Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
It didn’t matter where in the world he went, my father always walked into any room like he owned it.
Nick Farrell commanded attention without trying.
He had broad shoulders, an easy smile, and the kind of effortless charisma that made people want to be around him.
He was in his early fifties now, but you’d never know it.
His hair was still mostly brown with only a hint of salt in his sideburns, and he was nearly as fit as I was.
He carried himself like the whole world was a party he’d been personally invited to.
I hated how much I looked like him. Same hair, eyes, and build. I could pretend it wasn’t the case when he wasn’t around, but whenever we entered a room together, all eyes would turn to us and I knew what they saw.
“Liam!” He pulled me into a back-slapping hug outside the restaurant he’d chosen—Summit Hills, the most upscale restaurant in Missoula, the nearest city to Dunridge. “Christ, you’ve gotten bigger. I’m going to have to up my weights at the gym to keep up with you.”
“You’re plenty fit, Dad.”
He clapped my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get a table. I’m starving.”
The hostess was pretty—mid-twenties, dark hair, and a smile that was professional until my father turned his attention to her. Then it became something else entirely as her cheeks flushed pink.
“Well, aren’t you lovely,” he said, turning up the wattage on that smile that had been breaking hearts for decades. “Table for two, darling. Something with a view, if you’ve got it.”
She giggled. Actually giggled. “Right this way.”
I followed them to a corner booth, watching my father’s hand drift to the small of her back as she led us through the restaurant. She didn’t seem to mind. They never did.
This is what you’ll become, a voice whispered in my head. This is your future.
I shoved the thought away and slid into the booth.
“So.” My father settled across from me, his eyes bright with the particular energy he always carried. Like he was constantly on the verge of his next adventure. “Tell me everything. How’s hockey? How’s school? How’s your mother?”
“Everything’s good.” I wasn’t about to tell him a fucking thing about Mom. He’d lost the right to hear about her a long time ago. And she was better off without him.
He nodded like that answer satisfied him, even though it told him nothing. That was my father—content with surface level as long as it didn’t require anything from him.
Our waitress appeared, and she looked slightly younger than the hostess with blonde hair and a nervous energy that suggested she was new.
My father’s gaze tracked over her with the same casual appraisal he gave every attractive woman who crossed his path.
Her gaze darted between us like she couldn’t decide who made her more flustered, and that knot in my stomach turned into nausea.
“Good evening,” she said, her voice a little breathless. “Can I start you gentlemen off with something to drink?”
“Whiskey, neat. Top shelf.” He winked at her. “And whatever my boy wants.”
“Just water for me,” I said.
She scribbled on her notepad, her cheeks pink. “I’ll be right back with those.”
My father watched her walk away, then turned back to me with a grin. “Cute, isn’t she?”
“She’s working, Dad.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s not cute.” He leaned back in the booth, stretching his arm along the top of the seat. “You need to lighten up. You weren’t this stiff last time I saw you.” The last time he’d seen me had been a year ago. “You need to enjoy the finer things.”
The finer things. Like women he’d never call again.
I changed the subject. “What brings you to town, anyway?”
“Do I need a reason to see my son?”
“You usually have one.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough. I’m passing through on my way back to Denver. Thought I’d stop and catch up.”
“Passing through from where?”
“Seattle. Had some business up there.” He waved a hand vaguely. “You know how it is.”
I didn’t, actually. My father’s “business” had always been nebulous at best—a series of ventures and investments that seemed to keep him perpetually in motion without ever settling anywhere for long.
“How’s Margaret?”
The name made him pause. Margaret had been his girlfriend the last time we’d texted—some corporate lawyer he’d met at a conference. He’d mentioned her twice, which for him was practically a declaration of commitment.
“Who?”
“Margaret. The lawyer you said you were dating when you texted me last month.”
“Oh, right. That didn’t work out.” He said it casually, like he was discussing a car he’d traded in. “She wanted things I couldn’t give her.”
Things like faithfulness, no doubt, I thought bitterly.
“Anyone new?”
He shrugged. “A few. Nothing serious. You know me—I’m not built for serious.” He laughed, and the sound grated against my nerves. “Speaking of which, how about you? Any girls catching your eye?”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was probably Ava. If I told him about her, he’d want to meet her—even though he’d met her when we were kids—and I felt the urge to keep him as far away from her as possible.
“Not really,” I lied because it seemed better than exposing Ava to him.
“That’s my boy.” He raised the whiskey the waitress had just delivered, clinking it against my water glass.
“Keep your options open. Trust me, the second you let yourself get tied down is the second you start suffocating. Men like us—” He gestured between us, that familiar phrase hanging in the air. “We’re not meant to be caged.”
My stomach turned.
Men like us.
Like it was some kind of brotherhood. Like infidelity was encoded in our DNA right alongside dark brown hair and green eyes.
We ordered steaks, because that’s what my father always ordered, and he spent the next twenty minutes regaling me with stories from his travels. The poker game in Vegas. The yacht party in Miami. The “friend” in Seattle who’d put him up for a few weeks.
I barely listened. I was too busy watching.
Watching the way his eyes tracked the blonde waitress every time she passed. The way he leaned in when she refilled his water, making some comment that made her blush. The way his charm was so effortless, like seduction was just another language he’d learned to speak fluently.
And the worst part was I recognized it.
