Page 22 of Off Limits
His head pounded like he’d drank a bottle of whiskey. Maybe he should have.
Like father, like son.
He’d slept like complete shit. His mind wouldn’t stop replaying the escapade with Jane in the locker room of her yoga studio or the look on her face just before he walked out on her. Again. He’d done exactly what he’d been trying not to do. He’d hurt her.
She’d left him on “read.” He’d sent her a few text messages last night apologizing. He noticed she’d read them this morning but did not respond. She always responded.
“Uh, Brady,” Sam, the bartender, peeked his head into the office. “There’s an older gentleman out here. Says he’s your father.”
His stomach plummeted and the room spun.What the fuck! Richard Hinckelson hadn’t made an appearance in over a year. And he typically only showed up when he wanted something. What now? More money, he supposed.
He swallowed the bile that percolated. “Tell him to wait outside. I’ll be right out.” He hardly recognized his own voice.
“He looks in rough shape, man. Maybe a half a bottle in of something hard already today.”
He glanced at his watch. It was only noon, but Richard was likely more than a half a bottle in.
“Thanks, Sam.”
Sam turned and left the office. What nerve his father had showing up here at his work. It had been at least a year since he’d seen his father and that last meeting had ended in a huge argument. He took a few deep breaths before he pushed to standing. Could this day get any fucking worse?
He strolled out of the office and weaved through a few of the early customers to get to the front door. He pushed the door open and inhaled the still-cool Florida winter air. But the sight of his father stopped him in his tracks.
Richard slumped over one of the picnic tables. His once-dark hair was even more a ruffled white mess atop his head than the last time he’d seen him. Lines etched the skin of his hands and the side of his face. He almost felt sorry for his father. Almost.
“Richard.” He inched closer to where his father sat.
The old man lifted his chin and he could see the yellow of his eyes. Jaundice? Not surprised the liver wasn’t working properly.
“Son.” Richard shifted on the bench so the table supported his back.
He hated when his father called him “son.” His entire body went rigid every time he used that endearment. Being his son never meant anything more than being a punching bag or now, an ATM.
Shadows circled below his father’s dark eyes, which had a hollowness about them. His wrinkled khaki pants were baggy and several brownish colored spots stained his red polo shirt. He looked homeless. He could be.
It wasn’t his problem.
“What do you need?” His tone was sharp on purpose. He hated this man.
A maniacal laugh fell from his father’s lips. “That’s a silly question.”
Just hearing that laugh dragged him back to childhood—the hatred, the fists, the helplessness. A vise clamped around his chest, each breath harder than the last. Black spots flickered at the edges of his vision. No. Not here. Not in front of his father. Brady forced himself to breathe—slow inhale, steady exhale. He would not spiral. He would not give his father that satisfaction.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Brady?” Richard barked. “I’m talking to you, boy.”
He lifted his head. “I don’t take orders from you anymore. I told you last time to stay away from me. I want nothing to do with you.”
Richard coughed, the sound ragged and violent, like his lungs might tear loose. “Well, I’ve never taken orders from you.”
It might have only been sixty-five degrees outside but the heat that rose up his neck and across his face made him feel like he was standing in the sun in the dead of an Orlando summer day.
“What do you fucking want? I am working and you are here disrupting our business.” His voice lowered but deepened.
“Son, I need money.” He tried to push himself to standing but stumbled and sat back down. “The motel I’m staying at said I need to vacate if I can’t come up with this week’s rent.”
“I’m not your bank, old man.”
“The fuck you aren’t. I’m your father. I took care of you as a kid. Now it’s your turn.”
