weren’t gifted or as smart as Hale. They also certainly weren’t as popular.

“That’s right,” he agrees.

“Why?”

Hale’s hesitation is brief. “Because, unlike me, they were blood. They were his real sons.”

My knitted brow slowly lifts as shock hits me like a freight train.

“That’s right,” he says, opening his arms wide. “You’re looking at one hell of a bastard. The real kind.”

Hale reaches for a beer from the cooler near his side, popping off the cap before handing it to me. “You might need this,” he says.

I take three hard pulls. Considering the bomb he just dropped on my lap, I might need a whole case.

“You were adopted,” I say. “There’s no shame in that.”

It’s a stupid thing to say. I knew it was before those lame thoughts flew out of my mouth. Clearly, he wasn’t adopted. Oh, no. I take another few quick gulps, my head spinning when I realize I almost drank the whole thing.

Hale lowers the beer he took for himself, barely taking more than a sip. “Now, darlin’,” he says. “We both know that’s not where this conversation is headed.”

In the far distance, lightning lights up the sky, signaling the start of the predicted storm and the wallop of a story Hale has to tell.

“Daddy had a heart attack a few weeks after I moved to the city,” he begins, his focus returning to the flames. “I came right home. He was my daddy, right? At least, that’s what I believed back then.” He swallows a taste of beer. “We were in the hospital. He knew things were bad. He knew this was his time. Even though all the docs were telling him that with the right diet and meds he should pull through.”

The flames reflecting and dancing across Hale’s face would unveil darkness and bitterness on anyone else. On Hale, they reveal the soul of a damaged man.

“I think he wanted to clear his conscience before he died. Admit his sins and such. ‘You’re not mine,’ he said. ‘You’re not my real boy.’ I thought he was delirious or that maybe the pain meds he was on were having a negative effect.” He huffs. “That’s what I told myself, anyway. But I knew it then. I knew it in the way he spoke and in the way he looked at me. Hell, maybe I’ve always known.”

I grip the longneck tightly, trying to keep quiet so he won’t stop.

“He told me . . .” He drags his hand down his face. “He told me he was embarrassed about everything I had to do to win his love. How I had to work that much harder, while my brothers barely tried. About all those times he regretted walking past me when he could feel how much I wanted a hug.”

Hale takes a hard gulp. “‘You were always a good son, Hale,’ he said. ‘You always had a fire that couldn’t be put out, and a heart as big as the ocean. I should have seen it long before I did. I owed you better than that as your daddy.’”

“He was telling you he was sorry,” I say when Hale’s thoughts take him away. “He was trying to make peace with how he mistreated you.”

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