Page 29 of Kyle
"I--nothing. See you tomorrow."
Hanging up the phone, he looked up and caught his father's knowing look.
"Don't say anything," he muttered.
Holding up his hands, Jason grinned.
"Not a word."
*****
"Was that her? Was that my wife?" Her father asked as soon as she went back into the living room. She did not bother to remind him that he and her mother were divorced. It would not have made a difference.
"It was Kyle."
"He's checking up on you." A dull light gleamed in his bloodshot eyes.
"He just wanted me to know that he and his dad are spending the night at the club. How about some tea?"
"I'd much prefer a shot of whiskey."
"You've had enough. Tea it is."
"She's seeing that young actor again." He was slumped in the comfortable Barcalounger, his shoulders hunched. The housekeeper had made dinner before she left and put it in the warmer.
"Dad--"
"I'm in love with her." Tears sprang to his eyes, making her uncomfortable. "I want her back, baby." He gave her a watery look. "It might sound pathetic, considering how many times she has cheated on me, but that's love." He pressed a hand to his chest. "You'll understand how it is one day. Hopefully you'll not get your heart broken into pieces like I have."
Abandoning the idea of making tea, Ingrid pulled up a chair and sat in front of him.
"Dad, look at me." When he did, she decided it was time for some really hard truths. "You and Iona are divorced."
"And your point would be?" He gave her a frosty look that had her biting back a laugh. "Would it kill you to call her mom?"
"It probably would," she muttered. "My point is, you've both moved on to several different people over the years. You sitting here feeling sorry for yourself is just sad and yes, pathetic. Find a hobby, collect stamps or here's a thought, get involved in the company. We need people, skilled brains. You're an architect and we have a major project coming up. The Victorian Era housing complex. We need your valuable input." She reached for his hands. "You're wasting your life, one that could be fulfilling. Grandfather would start to respect you more. You don't have to live like this, content with settling for an allowance at the end of the month. What happened to the guy who was going to take the company to the next level?"
"He died under the pressure." His eyes brightened again, and she had to force herself not to shake him until his teeth rattled. "You don't know what it's like to be the only offspring for a man like William Ryder." There was a tinge of bitterness to his tone. "It's always, 'do this, do that' make me proud, be a bloody man, you're a Ryder and we're supposed to be super heroes. He puts the pressure on and expects you to live up to his incredibly highstandards." His eyes met hers. "You did it. Somehow, you've managed to please that difficult man. He's been disappointed in me since I was a child, and it crippled me. It's his fault, I'm like this." He sniffed in a self-righteous manner. "It's his fault I'm like this. I have failed at being a son and a husband and a goddamned father to you and Matthew. He's gay because of me."
"That's ridiculous!"
"The old man blames me for that too. He told me that I'm so useless, I could not even manage to produce a man, he said that to my damn face. As if my seed is bad. Matthew is gay because he came from me." Tears spilled over. "And now I have nothing."
"You have more than most." Dragging her hands from his, Ingrid wondered why she even bothered. "You have your health; you come from wealth and have a fabulous roof over your head. You never have to worry about where your next meal is coming from. People work damn hard to keep that roof over your head and food in your belly. Sumptuous food. You never have to worry about medical bills, because your insurance is top of the line. Sitting here feeling sorry for yourself is just crazy and selfish."
For a moment, the silence between them thickened, filled with all the unsaid words and regrets lingering in the air. Ingrid studied her father's face, the creases deeper, his usually sharp eyes dulled by sorrow and drink.
"I'm sorry I'm not the daddy you wished for." His mouth was petulant, his face sulky. Ingrid just knew that nothing she said had gotten through to him.
"I'm going to go and make the tea. After we have the meal, I'm going home."
"Oh baby, I'm sorry! Please don't leave. I promise to keep my feelings to myself."
"Dad--"
"I know I'm a wreck, but you're the only one I can talk to. The only one who's always been there for me. Stay. Please."
Ingrid hesitated, the plea in his voice tugging at something deep inside her. She wanted to be angry, to walk away and leave him to his self-pity, but beneath it all was a wounded man she still cared for. Sighing softly, she squeezed his hand once more.
