Page 129 of The Way Home

All for some shitty, bigoted asshole.

“You know what—fuckthis.” Caleb turned and stormed out of the room before he did something he’d regret, like punch a hole in the wall of his father’s hospital room.

Jamie swallowed soloudly it practically echoed in the hospital room. “Erm… do you need anything, Mr. Reed?”

The bed shifted as Caleb’s father turned his attention toward him. They were the only two in the room now after Caleb stormed out, Bri chasing after him. The absence of the two siblings was deafening. He wished at least Mike would return.

Now that he’d spent time in the hospital with Derrick, he could see the resemblance of father to son. From pictures, Jamie always thought Caleb looked like his mum, but sitting herebeside the hospital bed, he could see some of his father in him too. When Caleb was upset, he made the exact same scowl directed at him right now.

“Derrick,” the man said sternly.

Jamie blinked. “Excuse me—?”

“Call me Derrick.”

Jamie reeled back.

“And no, I do not need anything.”

Derrick’s eyes stayed locked on him, and, despite the urge to squirm, Jamie kept his back straight and his chin high. The man was intimidating, even lying in a hospital bed with a white gown.

Jamie could definitely imagine him being the scary American football coach that Caleb described him as. He tightened his stomach, as if bracing himself for whatever unpleasant words Derrick might throw his way.

“I did not mean to upset Caleb,” Derrick grumbled, making Jamie’s defense die on his tongue.

Derrick’s eyebrows pulled together as he glanced at the door. “I hardly get to speak to him. Boy doesn’t answer my phone calls.”

“Oh, well…” Jamie rubbed the back of his damp neck. “It’s… it’s fine.”

He winced because it wasn’treallyfine.

Derrick’s eyes stayed locked on the door. “I can’t say anything right without pissing my son off. It’s always been like that.”

“Well, I think he’s just a little on edge. Being here and all.”

A grunt. “Why?”

“Oh, well, he hates hospitals. Ever since, you know...” He paused, realizing Derrick mightnotknow.

“Your bike accident,” Derrick finished, his eyes flicking up to meet Jamie’s. “Brianna told me. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Uh… thanks.”

Derrick made a rough, hacking sound in the back of his throat, and Jamie looked down at his hands. His palms had gone clammy now, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether his presence here was helping or making things worse.

“My father wasn’t any good at talking either,” Derrick said suddenly. Jamie lifted his head. The older man was staring at the farwall, his expression pinched with thought. “But I reckon he didn’t try much. I tried.”

“You seem like a fine communicator to me, sir.”

His distant gaze slid back to Jamie. “You seem to be a good talker, James. Get that from your dad?”

“I was raised by my mum. Never knew my dad.” The answer earned him an indecipherable scowl.

“Raised by a woman,” Derrick muttered with a nod. “Explains why you’re a good talker.”

It was odd receiving what Jamie thought might be a compliment from a man who looked so thoroughly displeased. Derrick’s scowl deepened as he leaned his head back, gaze sliding to the ceiling.

“I hated my father,” he scoffed. “The things you think about when you’re dying, huh?”