The Last Goodbye (10 page)

She felt a pang of regret when he started rolling up his papers. “Better go check on Dad.”

She could see the new tension in him as he pulled on his socks.

“Anytime you need a break, come over.”

She hesitated, all her admonitions to herself about interfering loud in her ears. Then she thought about that moment she’d witnessed this morning and threw caution to the wind. “Even if you just need to talk. Okay?”

Tyler was tugging on his shoes, but he flicked a quick look at her. “Thanks.”

She bit her lip to stop herself from saying any more.

Tyler stood and gathered his things. “Thanks for sharing your peace and quiet. Hope I didn’t distract you too much.”

“You didn’t distract me. It was nice having company for a change.”

Especially his company.

He took their empty glasses inside. She watched him leave them in the kitchen sink before following him to the front door.

“Good luck with the nurse tomorrow,” she said.

“Yeah. I have a feeling I’m going to need it, given Dad’s reaction to the safety rails.”

He surprised her then by leaning in and brushing
her lips with a brief kiss. “Bye, Ally, and thanks for saving my ass again today.”

He started down the steps. Ally forced herself to close the door instead of standing there like a dodo watching him walk away again.

She could still feel the warm imprint of his lips on hers as she returned to the kitchen. Which was stupid, since it had been the barest peck. Nothing like the kisses they’d shared last night.

Those kisses had been enough to make her lose her head and crawl into his lap. Those kisses had kept her awake, staring at the ceiling.

She made an impatient noise, frustrated with herself. She crossed to the fridge and pulled the carton of Nuts About Chocolate from the freezer.

When in doubt, pig out.

A tried and true solution to many of life’s problems. She hoped it worked as an antidote for unrequited lust.

Although the more she got to know Tyler, the less she suspected lust was her problem where he was concerned. Lust was all about pheromones and sweaty, carnal urges, but her attraction to Tyler was about a lot more than his body.

A dangerous acknowledgment.

She grabbed a spoon from the drawer and excavated herself a huge scoop of ice cream. Maybe by the time she’d dug her way to the bottom of the tub, she’d have unearthed some common sense.

T
YLER WOKE TO FIND HIS
father standing over him. He flinched, then immediately regretted the reflex. The last thing he wanted was for his old man to think Tyler was still afraid of him.

“What are you sleeping on the couch for?”

“I don’t like the bed in my old room.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“You sleep on it, then.” Tyler swung his legs to the edge of the couch and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Six-fifteen.

Great.

He estimated he’d had about three hours’ rest between his father getting up and down and the lumpiness of the couch cushions.

“Stupid to sleep out here. Makes the place look messy. Your mother wouldn’t like it.”

Tyler gave his father an incredulous look. “But she would have loved the boxes of newspapers everywhere?”

His father frowned, unable to find a suitable response.

“What do you want for breakfast? Porridge? Toast?” Tyler asked.

He reached for the T-shirt he’d thrown over the arm of the couch last night and caught his father staring at the tattoo high on his left shoulder.

“Never thought a son of mine would get himself marked up like a common criminal.”

“Porridge or toast?”

“Toast. I suppose.”

“My pleasure,” Tyler muttered as he headed for the kitchen.

He collected butter and jam from the fridge and slid two pieces of bread into the toaster.

“I used to sleep on that bed myself when your mother was sick.”

His father was in the kitchen doorway, a stubborn expression on his face.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You said I should sleep in it. Well, I have, and it’s fine. So I don’t see why you have to muck up the living room.”

Tyler sighed. “Just drop it, okay?”

“It’s a perfectly good bed—”

“Bloody hell, will you drop it?” The sharp crack of his voice echoed in the room.

“Don’t you raise your voice at me. I asked you a perfectly legitimate question. The least you can do is answer it when you’re staying under my roof.”

Tyler smiled grimly. How many times had he heard that as a kid?
When you’re under my roof.

He nailed his father with a look. “You want an
answer? How about this—maybe I don’t like the memories in there.”

It was the closest Tyler had ever come to directly addressing the history between them. His father stiffened. For a moment they stared at each other across the kitchen.

His father was the first to break the contact, glancing away and shuffling toward the table. “I like honey on my toast.”

Tyler opened his mouth to push the issue—his father was the one who’d kept on about the bloody bed, after all. Then he saw the tremor in his father’s hands as he clasped them in front of him.

Being old and sick doesn’t let him off the hook.

The toaster popped. Tyler closed his eyes for a long moment. Years of resentment pressed against his sternum, wanting out.

He opened his eyes and crossed to the pantry to collect the honey. He slid it onto the table and went back to grab the toast. The plate rattled as he dumped it in front of his father.

