She was describing free writing. She couldn’t have known he’d done plenty of free writing in the past. But not recently. Why? Probably because he’d shifted so far from the roots of his writing, he’d forgotten the basics. He moved a hand to Tyler’s thigh, enjoying the feel of her firm flesh. She was the perfect weight and size for his lap, and illicit desires were already coursing through his bloodstream.
“You make a lot of sense,” he said.
“Of course I do.”
Up close he could see her pupils dilating and knew she was enjoying him squeezing her thigh just as much as he was.
“I’ll start first thing tomorrow morning.” He slipped his other hand beneath the edge of her silky top, seeking out the smoothness of her skin. She drew a quick intake of air and started to rise, but he held her firmly in place. “Not so fast. You can’t sit yourself in a guy’s lap and not expect a reaction.”
“Um, I just wanted to get through to you. About your writing. I didn’t mean anything else.”
“The hell you did.” He continued to stroke her midriff, aware of his wavering self-control. After weeks of titillation without satisfaction, his libido was tinder dry and ready to burst into flame. But he was in his mother’s house, and maybe it wasn’t exactly appropriate to get frisky here.
“Don’t,” she said with a groan. “We’re in your mother’s house, for goodness sakes.”
So she agreed with him. Sighing, he withdrew his hand from her top and lifted her regretfully off him. “You’d try the patience of a saint,” he muttered.
She merely smiled as she moved over to the bookcase near his single bed. Bending down, she flicked through the books, twisting her head to read the titles. He sat back to admire her shapely, denim-clad legs. They were so captivating, he barely noticed her pull out a familiar oxblood-red hardcover book, which fell open at a particular page when she had it in her hands.
“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree…” she slowly recited.
He tensed, but she continued reading the poem. After the first stanza, she glanced up at him. “You look constipated. Am I reading it all wrong?”
“No, your reading is fine.” He forced himself to stop frowning. “It’s just… I didn’t realize that particular book was there.”
“I’m not surprised. You have hundreds of books in this room.”
But that particular book, together with the others his father had left him, he’d long ago stowed away in a suitcase under his bed, not wanting his mother to see them. With a start, he realized she must have found them and put them in the bookcase. She must have known where the books came from, probably guessed how much they meant to him, and unpacked them for him. His heart clenched hard with a pain more bitter than any he’d experienced six months ago. The room grew blurry. Then he felt Tyler touching him, putting something into his hands. When his vision cleared, he saw he was holding the book of poems.
“You should take this back with you,” Tyler said. “For inspiration.”
His fingers curled round the familiar edges of the book. Maybe she was right. But did he want to be reminded of his dad? And besides, carrying this book around with him would only weigh him down.
“Thanks,” he said. “But I think this one belongs here.” He rose to his feet and placed the book back on the shelf.
They walked back to Helen’s house, Luke ambling as slowly as possible. The sun warmed his back, and Tyler strolled by his side, humming quietly to herself. He liked having her all to himself; he could have walked another hour with her, but too soon they turned the corner onto Helen’s street. Parked at the curb outside her house was a car that hadn’t been there before. A navy-blue, oldish Mercedes that made Luke suddenly cold.
“Damn,” he muttered, turning to Tyler. “That’s my dad’s car. Come on, we’d better hurry before blood gets spilled.”
With Tyler trotting behind him, Luke dashed into the house. From the living room came the sound of raised voices. He hurried in and stopped short as everyone’s heads swiveled toward him. Only the adults were present, thank God. The children were all out back. Looking variously angry and upset, his sisters and brothers-in-law were gathered together on one side of the room. On the other side stood his father, once again dressed in a spotless, outdated suit, but this time his expression was agitated and his hair was awry.
“Luke!” Helen darted forward and grasped his forearm with icy-cold fingers. “Look who waltzed in here just a minute ago. Can you believe the insufferable cheek of the man?”
His sister was so white her blusher stood out in stark red patches on her cheeks. The man who’d caused her paleness looked no better himself.
Luke put an arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Maybe you should sit down.” He glanced around the room. Tyler stood in the doorway, her gaze fixed on him. “We should all sit down.”