Because I’d done it myself. For years. Different bar, different girl, same easy smile and meaningless flirtation. I’d told myself it was harmless—that I was nothing like him because I never made promises I couldn’t keep, never let anyone close enough to hurt.
But sitting here, watching him work, I felt sick.
“So,” my father said, cutting into his steak, “you’re a junior now, right? Any idea what you’re doing after graduation?”
“I’m majoring in marketing, so probably something in that field. I’ve got a year and a half to figure it out.”
“Marketing.” He nodded slowly. “Good money in that. Plenty of options.”
“Yeah.”
“Just don’t let yourself get too settled.” He pointed his fork at me. “As soon as you start building a life around something—a career, a place, a person—you lose your freedom. And freedom, son, is the only thing worth having.”
My phone buzzed again. I pulled it out without thinking, glancing at the screen.
Ava
Are you coming over later?
My chest loosened at the sight of her name and I started to type a response.
“Ah.” My father’s voice cut through my concentration. “There it is.”
I looked up. He was watching me with a knowing expression that made my skin crawl.
“What?”
“That look.” He pointed at me with his fork. “I know that look. That’s the look of a man who’s got his hooks in something or I should say someone’s got their hooks in you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You’ve got a girl. I can see it all over your face. The way you smiled at that phone… Christ, Liam. You looked like a lovesick puppy.”
“I said it’s nothing.”
“And I said bullshit.” He set down his fork, leaning forward, his expression intense now. “Let me guess—she’s different. Special. She makes you feel things you’ve never felt before. You’re thinking maybe this time it could work. Maybe with her, you could be something other than what you are.”
Each word landed like a blow.
Because he was right. That was exactly what I’d been thinking. That was exactly what I’d been hoping.
“Dad—”
“I’ve been there.” He sat back, taking a long sip of whiskey.
“More times than I can count. When I was younger, I thought the same thing. There was this girl—beautiful, smart, had a laugh that could light up a room.” His expression softened for a moment, something almost wistful crossing his face.
“I was convinced she was the one. That I could be different for her. That love would be enough to change my nature.”
“What happened?”
“What always happens.” The softness disappeared, replaced by that easy, careless smile.
“I got restless. Started noticing other women. The girl I loved—the one I was so sure would be different—started to feel like a cage instead of a comfort. And when I finally gave in to what I really wanted…” He shrugged.
“Well. You know the rest since that girl was your mother.”
I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed around something sharp and jagged.
“The point is,” he continued, “you can’t fight what you are.
I tried. Damn near destroyed myself trying.
And in the end, all I did was hurt her worse than if I’d just been honest from the start.
” He fixed me with a hard look. “You’re my son, Liam.
You’ve got my face, my charm, and whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve got my restless heart.
The kindest thing you can do for whatever girl has you smiling at your phone like that is let her go before you hurt her the way I hurt your mother. ”
The restaurant noise faded to white static.
I saw Ava’s face—the way she’d looked at me when I told her I loved her. The trust in her eyes. The hope.
I saw my mother’s face—red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, waiting by the window for a man who was never coming home.
I saw myself, fifteen years from now, standing in my father’s shoes. Making excuses. Breaking promises. Watching the light die in the eyes of the woman I loved because I couldn’t be anything other than what I was born to be.
You’ve got my restless heart.
Was that true? Was that all I was—a genetic echo of the man sitting across from me?
I thought about how easily I’d charmed women before Ava. How natural it had been. How I’d never wanted more because more meant risk, and risk meant becoming exactly what I was terrified of becoming.
But with Ava, I wanted more. I wanted everything.
And that wanting—that desperate, consuming need to build something real with her—suddenly felt less like love and more like the first step toward destruction.
“I can see you processing,” my father said, not unkindly. “I know it’s hard to hear. But better you learn this now than figuring it out the hard way like I did.” He raised his glass again. “To freedom, son. The only honest thing a man like us can offer.”
I didn’t raise my glass.
I couldn’t.
Because all I could think about was the text still waiting on my phone, the girl waiting for me, and the sinking, suffocating certainty that loving her was the cruelest thing I could possibly do.
I don’t remember much about the rest of dinner.
My father talked. I nodded in the right places. When the check came, he paid—one of the few gestures of fatherhood he still made—and we walked out into the cool night air.
“It was good seeing you, son.” He pulled me into another hug, and I let him, my body numb. “Think about what I said, yeah? I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m trying to spare you the pain of learning this lesson the hard way.”
“Yeah.”
He clapped my back one more time, and then he was gone—climbing into a rental car and pulling away without a backward glance. Off to his next adventure and to whatever woman was waiting for him there.
I stood in the parking lot for a long time after his taillights disappeared.
My phone buzzed again.
Ava
Everything okay? You’ve been quiet.
I stared at the message until the screen went dark.
Then I got in my truck and drove.
Not to Ava’s apartment.
Not to the hockey house.
Just drove aimlessly.
Because I didn’t know how to face her. I didn’t know how to look into her eyes and pretend I wasn’t terrified that every kiss, every touch, every whispered I love you was just the countdown to the moment I inevitably destroyed her.
The kindest thing you can do for whatever girl has you smiling at your phone like that is let her go before you hurt her the way I hurt your mother.
Maybe my father was right.
Maybe the kindest thing I could do was let her go.
Before it was too late.