Then he strode for the door. He took the steps in two bounds. The grass was cold and dewy on his bare feet as he hit the lawn and kept walking. He didn’t stop until he was standing in front of the overgrown mess that used to be his mother’s vegetable patch.

He should have said something. He should go inside right now and confront that bastard. Ask why. Demand to know what kind of a man took out his petty frustrations on his own children.

Tyler didn’t move.

He dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t understand what was holding him back from the confrontation. It wasn’t simply his father’s frailty. There was something else, something dark and heavy that stopped Tyler every time he felt the urge to lay it all out in the open.

For some reason, he thought of Ally as he stared at the ground. Remembered the way she’d placed her hand so calmly and surely on his back yesterday. That small, simple human contact had grounded him. Reminded him that there was a world outside of this childhood house of terror.

He lifted his head and looked toward her place. She’d said he should come by if he needed a break. Or if he needed to talk.

He imagined himself going next door, knocking on the door. She’d probably still be in bed, and she’d answer with her hair mussed, soft and warm. He imagined himself kissing her, taking her to her bed and making love with her until he forgot about his father and all the unhappiness of the past.

Making love with Ally would be like that, he sensed. All-consuming. Nothing else would matter.

He rubbed the back of his neck, turning away from Ally’s. She’d made herself more than clear. She wanted to be friends. She’d hardly appreciate him turning up on her doorstep at six in the morning, forcing the issue.

He walked back to the house. The kitchen was empty—his father had dumped his plate in the sink.

Tyler cleaned up, putting the honey and butter away, rinsing the plate. Then he went to check on his father.

He wasn’t in the living room, or his bedroom. Then Tyler heard the sound of running water and swore.

Yesterday, he’d covered the rules with his father. No showers without assistance. Even with the safety rails, the shower was a dangerous place for a man in his late seventies, fresh from major surgery.

Tyler should have known that his father wouldn’t listen. Robert was bloody-minded at the best of times, and it obviously chaffed him hugely to have Tyler in a position of authority over him.

Tyler stopped outside the bathroom door and knocked. “How are you doing in there?” he called.

He waited, but there was no reply.

“Dad. Are you okay?”

Again, no reply.

Tyler tried the handle and the door swung open. The bathroom was thick with steam, the mirrors foggy with condensation.

“Dad. Are you all right?”

“Go away. Can’t a man shower in peace?”

The tension left Tyler’s shoulders. “What’s wrong with you? Couldn’t you hear me calling?” He was annoyed now that he’d been worried.

“I said go away.” There was a quavering note to his father’s voice.

Tyler frowned. Reaching out, he slid the shower door open.

His father was sitting in the shower seat, water pummeling the wall to his left. He had a bloody gash on his shin and a red mark on his forehead and was gripping the arms of the chair like grim death.

“What happened?” Tyler asked, leaning in to turn the taps off.

“Stupid chair tripped me up. Banged my head.”

His father was gray, all the color leached from his face. Blood dripped from the cut on his shin, swirling toward the drain in crimson ribbons.

Tyler looked around and saw that his father hadn’t thought to bring a towel into the bathroom with him.

“Give me a second.” He darted out of the bathroom and grabbed a towel from the cupboard in the hallway. Reentering the room, he saw his father hadn’t moved, his grip still white knuckled on the chair. Tyler draped the towel over the wall rack and faced his father.

“Here. Put your hands on my shoulders. I’ll help you stand.”

Tyler bent over his father. His father’s mouth worked. Tyler waited for him to object, to tell him to go to hell. But after a moment his father released his grip on the chair and leaned forward, reaching for Tyler’s shoulders. Tyler waited until his father had
a solid hold before wrapping both arms around his father’s back.

“We’ll stand on three, okay? One, two, three.”

He tightened his grip and shifted his weight. He could feel his father’s ribs beneath his hands, could feel the quiver of straining muscles as his father tried to stand. A few tense seconds later, his father was wavering on his feet, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he clung to Tyler’s shoulders.

For a long moment they remained locked in an unintentional embrace, son supporting father. Tyler couldn’t help but be profoundly, viscerally aware of his father’s frailty. His nakedness, the papery thinness of his skin, the lack of substance to the body in his arms.

Despite everything, compassion stirred within him.

His father needed Tyler, and it made him ashamed and scared and vulnerable. No matter what had happened between them in the past, Tyler couldn’t stop himself from responding to that vulnerability.

He’d thought he was here for himself, so he could look himself in the eye and know he’d done the right thing. Standing in this house, his father trembling in his arms, Tyler understood that his motivation was far more complex and conflicted than simple duty. There were bonds tying them together that went beyond rational words and thoughts.