“No! I’m not going anywhere near him.”
“Helen, please—”
“He’s scum. He’s nothing to me.” She aimed her enraged glare at the old man opposite her. “You hear that? You’re nothing to me.”
Luke’s father wobbled slightly but stood his ground.
“Why did you come here?” Luke barked at him, furious that his father had ruined Helen’s party.
“It’s her birthday. And I thought you’d talked to her already, to all of them.” He nodded at his other daughters.
Helen’s fingernails dug into Luke’s arm. “What’s he talking about? Luke, have you been seeing this louse behind our backs?”
Taking a deep breath, he faced his incredulous sister. “He’s visited me a couple of times, yes.”
“How could you?” She pushed his arm away. “Why did you keep it secret?”
“Because I knew you’d react like this. I was going to bring it up at the appropriate time, but it appears I’ve been preempted.” He shot a glower at his father. Damn him. Why couldn’t he have waited? Now he’d distressed Helen and made Luke out to be one of the bad guys.
“Bring what up?” Helen demanded. “What exactly does he want?”
“He wants…” Luke paused and shrugged at his father. “Why don’t you tell everyone yourself?”
Patrick smoothed back his hair and cleared his throat. “I only want what any father wants,” he began, looking humble. “To be with my family—”
“You forfeited that right when you walked out on us,” Helen snapped.
“And it was wrong of me, very wrong.” Patrick bowed his head. “I regret it to this day. But that happened a long time ago. Can’t we let bygones be bygones? Can’t we forgive and move on?”
“Liar. Hypocrite.” Helen hurled the words at him like stones. Her fury shook Luke. Was his sister this unforgiving?
Patrick staggered back as if he’d been hit, sweat coating his forehead.
“Are you okay?” Moving forward, Luke caught his father’s arm and lowered him into a nearby armchair. The old man’s face was like dough.
“I’ll get him some water,” someone said. Someone else opened a window to let in more air.
Patrick gripped Luke’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Tyler and Karly were holding Helen’s hands. His eldest sister looked devastated. He pulled his arm free. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
His father winced. Before Luke could add anything, Rosie bustled up with a glass of water and a clean towel. “Here you go,” she said sympathetically.
“Thank you, my dear.” Patrick accepted the water and towel. “I’m not as strong as I used to be. Still recuperating from the operation.”
Luke caught his breath.
“What operation?” Rosie asked.
“Had half my liver removed. Fortunately, the tumor was benign.”
“You never mentioned this before,” Luke broke in accusingly.
His father leaned back in the armchair and dabbed his forehead with the towel. “I don’t want to be a bother, son.”
So why mention the operation at all? And in front of everyone? Disquiet crawled in Luke’s gut. His father had always been a liar—a charming liar, yes, but still a liar. Disguising the truth was second nature to him, to the point where he himself wasn’t aware he was lying. He had used Luke to weasel his way into Helen’s home, and now he was using Rosie’s sweet sympathy to his own advantage.
“Is this why you’ve come back?” Luke asked. “Because you’re sick and you want someone to look after you?”
An injured expression came over his father’s face. “When did you become such a cynic? If I need someone to look after me, I can always hire a private nurse. I came back because I want to make amends before it’s too late. Is that so hard to believe?”
Rosie clucked, her face softening as she patted his hand. Patrick gave her a faint smile, but his gaze returned to Luke, a question in his eyes. Luke didn’t know what to think or say. He backed away and turned to Helen. She was still clutching onto Tyler and Karly, deep lines etched on her face.
“Come on.” Luke pulled Helen away and led her into the kitchen.
Once there, she pressed her hands to her cheeks and exhaled deeply. “He took Mum’s engagement ring when he left. Did you know that?”
Luke filled a glass with water and handed it to his sister. “No, I didn’t. Mum never mentioned it.”
The glass rattled against her teeth as she took a sip. “Of course she didn’t. She never stopped loving the rat.” Helen lowered the glass. “He would have left her a lot sooner if it weren’t for you.”
Luke gaped at his sister. “I don’t understand.”
“Before you were born, he left and returned numerous times, but once you came along, he stayed put. You were his boy and the apple of his eye. He doted on you.”
