All he could do was hope Lucas would hear him out.
The odds weren’t in his favor, considering his son had ignored his prior text and call, but perhaps his willingness to make the effort to show up would count for something.
He entered the three-story apartment building. No obvious security, but at least the place was clean.
After giving the tiny elevator a once-over, he continued to the stairwell. Maybe the exercise would dispel some of his tension, which had burgeoned while he sat idle on a plane for hours with nothing to do but worry about this meeting. Plus, the climb would put off the moment of truth for another couple of minutes.
He took the stairs at a slow, methodical pace, yet his heart picked up speed with every step he climbed.
A phenomenon unrelated to his physical exertion.
It was fear, pure and simple.
At the top, he opened the door to the hallway. Walked down the length of the corridor, checking numbers as he went.
Lucas’s apartment was the last one on the right.
He stopped in front of the door. Raked his fingers through his hair. Called up his rusty praying skills and sent a silent plea heavenward for guidance.
Then he leaned forward, hand raised, to—
The knob rattled, and a second later the door swung open.
Lucas took a step forward. Jerked to a stop as his visitor’s presence registered.
Slowly Martin lowered his hand. Stuck his trembling fingers in his pocket. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What ... what are you doing here?” His son’s tone was wary, devoid of warmth or welcome.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
A muscle clenched in his son’s cheek. “Give it up, Dad. I’m not joining the mill.”
“I know. And that’s okay.”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “Since when?”
“Since I saw the light. Can we talk?”
A few beats passed while his son studied him. “I have plans for the day.”
Not unexpected. Most young adults Lucas’s age didn’t let Saturdays go to waste.
“Can you squeeze in a coffee this morning? Or lunch? Or we could do dinner this evening. I’m also available tomorrow morning. My flight doesn’t leave until two.”
Lucas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Did Mom put you up to this?”
“No. She doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Whyareyou here?”
That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have standing in a hall. “If you can carve twenty minutes out of your weekend for me, I’ll explain.”
Silence as Lucas regarded him.
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he reached up. Wiped it off. He’d beg, if necessary, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
“Give me a minute.” Lucas moved back. Shut the door.
