“Smartass. You got that from your mother.” His dad paused and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. Warmer. “She was a good woman. She got me, Archer. I mean she really got me. And she would’ve gotten you too.”
He had Archer’s full attention now. They didn’t talk about his mom much but he wished they would because, Christ, he missed her. He missed her so very much.
“She knew how to handle us both. And she would’ve known how to keep you a part of the family”—he inhaled and then let it out slowly—“when I failed to do so.”
This was more from the man who’d raised him than he’d ever heard in all the years put together. “Are you actually taking some of the blame here?” Archer asked. “Has hell frozen over?”
His dad shook his head. “You can’t stop yourself, can you? Not even when someone’s trying to hand you an olive branch. I’m trying to fucking apologize here.”
Shit. Feeling like an asshole, Archer struggled to sit up, hating to have this conversation from flat on his back but damn, the pain—
“Here.” His dad leaned in and fumbled with a remote attached to the bed. He hit a button that had the mattress jerking as the lower half of the bed raised, wrenching a string of oaths from Archer.
“Shit!” his dad said. “Hang on—” He pounded another button that had the mattress jerking again, this time lowering Archer’s head.
“Shit on a stick,” his dad muttered, randomly stabbing buttons now. All of them.
Dizzy, swearing, Archer wrangled the remote from his dad’s hands, but he was trembling and now sweating to boot and it slipped through his fingers.
“I’ve got it!” his dad said, and he dropped to the floor. On his knees he hit a few more buttons until he managed to get the bed straightened out.
“Holy fuck,” his dad said, swiping his forehead as he sank back to the chair. “That was harder than getting through the police academy.”
Archer laughed and then groaned as that caused another wrenching pain. “Are you sure you’re not trying to kill me?”
His dad’s smile vanished and he blew out a long breath. “Son.”
It’d been a damn long time since his dad had said that word in that voice. Not his cop voice. Not his in-charge-of-everything voice. But a dad voice.
Archer’s chest went tight and they stared at each other.
“Elle’s call took ten years off my life,” his dad finally said. “So the question is who’s trying to kill who?”
Archer managed a small smile. “Admit it, we’re both surprised we haven’t killed each other before now.”
His dad snorted and looked down at his tightly entwined fingers for a minute before meeting Archer’s gaze. “I know why you left. I even know why you stayed gone. What I don’t know is why we’re still doing this, pushing each other away. I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m an old man, Archer. I don’t want to die alone.”
“Dad, you’re fifty-two. That’s only halfway old, and anyway you’re far too ornery to die.”
His dad laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably true. And something else that’s also true—I miss your stubborn ass.”
Archer’s chest tightened again. “You don’t. No way do you miss that asshole kid who questioned your every word, the one who not only crossed every line you ever drew but butted heads with all authority figures. Cuz I’d think it’d be a relief to be free of that.”
“Don’t be a chip off the old block, dammit. Not right now. Say you miss me too.” His dad leaned forward and put his hand on Archer’s. “I fucked up, more than once. And eventually I’m going to meet up with your mom again and hell if I want her first words to me to be ‘you messed up with our only son.’ When she was dying—”
“Dad—”
“No, I’m going to say this, goddammit. When she was dying, she made me promise to . . . well, not be me. She made me promise to be gentle and kind and . . .” His mouth shut and his eyes went suspiciously shiny. He cleared his throat. “My point is that I thought she was wrong. I thought the way to deal with my son was the way my father dealt with me. Like a hard-ass. Tough. Unbending. To build character.” He shook his head. “But I promised her, even knowing I wasn’t going to do it. And I failed her. I failed you.”
“No, you didn’t,” Archer said. He squeezed his dad’s hand. “I wouldn’t have responded to gentle and kind and you know it. I was a serious punk-ass, Dad.”
“Yeah.” A small smile. “You were. You were also smart, sharp, and intensely serious. You had to be. I never let you be a kid. I didn’t listen.” He leaned in, his eyes serious. Intent. “But I’m listening now, Archer. I want more than this, just seeing each other at holidays or when we’re shot.”
“Yeah, let’s definitely stop meeting when we’re shot.” Archer closed his eyes.
“So you’ll consider it?”
“What?”
“Being my son again.”
Again that tight sensation in his chest made it hard to breathe. He opened his eyes and met his dad’s gaze. “I never stopped.”
His dad reached out and hugged him then, slapping him, thankfully on his good shoulder, as he did.
“Don’t squeeze,” Archer gasped.
“Shit. Right. Sorry.” His dad pulled back, swiped an arm over his wet eyes. “Goddamn, there’s something in my eye.”
“Or you’re crying.”
“Shut up.”
Archer managed a smile but it faded at the look on his dad’s face. “What now?”
“That woman you kicked out of here. Elle. She hasn’t left your side once since you were brought in here, until now. She hasn’t slept, and from what I understand your friends had to pressure her to even eat and she barely did that. She clearly loves you very much. You’re going to owe her an apology. Loving you ain’t gonna be easy, trust me.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe you could get her to come back in here. But you have to ask, with a please. She likes the please.”
“I’ll send her back in if you want.”