Chapter 28

Quentin

I knock on the door to Felix's apartment with the hand holding the two tumblers I'd grabbed on the way here. In my other hand I have a bottle of Macallan's. When there"s no answer, I knock again. I have a key to the apartment but I'm not going to use it. Not when I'd promised my son privacy. Doesn't mean my patience is infinite.

A few seconds pass. Then I raise my hand to knock again, when the door is flung open. Felix stands there with a pair of headphones around his neck. He's wearing a pair of jeans with holes at the knees and a sweatshirt with the words, "Up yours,'" with the image of a middle finger on it. Very mature. I resist the urge to criticize his attire and clear my throat. "Can I come in?" I ask.

His jaw tightens. He spins around and marches inside. I follow him through the living room and into the bedroom. He heads to the desk pushed up against the wall on the far side and where a computer screen shows a frozen image of an animated soldier firing and the explosions filling the screen, I realize, he's playing a video game.

It's as if I've walked into a scene from my past—when I returned from a tour of duty to find my son playing Call of Duty in his room. Only that was at Margaret's place. And this is in my house and my son is ten years older.

Felix drops into his chair. He pulls on his earphones, grabs the game console and begins to play. I walk over and stand next to him. He stiffens but doesn't take his gaze off the screen. I wait there patiently. Five minutes pass. The first sparks of anger lick my nerve-endings. I bat them aside, then dip into the reserves of patience I have stored inside. The kind I drew on when I had to stay vigilant while staying hidden after setting a trap for the enemy. It was always about who blinked first. Who was going to reach the end of their tether and reveal themselves. I widen my stance and lock my fingers around the bottle of whiskey.

He continues playing for another ten minutes, until there"s an explosion on screen. Droplets of blood splatter the screen and it goes fuzzy around the edges. Felix tosses his console aside and tears off his earphones. "The fuck you want?"

He sinks back in his chair and lowers his chin to his chest. His lips are pulled down at the edges, his thin shoulders hunched. He looks petulant and angry and more than a little confused. His thick hair flops over his forehead, and before I can stop myself, I've placed the glasses on the desk next to his computer screen, then leaned in and brushed the strands back.

He jerks his chin up and stares at me.

I meet his gaze.

In his eyes, surprise flares, and a hot sensation stabs my chest. My son does not expect to see any gesture of softness from me. That's how low his expectations are of this relationship. I'm to blame for it, of course. I'll never forgive myself for not having a relationship with him.

Still, I have his attention now, so I take my gaze off his features long enough to pour the whiskey into both the tumblers. I hand one over to him. He hesitates, then takes it from me. Thank fuck. I raise my glass. Once more he looks like he's going to refuse me, then clinks his glass with mine. Both of us toss back our drinks.

I brought Vivian home, then coaxed her to return to her room and go to bed. It"s going to be an eventful next twenty-four hours, and she needs her rest. She refused, of course, until I ordered her to go. She wasn"t able to disobey. Shooting a glare in my direction, she'd retreated, and I came to Felix's room. It"s past midnight, but I knew he'd be up.

"This is fucking good." He holds out the glass and I top him up, then myself.

"Can you talk without swearing?"

"Says the man who uses the four-letter word like it's his personal talisman."

I deserve that. I clink my glass with his, then wait until he takes a sip. I land a hip against his table. "There's something I need to tell you."

"She's marrying you." He stares at his now blank screen as he says it. His features are blank, but for the sheen of tears in his eyes.

My heart squeezes in my chest. I am his father and I do care for him, but I haven't been very good at showing it. The responsibility was stifling. I promised myself I'd take care of him, but when it came down to it, I wasn't able to rise to the challenge of parenting alone. I took the easy way out by choosing to devote my life to my career. Nothing I do will ever make up for my past mistakes… But the least I can do is be upfront with him on why I"m marrying her.

"She's the one for me."

He scoffs.

"The other time I've felt this way was when I held you in my arms the first time."

"And look how good a job you did with that."

I wince. "I wasn't a good father."

"You were the worst." He scowls.

"I won't try to defend myself."

"Nothing you say is going to change my mind about you."

"That's not what I'm here for."

"Then why are you here? If it"s to ask for my blessing?—"

"I"m not asking for your permission, I"m telling you what's going to happen. I'm marrying her —"

"You told me already."

"—tomorrow."

"What?" His eyes widen. His features form into a look of shock. "That soon?"

"Arthur… Your grandfather… He's not well. He insists I marry her sooner than not."

"You and he are the same." He looks me up and down. "You only watch out for your own interests."

"That might have been true once, but not anymore."

"Which is why you're marrying my fiancée?"

"Your ex-fiancée. Also, I hate to remind you once again, but you didn't turn up for your wedding."

"I know." He squeezes his fingers around the glass of whiskey. "I'm aware of my faults, but at least I'm honest enough to admit to them, unlike you."

I toss back the rest of the whiskey in my glass, then search his features. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I'm sorry I wasn't a better parent. I'm sorry I couldn't stop your mother from leaving."

"She didn't want me."

"No, don't say that. She couldn't cope with being a mother; doesn't mean she didn't want you."

"I suppose I should be grateful you stayed." He gives me a considering look. "Even though you were an absent parent, you at least provided for the roof over my head. And I never went hungry. And you did make sure Great Aunt Margaret was there for me."

"I should have stayed. I should have resigned from the Marines?—"

He laughs and it's the first genuine emotion I've heard from him in a long time. "You and not having a military career? You and I both know you'd have been miserable."

"Instead, I made you miserable?—"

He shrugs. "I was too young to understand how important being a Marine was to you. You had a lot of your identity tied up with it."

"I was also a father."

"I did miss you, but Great Aunt Margaret was there for me." He places his empty glass on the table with a thunk. "I'm not saying I forgive you for your absences. There were many school plays where I looked for you in the audience. But I also knew you were where you could make a real difference."

I nod slowly. This is unexpected. I didn"t think my son had matured enough to begin to differentiate the nuances of his growing up years. I didn"t think he understood how important it was for me to be a Marine.

"Does this mean?—"

"I can't forgive you for moving in so quickly on Vivian," he interjects.

I'm not surprised. "If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't, either." I square my shoulders. "So, this is not a truce, I take it?"

He shakes his head. "I… I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing the two of you together." His throat moves as he swallows. "Where does she stand on this?"

I begin to answer, and he shakes his head. "You know what? I don't want to know." He grabs hold of the bottle of whiskey, then reaches for his headphones with his other hand. "And I don't want to talk to you." He snatches up his console, and the screen comes alive with the start of another game.

I've been dismissed. Clearly, I'm no match when it comes to being at the receiving end of the contempt of my own child. Parenthood is the greatest equalizer. Watching the back of his head, I reach out to ruffle his hair, then stop myself at the last moment.

I know I haven't done anything wrong. He stood her up, after all. And yet, there's no doubt I'm crossing an unspoken line. One which I know I have to make up to him. I should be grateful that Felix has turned out to be more mature than I gave him credit for. The conversation I had with him is more than I expected. I snatch up my glass, then turn and head toward the door when he calls out, "Quentin?"

I pause, no longer surprised he calls me by my first name, and thankful he calls me at all.

He half turns his face so he's in profile to me. "I"ll be moving out after the wedding."