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There was such sadness in his voice, such self-condemnation, that Rebecca felt her eyes water.
“What kind of father does that? Takes out his shortcomings on his boys?”
“The kind of father who’s hurting.”
He looked at her then, eyes as clear as could be. “That’s no excuse.”
He was right. Of course he was. But Rebecca didn’t have the heart to agree with him. Instead, she offered a small smile and filled his water glass.
“I need to go. Liam’s with Sal.”
“How’s
that old bastard doing?” His breathing labored, he finally accepted the oxygen from Rebecca.
“He’s doing as well as can be expected. But it doesn’t look good. The cancer’s spread, and I don’t think chemo is an option anymore.”
John inhaled deeply and pulled off his mask. “Give him my best. Maybe if I’m feeling up to it, I’ll take a walk down there to see him.”
She nodded. “I will. You have a good night, John.”
The elderly man nodded but didn’t speak again, clearly exhausted. With one last smile, and a small kiss to his temple, Rebecca left John Blackwell’s room. Preoccupied, she didn’t bother to look around as she headed back to the main hospital.
If she had, she would have seen Hudson a few feet from his father’s room, watching her closely, his expression unreadable. As it was, she pushed through the double doors and headed to Sal’s room, while Hudson watched her go. His face dark, his eyes bleak, he stood there for a few more seconds, and then disappeared inside his father’s room.
Chapter 11
Monday afternoon found Hudson down on the dock. He’d slept like shit—couldn’t turn off his brain—and had been up since early morning working. His Sunday hadn’t gone as planned. More determined than ever to see Rebecca, he’d swung by her place, but no one was home. He’d hung around for at least an hour before deciding the neighbor was either going to call the cops or come at him with a rifle. So he’d left.
What the hell had Becca been doing in his father’s room? And why hadn’t his dad said anything to Hudson about it?
It was a question that dogged him all day, and one he’d not been able to answer. The sun was low in the sky as he finished nailing the last board in place. He grabbed an old towel and wiped sweat from his forehead. He was dirty and tired and thirsty as hell. Tossing the towel back onto the dock, he trudged inside the boathouse and headed to the fridge.
He’d stocked up the day before and grabbed a cold beer, taking a long pull from the can before heading back out to take a look at his handiwork. The smell of freshly cut wood and sawdust hung heavy in the air, along with a healthy dose of fall. In the distance, the trees surrounding the lake were starting to turn, and he knew within a week the landscape would look much different. No longer would it be green, but awash in red, orange, and yellow.
Hudson took another drink and spied a bald eagle as it swept over the water before disappearing into the bush.
“Damn,” he murmured. It had been years since he’d seen an eagle, and the sight brought a lump to his throat. In DC, he was too busy with work to get out much and enjoy nature the way he’d been brought up to. He’d been a guy who enjoyed hiking, sledding, boating, and biking. But his life was different. Right now, the only exercise he got was at the gym, and he’d forgotten how amazing the outdoors was.
Right now, standing on this dock enjoying the late afternoon sun, watching an eagle glide across the lake, DC seemed a million miles away.
Hudson crushed the can and tossed it in the pail of garbage he’d amassed during the last eight hours of work. His back was killing him, and he thought maybe thirty minutes in the hot tub would cure that particular ailment. He was just about to clean up his mess when he noticed someone heading down to the dock. He shaded his eyes so he could see better.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, taking the steps two at a time. Hudson reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the upper deck. He didn’t hesitate and strode forward to envelope the man in a huge bear hug. Which was reciprocated—for exactly two seconds—and then the newcomer pushed Hudson away with a slap on the back as a wide grin spread across his face.
“Jesus, Hudsy. Don’t get all emotional on me. When the hell did you turn into a girl?”
Hudson took a step and shook his head. Nash Booker. The guy was his oldest friend, and up until a few years back, they’d been in close contact, talking at least once a week. But then life got in the way. Nash had fallen off the grid, and Hudson’s job became his number one priority.
He grinned, taking in every detail. Nash’s hair was on the long side, and there were a few new tattoos, but on the whole not much had changed. Tall, with long lean lines, the guy had been a division one quarterback for Texas A&M, until he’d been kicked out of the program. As he was bullheaded with an attitude the size of Texas, no one had been surprised. What had been surprising was that he’d lasted long enough to win State. He’d always been the crazy one in their group, stubborn as hell with a wild streak that made most folks uneasy. But when your back was against the wall, Nash was the guy you wanted in your corner.
“It’s been, what, two years since I’ve seen you?” Hudson asked.
“Three.”
That surprised Hudson. When the hell had time gotten away from him? “Last I heard, you were thinking of going to Nepal to climb Everest.”
“Buddy, that was last year.”
