Page 104 of The Write Track
Rather than give me the stiff return I was expecting, my father arched an eyebrow. “Son.”
He shook my hand then sighed. I couldn’t decide whether the sigh was full of disappointment or another emotion I couldn’t put a name to.
“This is Brody.” I gestured toward my best friend. “He’s an author too.”
Brody wasn’t known for being coordinated. He tried to gracefully slide out of the hammock, but his foot got stuck in the netting, and he tripped. I lunged forward but missed catching him and ended up on my knees as Brody hit the ground.
I cast a worried look toward my father—slapstick was not his preferred genre—and found he was grinning ear to ear. I was taken aback. “Um…” I risked a glance at Brody.
Dad chuckled. “I’m glad to see I’m not the only one feeling awkward this morning. I wish it wasn’t this way but… well.” He exhaled heavily. “You have a problem, and I want to talk to you. It seems we can handle both things now.”
He was calm without being stiff for a change. “I do need help.” When he extended his hand to me, I took it and let him pull me to my feet. Then I did the same for Brody.
My friend brushed off his hands before reaching out for a shake. “I’m sorry,” Brody said. “I would say I’m not usually such a mess, but that’s not true. I’m kind of clumsy.”
“There are worse things to be,” Dad assured him. “It’s okay, son. Not everything in life needs to be serious. That’s a lesson I wish I would have learned a long time ago.”
I tried to think of a single instance growing up when my father wasn’t serious. I came up empty.
Dad’s eyes switched to me. “We need to talk,” he stressed, as if reading my mind.
I nodded and pointed toward the cabins. “Let’s go this way. We can talk freely in my cabin.”
“Okay.” Dad started in that direction then shifted to look over to the table where Bella, Bree, and Hayley were sitting. They weren’t even trying to hide that they were staring. “Which one is she?”
I’d given my father a barebones recital of information on the phone, including that I was currently head over heels for a woman. I figured he’d scoff at the notion of helping or mock me for putting a woman first. He’d just said he would come, and that was it, though. It was not the reaction I’d been expecting. This man studying the women in my life was not the father I was expecting either.
“The little one with the auburn hair,” I replied.
Dad studied Bella. “She’s kind of pocket-sized, huh?”
“She’s tiny,” I agreed. “She has a big personality, though. She—” I didn’t realize I was going to say the next part out loud until it was almost out. Then I hesitated.
“She what?” Dad prodded.
“She reminds me of Mom,” I admitted finally. “Not with her looks but the way she carries herself. She had the best laugh and smile.”
Dad didn’t immediately say anything, and when I finally found the courage to look at him, he wasn’t rolling his eyes but smiling.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Dad said. “We need to get this conversation out of the way first.”
He was pretty intense about this, so I nodded. “Okay. Let’s go to the cabin.”
Once inside, Dad looked around, and again, I couldn’t read his reaction. “You’ve been living here for a month?” he asked finally.
“More or less,” I confirmed. “It’s a retreat. We can go home during the week, but we’ve been having fun and getting a lot of work done.”
“Plus your girl is here.” It wasn’t a question. “Are you guys staying in this cabin together?”
“We are. I… we… it’s a long story.” How was I supposed to explain to him I’d embarked on a fake relationship with Bella that had turned real? It was a romance book trope—I was living and breathing a romance book—and I didn’t even care how corny it was. My father wouldn’t find that funny.
“I want to hear it all,” Dad said. “First, I need to talk to you about my stuff.” He straightened his shoulders. “A year ago, I was diagnosed with early-stage prostate cancer.”
I felt as if the floor was about to fall away and tumble me into an abyss. “What?” I sat in one of the chairs heavily. “I… you… are you okay?” The man always flustered me. It was just the way of the world. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, though.
“It was treatable and, as of right now, I’m fine,” he replied. “I went through some chemo and a surgery, but I’m okay. I didn’t come here to make you feel bad about that.”
I jerked up my chin, anger taking over. “Why would I feel bad about you not telling me you had cancer?”