Luke’s gut ached. “But he left anyway.”
Helen shrugged. “Eight years was a long time for him to hang around. Now, he’s
still
doting on you, looking to you to save him.”
What could he say? Helen had every reason to despise their father, but try as he might, he couldn’t muster the same blind outrage.
“I’m sorry, Helen. For everything, especially for ruining your birthday. I’ll get him out of here.”
He went to leave, but she put out a hand to restrain him. “It’s not your fault. I know that. I tend to lash out sometimes. And I had a lovely birthday before all this.” She paused, her expression softening. “Did you and Tyler have a nice visit at Mum’s place?”
He blinked in surprise. “Yeah.”
“I like Tyler a lot. I hope you’ll bring her here again soon.”
He made a noncommittal grunt. The kerfuffle with his father had pushed the rest of the day aside, but later on he would think back on Tyler in his old bedroom and everything she’d said to him.
“Talk to you later.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek and returned to the living room where both the twins were now sitting and listening to their father. The old man had perked up, no doubt because he had a more sympathetic audience, Luke thought sourly.
Tyler and Karly, who’d been hovering in the background, moved over to Luke.
“I’d better go see if Helen needs me,” Karly said before disappearing toward the kitchen, leaving Tyler to give him an inquiring look.
“Helen’s okay,” Luke told her, “but it’s best if I get my father out of here. Are you ready to go?”
She nodded swiftly. “I’ll get Chloe.”
When Luke told his father it was time to leave, Patrick sighed and heaved himself upright. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll let Helen calm down a bit before giving her a ring.”
“It won’t be as easy as you think. You’ll have to work for her forgiveness.”
“And you? You’ve forgiven me, haven’t you, son?”
The hopeful look in his father’s eyes made Luke wince inwardly. He saw Tyler coming in from the garden with Chloe in tow and ignored his father’s question. “Let’s go,” he said in an implacable tone.
Outside the sun was still shining, but the beauty of the day had completely vanished for Luke. He just wanted to see his father drive off. Handing his car keys to Tyler, he told her to see to Chloe before walking with his father to the dated Mercedes. Up close, he noticed it was more decrepit than he’d first thought. There were rust spots, dents, and the tires were worn. His father also looked worse for wear on closer inspection. Thin, gray strands of hair blew in the breeze, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“You okay to drive all the way back to Sydney?” Luke felt compelled to ask as his father unlocked the car.
“I’m still staying locally.”
Luke’s mouth tightened. “Where?”
His father hesitated. “Look, son, you wouldn’t happen to have any spare cash, would you? It’s Sunday, you see, and I can’t access my account until the bank opens tomorrow.”
Luke stared at his father, a sick feeling curdling in his gut. “Where are you staying?” he insisted through gritted teeth.
His father wilted. “The Rocking Horse Motel.”
The Rocking Horse Motel was a flea-bitten dive on the outskirts of town where rooms could be rented by the hour. “If that’s the only place you could find, you should go back to Sydney.”
Patrick’s shoulders appeared to sag even farther. “Actually, I don’t have a place in Sydney.”
Luke drew in some air. “So the harbor-front apartment with the view of the opera house was all a lie?”
“No, it existed, but I had to sell it when I became ill.”
Luke thrust his fingers through his hair as his temper finally broke loose. “I’m so sick of your damn lies. You ferret yourself into my life, you spread all these half-truths like manure, and you leech on your entire family. You don’t care about us. All you care about is what we can give you.”
He whipped out his wallet from his back pocket. His fingers trembled with rage as he yanked out all the notes he had and smacked them against his father’s chest. “There, take it all and get the hell out of here.” His father didn’t make a move to take the money, just stared at him, so Luke shoved the notes into the top pocket of the old man’s jacket. “Get going.”
Patrick fumbled his way into the Mercedes and started the car. Luke slammed the door shut and stood with his arms crossed, waiting until the car finally pulled off. He took a few deep breaths, telling himself to get a grip. He didn’t want Chloe seeing him in such a rage. Finally he calmed down sufficiently to walk over to the Range Rover, where Chloe grinned at him from the backseat. Somehow he managed to return her smile.