“How noble of you.”
But she was smiling, and the sight of it loosened the panic in my chest. This was real.Wewere real. Whatever ghosts haunted me, whatever demons my father had planted in my head, they couldn’t take this away.
I wouldn’t let them.
I hoped.
FORTY-FIVE
It didn’t matter where in the world he went, my father always walked into any room like he owned it. Nick Farrell commanded attention without trying. He had broad shoulders, an easy smile, and the kind of effortless charisma that made people want to be around him. He was in his early fifties now, but you’d never know it. His hair was still mostly brown with only a hint of salt in his sideburns, and he was nearly as fit as I was. He carried himself like the whole world was a party he’d been personally invited to.
I hated how much I looked like him. Same hair, eyes, and build. I could pretend it wasn’t the case when he wasn’t around, but whenever we entered a room together, all eyes would turn to us and I knew what they saw.
“Liam!” He pulled me into a back-slapping hug outside the restaurant he’d chosen—Summit Hills, the most upscale restaurant in Missoula, the nearest city to Dunridge. “Christ, you’ve gotten bigger. I’m going to have to up my weights at the gym to keep up with you.”
“You’re plenty fit, Dad.”
He clapped my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get a table. I’m starving.”
The hostess was pretty—mid-twenties, dark hair, and a smile that was professional until my father turned his attention to her. Then it became something else entirely as her cheeks flushed pink.
“Well, aren’t you lovely,” he said, turning up the wattage on that smile that had been breaking hearts for decades. “Table for two, darling. Something with a view, if you’ve got it.”
She giggled. Actuallygiggled. “Right this way.”
I followed them to a corner booth, watching my father’s hand drift to the small of her back as she led us through the restaurant. She didn’t seem to mind. They never did.
This is what you’ll become, a voice whispered in my head.This is your future.
I shoved the thought away and slid into the booth.
“So.” My father settled across from me, his eyes bright with the particular energy he always carried. Like he was constantly on the verge of his next adventure. “Tell me everything. How’s hockey? How’s school? How’s your mother?”
“Everything’s good.” I wasn’t about to tell him a fucking thing about Mom. He’d lost the right to hear about her a long time ago. And she was better off without him.
He nodded like that answer satisfied him, even though it told him nothing. That was my father—content with surface level as long as it didn’t require anything from him.
Our waitress appeared, and she looked slightly younger than the hostess with blonde hair and a nervous energy that suggested she was new. My father’s gaze tracked over her with the same casual appraisal he gave every attractive woman who crossed his path. Her gaze darted between uslike she couldn’t decide who made her more flustered, and that knot in my stomach turned into nausea.
“Good evening,” she said, her voice a little breathless. “Can I start you gentlemen off with something to drink?”
“Whiskey, neat. Top shelf.” He winked at her. “And whatever my boy wants.”
“Just water for me,” I said.
She scribbled on her notepad, her cheeks pink. “I’ll be right back with those.”
My father watched her walk away, then turned back to me with a grin. “Cute, isn’t she?”
“She’s working, Dad.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s not cute.” He leaned back in the booth, stretching his arm along the top of the seat. “You need to lighten up. You weren’t this stiff last time I saw you.” The last time he’d seen me had been a year ago. “You need to enjoy the finer things.”
The finer things. Like women he’d never call again.
I changed the subject. “What brings you to town, anyway?”
“Do I need a reason to see my son?”
