Page 45 of Come Break My Heart Again

“See you, Archer,” Tuck responds.

I manage a nod before Archer continues jogging, then glance at Tuck. “You and Hathaway are buddies now?”

Tuck blows out a breath. “I did some work on his folks’ place. Put in a patio, did some reno work on the downstairs. Archer was over there a lot. He got married last summer. Some girl he’d met in college at Michigan. She’s sweet. I know he was a dick in high school, but people change, Ry.”

“Keira know you’re friendly with him?” I ask.

“Yeah. Why?”

“No reason,” I reply. “Let’s lift this.”

Moving the sander is an easy job with two people. I carry the base while Tuck guides the handles. We deposit it in the dining room, up first for floor refinishing, then head back outside. A couple of guys from the crew have arrived.

We’re standing in the front yard, shooting the shit, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I got a new one two days ago, miraculously managing to keep my old number. At least, it felt like a miracle at the time. One thing that went right.

Staring at the Colorado number flashing across the screen, I’m less sure.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell the guys before walking toward the backyard. I really don’t want an audience for this call.

I answer, but say nothing. He can talk first.

“Hello, son.”

“Dad.”

I’ve never called him Sperm Donor or Dax to his face, but I’ve been tempted too many times to keep track of.

“How’s it going?”

Jesus. I crack the fingers of my left hand, staring at the dirt patch where the firewood was piled. “Great. Just got back from an Antarctica cruise. Saw a ton of penguins.”

His sigh is heavy. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Ryder.”

“Then why are you calling, Dad?”

“I haven’t talked to you in seven years. I need a reason to call?”

“Yeah, you do. Because not talking to me for seven years was your decision.”

“I wasn’t the one who got himself incarcerated.”

I tip my head back to track a cloud’s progress across the sky. It’s silent, so quiet that I think maybe he gave up and hung up.

“Look, your mom called and told me you’d been released, and I just thought?—”

“She mention she’s dying?”

More silence.

“No. That didn’t come up.”

I snort. “And let me guess … you’re too busy to come see her. Or me.”

“I have some very important?—”

“Save the speech, Dad. I’ve heard it before.”

“Do you need money? I can send some.”

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