Page 69 of All You Need Is Love

“Sir, you can’t harass our attorneys after hours. I’m afraid I’ll have to call security if you don’t leave.”

He didn’t have time for this. “Look”—he glanced at the nameplate on her desk—“Kimmy.” Marshall softened his tone. “Can you please just tell him I’m here? If he can’t take five minutes to see me, I’ll happily be on my way.”

At the mention of her name, the blonde’s eyes became less narrowed, a bit more thoughtful. “Who are you?”

“His son.” Marshall spun on his foot and marched to the last row of seats in the lobby, flopping into one and grabbing a golfing magazine off of a side table. He snuck a glance at Kimmy, whose eyes were round as she lifted the phone from its cradle and spoke into it.

One moment later, she set the phone down. “Mr. St. John will see you now.”

“Great.” Dropping the magazine, Marshall jumped up and headed toward her.

“You’re really his son?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, a V forming between her eyebrows. “He told me about you once.”

“That’s surprising.” He’d always figured one reason his father had moved across the country was to forget his past, to reinvent himself. But maybe he told his coworkers the story of his ungrateful son to get pity points with the ladies.

You’re not here to berate him. Remember that.

Marshall’s hand formed a fist at his side. “Anyway, I appreciate you asking him to see me.”

“ I … I didn’t tell him who was here. Just that he had a visitor.” Kimmy fiddled with an earring. “His office is the last one on the left.”

“Thank you, Kimmy.” Before she could change her mind, Marshall traversed the long hallway, passing a few others emerging from their offices as well as a break room where several staff members stood around a coffee pot talking.

Finally, he reached the office labeled Justin St. John, Partner. Marshall shook out his hands, ran his tongue along the top of his teeth, and knocked.

“Come in.”

He hadn’t heard the voice in years, and he suddenly felt ten years old again, his insides quaking at the idea that he would disappoint the man who had meant everything to him.

But no. He wasn’t that kid anymore, and Marshall could choose his reaction. Fear had no place in his life. Not anymore.

Shoulders held erect, as if going into battle, Marshall opened the door. A man sat behind the desk, sipping a cup of Joe and reading something on his computer screen. He had a head full of white hair and drooping jowls. His drawn face was one Marshall barely recognized, with its wrinkles and double chin.

Gone was the well-dressed man who believed even clothing should be worn with military precision. In his place was one who wore a wrinkled button-up that looked like something he’d grabbed off the rack at Goodwill and a jacket that appeared to be at least a decade old. Stacks of paper surrounded him and the smell of stale pizza invaded the small space. It was the exact opposite of the controlled, sterile office he used to keep.

Marshall cleared his throat. “Hi, Dad.”

His father looked up and flinched, jostling his coffee mug. Dark liquid spilled onto his pants and, cursing, he stood to reveal a beer gut that rivaled the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

What had happened to his father?

“Marshall?” Despite the stain soaking into his khaki pants, Dad just stared at him, blinking. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to say a few things.” Moving forward, Marshall picked up a couple napkins sticking out from under a stack of papers. He shoved them into Dad’s hands.

Dad mumbled his thanks and pressed the napkins against the stain. Then he plopped back into his chair, eyes wide. “Okay.”

“Can I sit?” But before Dad could answer, Marshall lowered himself into the plush chair across from his father. His heartbeat pulsed in his stomach. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I …”

All the words fled his mind. No. He hadn’t driven all this way to get tongue-tied. Think, Marshall, think.

“You look good, son.” Dad’s voice wavered, almost as if …

Marshall frowned at the sight of his father with tears in his eyes. What in the world? “As I was saying …”

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