He wasn’t sure it was a welcome realization.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I can stand on my own.”

“Grab the rail, then,” Tyler said gruffly.

Only when his father had transferred his grip to the safety rail did Tyler release him and step backward.

“I’m okay. I can take it from here.” His father’s voice was shaky, but Tyler didn’t doubt his determination.

“I’ll be in the hall if you need me.”

Tyler exited, putting a few paces between them. He pulled his phone from his pocket and called Gabby in Melbourne.

She picked up on the third ring.

“I’m going to need longer than a week,” he said.

A
LLY KEPT HER DISTANCE
for the next few days. She left some caramel slice on the doorstep on the first day, and some new crossword-puzzle books for Bob on the third. She felt guilty about not visiting him in person, especially since she’d seen him almost every day when he was in hospital. She guessed he was probably wondering where she was, but she felt the need to put some distance between herself and Tyler after their afternoon on her deck. He was too interesting, too sexy, too compelling—and she was only human.

The two houses were so close that it was impossible for her ignore the nurse coming and going each day—once in the morning, once in the evening—and
she was very aware of the fact that Tyler’s pickup was still parked on the street, day after day.

Perhaps she’d gained the wrong impression, but she’d been certain that he’d planned on being in Wood end for only a few days. Already those “few days” were stretching into a week.

She was changing the bed on the afternoon of the fifth day when she caught sight of Tyler through the window. He was visible for a few seconds as he crossed the sidewalk in front of Wendy’s house. She was in the middle of tucking the top sheet in, but she froze, holding her breath. Sure enough, ten seconds later she heard the low thrum of his truck starting. It flashed briefly into view as he drove down the street. Then he was gone.

She abandoned the bed on the spot, hustling into the study to grab her letter folder, then stopping in the kitchen to collect the chocolate-chip cookies she’d made that morning. She was outside and climbing the steps to Bob’s place within minutes of Tyler’s departure.

A plump blond woman in her early forties answered the door to Ally’s knock. She wasn’t in uniform, but Ally guessed she must be Bob’s nurse.

“Hi, I’m Ally from next door. I was wondering if Bob was up for a visit?”

“I’m Belinda, and I think he’d be thrilled to see you. Especially with those cookies in hand.”

“He does have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

The other woman stepped back. Ally shot a furtive
glance to check the street was still clear of Tyler’s vehicle before entering. And immediately felt foolish. So what if he came home? It wasn’t as though she was going to jump his bones while his father and the nurse looked on.

Bob was sitting in the armchair in the living room when she entered, one of his puzzle books open in his lap.

“Hello, there. I thought you might like a visit and something to go with your cup of tea,” she said.

Bob glanced up. “Been wondering where you’d got to.”

Ally tried not to squirm with guilt. “I had a couple of tight deadlines I needed to hit,” she fibbed.

Bob grunted. “That’s what Tyler said it’d be.”

“Can I bribe my way back into your good books with a cookie?”

“Nobody needs to bribe anybody. Just pointing out that you were missed, that’s all.”

It was said gruffly, with Bob scowling at his puzzle, but from a self-contained man like him it was the equivalent of a Shakespearian sonnet and Ally couldn’t help but be touched.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I promise not to be a stranger, okay?”

Even if that meant seeing Tyler more often than was advisable for her sanity and peace of mind. “Fair enough.”

“So is that a yes to a cookie?”

As they snacked she helped Bob finish his
crossword puzzle before reading him a few of her letters, since he seemed to get a kick out of them.

They were debating the merits of modern versus old-fashioned manners when Ally noted Bob checking his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I, Bob?”

She didn’t want to mess up his routine with her impromptu visit.

“Just wondering where Tyler’s gotten to. He said he was only going to be twenty minutes.”

Ally tensed. She’d been visiting with Bob for almost forty minutes, which meant Tyler could return at any moment. Even though she was aware that it made her an enormous coward, she shot out of her seat and started gathering her things.

“I should really get back. Today’s cleaning day, and I’ve got a whole bunch of rooms to dust and Mr. Whiskers needs to be brushed.”

Bob blinked. “Well, okay. But I’m going to hold you to what you said—don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

She bent and kissed his cheek. Then she beat a retreat to the door. Feeling every inch the yellow-belly she was, she breathed a sigh of relief as she descended the steps.

Phew.

Then she saw a flash of red at the end of the street. Sure enough, it was Tyler’s pickup.

She swallowed. Any second now he would be
parking, getting out of his truck and looking at her with those devastating silver eyes of his. And every good intention she’d formed over the past few days would dissolve like butter on a hot griddle.