on his own. She climbed out too, and stood beside the vehicle as Ethan walked around the front.
“If you come here for the readin’ of the will, you’re too early.” His father’s voice was scratchy, not nearly as deep or smooth as Ethan’s. “I ain’t dead yet, boy.”
Tori stared, unsure what to do or say in the face of this cold reunion. Ethan seemed thoroughly unfazed. He stood his ground as the old man hobbled down from the stoop and made his way onto the dirt drive.
Fog-gray eyes stared out of a skull covered in tissue-thin, sallow skin. His cheeks were sunken, lips dry and cracked.
He wasn’t healthy, but there was still an air of couched aggression in the man. God only knew what he’d been like with a few more pounds on him and thirty fewer years of age.
The old man’s shadow-ringed gaze slid to Tori for no more than a second before he turned his displeasure back on his son. “You gonna tell me what you’re doing here? You didn’t come for my funeral and you sure as shit ain’t here on a social call.”
“We need a place to crash. Just for the night.” Ethan didn’t phrase it as a question, and there was no fear or hesitation in his voice or the steely stare he fixed on his father. He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts. “If you need money—”
“I don’t want your goddamn money, boy.”
The sharp retort made a rattle crawl up the old man’s throat. He wheezed and coughed, then spat at the dusty ground once he’d composed himself again.
He pursed his pale lips, looking from the van to Tori, then Ethan. “Just for one night?”
Ethan gave a curt nod. “We’ll be gone by sunrise.”
His father studied him for a long while, then his head bobbed absently in consideration. “Okay, then. If that’s what you need, boy. Come on inside.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “I’d like to park the van in the barn.”
The wiry gray eyebrows rose a fraction. He grunted, then motioned for Ethan to follow him as he started heading for the weather-beaten red outbuilding.
Ethan didn’t follow right away. He walked over and brushed his fingers through the hair over her brow. “There’s a bathroom just inside the house. Second door on the left.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’d rather wait for you—”
He gave a faint shake of his head. “I need to get a few things straight with him. And I need to do it alone.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
He kissed her, tender and sweet.
Then he pivoted to go confront the monster of his youth.
17
Ethan pulled the van inside the open barn, amazed to see the place had hardly changed since he’d last been there. It was time-worn and brittle though, suffering from an obvious, prolonged dereliction and neglect.
Rather like his father.
Ethan glanced at the old man who waited inside the barn with him. He looked worse than unhealthy.
The strong, rangy, combative drunk who used to simmer with explosive rages had become a stooped, jaundiced shadow of the terror he once had been.
And Ethan had been shocked not to detect the sickly sweet, ever-present whiff of whiskey on his father the instant he got close to him.
“You been on the road for long?” the old man asked as Ethan got out and shut the driver’s side door.
“Not long.”
His father grunted. “Where’d you say you were headed again?”
“I didn’t.”
Another grunt, this time with an edge of annoyance to it. “Gotta tell you, boy, figured I’d be dead and dust before I ever saw you around here again.”
Ethan swung an indifferent look toward him. “Yeah, that makes two of us.”
“You in trouble of some sort?”
Jesus, was that a flicker of genuine concern in those cataract-clotted eyes, or was he imagining things?
Ethan wasn’t about to trust that idea at face value.
His father considered him for a long moment. “Yeah, you must be mixed up in something bad. I’m thinking you gotta be in some kinda dire straits, to come running back home to me.”
“This isn’t
“If you come here for the readin’ of the will, you’re too early.” His father’s voice was scratchy, not nearly as deep or smooth as Ethan’s. “I ain’t dead yet, boy.”
Tori stared, unsure what to do or say in the face of this cold reunion. Ethan seemed thoroughly unfazed. He stood his ground as the old man hobbled down from the stoop and made his way onto the dirt drive.
Fog-gray eyes stared out of a skull covered in tissue-thin, sallow skin. His cheeks were sunken, lips dry and cracked.
He wasn’t healthy, but there was still an air of couched aggression in the man. God only knew what he’d been like with a few more pounds on him and thirty fewer years of age.
The old man’s shadow-ringed gaze slid to Tori for no more than a second before he turned his displeasure back on his son. “You gonna tell me what you’re doing here? You didn’t come for my funeral and you sure as shit ain’t here on a social call.”
“We need a place to crash. Just for the night.” Ethan didn’t phrase it as a question, and there was no fear or hesitation in his voice or the steely stare he fixed on his father. He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts. “If you need money—”
“I don’t want your goddamn money, boy.”
The sharp retort made a rattle crawl up the old man’s throat. He wheezed and coughed, then spat at the dusty ground once he’d composed himself again.
He pursed his pale lips, looking from the van to Tori, then Ethan. “Just for one night?”
Ethan gave a curt nod. “We’ll be gone by sunrise.”
His father studied him for a long while, then his head bobbed absently in consideration. “Okay, then. If that’s what you need, boy. Come on inside.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “I’d like to park the van in the barn.”
The wiry gray eyebrows rose a fraction. He grunted, then motioned for Ethan to follow him as he started heading for the weather-beaten red outbuilding.
Ethan didn’t follow right away. He walked over and brushed his fingers through the hair over her brow. “There’s a bathroom just inside the house. Second door on the left.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’d rather wait for you—”
He gave a faint shake of his head. “I need to get a few things straight with him. And I need to do it alone.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
He kissed her, tender and sweet.
Then he pivoted to go confront the monster of his youth.
17
Ethan pulled the van inside the open barn, amazed to see the place had hardly changed since he’d last been there. It was time-worn and brittle though, suffering from an obvious, prolonged dereliction and neglect.
Rather like his father.
Ethan glanced at the old man who waited inside the barn with him. He looked worse than unhealthy.
The strong, rangy, combative drunk who used to simmer with explosive rages had become a stooped, jaundiced shadow of the terror he once had been.
And Ethan had been shocked not to detect the sickly sweet, ever-present whiff of whiskey on his father the instant he got close to him.
“You been on the road for long?” the old man asked as Ethan got out and shut the driver’s side door.
“Not long.”
His father grunted. “Where’d you say you were headed again?”
“I didn’t.”
Another grunt, this time with an edge of annoyance to it. “Gotta tell you, boy, figured I’d be dead and dust before I ever saw you around here again.”
Ethan swung an indifferent look toward him. “Yeah, that makes two of us.”
“You in trouble of some sort?”
Jesus, was that a flicker of genuine concern in those cataract-clotted eyes, or was he imagining things?
Ethan wasn’t about to trust that idea at face value.
His father considered him for a long moment. “Yeah, you must be mixed up in something bad. I’m thinking you gotta be in some kinda dire straits, to come running back home to me.”
“This isn’t
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