He’d much rather be in solitary confinement.
Noah paced in front of the barred door, leaving a trail of dried dirt that flaked off his pants from his slide on the softball field. Russell sat on the wooden bench running the length of the holding cell wall, his expression grim as he tapped one hand on his knee. The fact it was only a holding cell should have given Noah hope, but the smug expression on Sheriff Rubart’s face as he’d clanged the door shut an hour ago brought very little.
“They can’t hold us for long.” Russell crossed one ankle over the other as he leaned back against the concrete wall. “This is all for intimidation.”
Noah refused to sit next to him—or sit at all. This place hadn’t been wiped down in who knew how long, and while he wasn’t as germophobic as Cade, he could easily let his nose make the decision for him. “I take it you speak from experience.”
“I’ve crossed the wrong person a time or two—much worse than Bergeron.” Russell’s face crinkled at the name. “It always worked out for me in the end.”
Noah had wondered how much of his father’s business success in the Golden State had been legitimate. He paused his pacing and faced his dad. “Let me guess—you paid them off?”
Russell cut his eyes to Noah, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “You always were a sharp one.”
“Not that you were around to notice.” The words slipped free, bringing a sense of relief and regret at once. Not that his dad didn’t deserve to hear them and more.
More like he didn’t deserve the acknowledgment.
Russell frowned as he sat up straight. “You know, I really didn’t expect this much animosity from you. I thought you’d be glad to see me.”
“Glad?” Noah scoffed. “You got into a fistfight with my girl—with Elisa’s dad. At a public ball field.”
Russell cursed. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“It never is, is it?” Long-dormant fury stirred in Noah’s chest. “I guess next you’ll say it wasn’t your fault that you had an affair. Wasn’t your fault yourmistressdied.”
Russell was on his feet and in front of Noah in seconds. His dark eyes flashed. “It wasn’t. You don’t know anything about that—you were a child.”
“Exactly. And you were my dad.” Noah held his ground, staring him in the eye. “Emphasis onwere.”
Russell flinched. “So I make one mistake and you cut me off forever?”
“Pretty sure you made that decision when you cut Mom out. And moved to the west coast to start a new life, leaving her to deal with your mess all alone.”
Russell stepped back and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I asked her to take me back. She wouldn’t. So I left.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” Noah had never been more torn between laughing and punching someone in the face. “You ruined her life and reputation with your selfishness. You ruined mine!”
“Hey!” Sheriff popped around the corner of the hall, hands on his hips as he glared. “Keep it down in there.” He kept his level stare on them for several moments before disappearing once again.
Noah lowered his voice, hissing through clenched teeth. “I had to move. I didn’t get to go to high school with my friends. Everything changed because of you.”
“Well, it looks like you and Elisa figured it out just fine.” Russell shook his head. “I can’t believe you ended up with a Bergeron. After all that.”
“We’re not…” Noah didn’t know what they were now. Or maybe her silence on the ball field told him all he needed to know. Maybe it was like she’d said at the Magnolia Blossom last week before dumping coffee on their table—some things never changed.
He should’ve known better. There was too much water under their shaky bridge of a relationship. What had he expected? Thanks to the man sitting across from him, Noah’s name was all but trash in this town. Hadn’t the sheriff confirmed that with the click of a lock? Elisa had chosen sides, and she’d clearly chosen her father.
He couldn’t fully blame her for it, either.
Noah squared his shoulders. “Elisa and I are none of your business. You don’t have the right to know anything about my life.”
“Fine.” Russell raised both hands as he sat back on the bench. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.” He ran his hand through his hair, much like Noah often did, and then released a heavy sigh. His father was still silver, cunning, and narcissistic.
But he also looked more and more like what he truly was—an aging man living out a lifetime of bad decisions.
Speaking of tired, Noah’s legs hurt. He’d run all evening at the game, and his knee still ached from his dramatic slide into base. He took a seat on the edge of the bench next to Russell.
Forget it—he was probably going to have to relegate these pants to yard duty anyway. Noah slid back into a comfortable position, then looked at his father. “What are you really doing here?” He racked his brain for any details from their last phone call nearly a year ago, only remembering one. “Did Bambi break up with you?”
