Page 33 of Forget

If asking a favour wasn’t in George’s DNA, pleading was unheard of. Brock stared at the man who’d begrudged his existence for as long as he could remember, the man who’d whinged about having an extra mouth to feed, the man who’d doled out a few dollars in pocket money as if he couldn’t stand to part with it rather than acknowledge the endless hours Brock helped in the yard when kids his age had been skiving off into the city or going to the movies.

George looked at least a decade older than forty-seven with his receding hairline, greying hair, and pouches under his eyes. He looked like a man who’d had a hard life and made life harder for those around him.

But whatever his father had done in the past, Brock couldn’t turn his back on him now. He already harboured enough guilt for being the reason his mum had stuck with this man during her twenties, the years she should’ve been out partying; he wouldn’t add to her burden. Because nothing surer than George would pester his mother to attend solo if Brock turned him down.

‘Okay, Dad, I’ll do it.’

George’s relieved smile added to the lines around his mouth. ‘There’s something else.’

As if attending an event filled with his father’s cronies wasn’t bad enough. ‘What is it?’

George’s sheepish expression didn’t bode well. ‘I’m on the organising committee. In fact, I’ve planned the whole thing this year, so there’s a few finishing touches that need to be done.’

He held up his hand and started counting tasks on his fingers. ‘The caterers need to be contacted to ensure the menu is going out as planned. The florists doing the centrepieces need to be paid. The venue will need to be double-checked the morning of the function to ensure the decorators followed specifications…’ George trailed off, his bashfulness almost asshocking as his gratitude earlier. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, Son, but do you think you can do this for me?’

Brock’s first instinct was to refuse. Attending would be bad enough, but finalising details of this shindig? A nightmare. Besides, since when did he have party-planning skills?

Party planning…

Something Jayda had said niggled… about her being a glorified party planner for her parents’ business… If she’d done this kind of thing before, she’d be the perfect person to help.

All he had to do was grovel.

‘Fine, I’ll do it,’ he said, with reluctance.

George beamed, ignoring his begrudging response. ‘And, Son?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You coming to visit means a lot.’

George held out his hand, his admission the closest thing to affection Brock had ever received from his father, and damned if his chest didn’t ache with unrequited emotion when he shook his dad’s hand.

16

One of Jayda’spet hates in high school had been girls assuming she must over-eat in private due to her size, when nothing could be further from the truth.

She’d always been a small eater, and while she loved carbs as much as the next girl she watched her weight because she’d been naturally ‘blessed’ with curves.

These days, she rarely kept treats in the house because she’d rather resist temptation. But an hour after her mother left, when she’d showered and slipped into her favourite PJs, she was eternally grateful she had a stash of baking chocolate in the pantry. Not half as good as the real thing but this was an emergency.

She’d broken off three squares when her doorbell rang. Great. Saved by the calorie police. Though in reality she had no idea who would drop by unannounced at eight on a weeknight. The few friendships she maintained from high school were with women who were the epitome of polite and drop-ins were non-existent. Her mother wouldn’t have come back, and if it was her father…this could get ugly and not even baking chocolate could save her.

Cursing under her breath, she stuffed the chocolate back into the pantry and padded to the front door. Wishing she’d installed a peephole when she’d moved in, she opened it a crack and instantly wished she hadn’t changed.

An incredibly handsome Brock, in dark denim and an olive polo shirt, stood on her doorstep.

‘Hey,’ he said.

No apology for turning up out of the blue without warning her first. No smile. Just those almost ebony eyes boring into her as if he could read every secret in her soul.

‘Hey.’ She opened the door to let him in because in that moment she knew he would provide much better comfort than second-rate chocolate.

And what she had in mind would burn calories rather than increase them. Win-win.

She’d barely closed the door when she was on him, pushing him up against the wall, dragging his head down to hers so she could kiss him.

He didn’t stop her. He didn’t hesitate. Sensing her need, he picked her up and stumbled into the living room before depositing her on the sofa and covering her body with his.

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