Chapter 13

It had been way too long since Logan last saw Hope on Wednesday at the State Library: four long days.

He'd intentionally stayed away because he felt like a bastard for lying to her. There hadn't been a glitch with a permit. There'd been a glitch in the form of his father calling.

The second he'd heard Stephen Holmes's gravelly voice in his ear, he'd known he couldn't hang around Hope for the rest of the day. His father always put him in a foul mood so he'd begged off and left. She hadn't seemed fazed but he'd maintained his distance for the rest of the week, not because he wasn't clamouring to see her but because he knew he wasn't fit company for anybody for days following his dad's calls.

He'd had to give in today because he'd invited her to this footy game so he'd swallowed his resentment at his father and manned up.

"The team's about to run out," he said, nudging her carefully so she wouldn't drop her meat pie.

"We're barracking for the red and white team, right?"

Her eyes twinkled with mischief and he clamped down on the urge to cover her mouth with his. She had this way of lighting everything around her and he needed that today. His dad's pleas still rung in his head days later and this time it was taking him longer than usual to get over his funk.

"You know very well the Kangaroos wear royal blue and white vertical stripes."

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "On yeah, we've already been over this. Eighteen men on the field per side who can kick, handball, and mark the ball, along with tackling each other, with the ultimate aim being to kick goals." She pointed at one end of the stadium. "Through the big sticks is a goal, through the big and small goalpost is a behind."

She grinned and tapped her temple. "See? All that useless information you spouted earlier is stored up here."

He laughed, her teasing just what he needed today. "You can't live in Melbourne and not support a footy team. It's un-Australian."

"Lucky I'm a Brit," she said, blowing on her pie to cool it. "Though I am partial to these pies. They're delish."

Her contrasts never seemed to surprise him. Considering her privileged background—he'd looked her up online—he'd expected her to be a Michelin star kind of girl who'd think the humble Aussie meat pie was gross. But she'd demolished one and was onto her second before the game even started. Intriguing indeed.

"Did you get your permit issue sorted?"

Great. Now he'd be forced to lie again. "Yeah."

Unable to meet her curious gaze, he focussed on the players warming up on the stadium's pristine grassy surface. Who knew watching a bunch of athletes running through warm-up stretches could be so fascinating?

"There was no hitch, was there?"

Damn, how did she do that? He hated lying, had no tolerance for it after his childhood. But telling her the truth could result in more questions and he had no intention of discussing his warped family life. Even now, days later, he still couldn't forget his father's pleading tone, asking to meet. Asking for a second chance.

His gut churned with repressed anger. He owed his father nothing, even after he'd digested the startling news of how close he'd come to losing him.

When she continued to stare at him in open curiosity, he knew he had to come clean.

"My dad called. He never fails to rile me and I often end up yelling at him, and I didn't want you privy to that so I begged off to talk to him in private."

He silently prayed she wouldn't delve further as thinking about their last call made him want to thump something.

Stephen Holmes had survived a cancer scare.

And Logan learning about it after the fact rammed home how shitty their relationship was.

His choice, of course. Once his mum died, and Logan knew the real cause, he hadn't wanted anything to do with his father. He'd been blaming his dad for years for abandoning them so it hadn't been difficult.

What had been hard were his father's constant overtures to mend their relationship. No matter how many times Logan hung up on him or yelled or called him names, Stephen persisted. His father never gave up despite not being able to get through to him.

Until last Wednesday, when Logan had learned about his father's battle with testicular cancer and how he wouldn't have known until he got a call from the hospital if things had gone south with his dad's operation.

It made him feel like shit.

Maybe Rick was right. Maybe it was time to confront his dad and lay the past to rest. But every time he contemplated it, he developed an eye tic and he sweated bullets. He'd already lost enough sleep over the years, mulling his father's callous abandonment and subsequent overtures to make up for it. He'd be damned if he developed an ulcer over his dad's latest attempt to reunite.

But he couldn't get the C word out of his mind. Cancer. What if it returned? What if his father died before Logan said all that needed to be said?

He'd dealt with his anger and bitterness over the years, usually by wielding a hammer at work. But he'd been off the tools for a long time now and his dad's latest call kept playing over and over in his head like a goddamn ear-worm.

"You mentioned you didn't get on with your dad before." She laid a hand on his forearm, the tiniest speck of ketchup dotting her thumb. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," he muttered, tempering it with a sigh when she withdrew her hand. "Sorry, force of habit. I have this theory that if I don't mention him, he doesn't exist."

He risked a glance at her, not surprised to see a raised eyebrow. "Childish, I know, but it's complicated."

"We all have complicated family but if yours is affecting you this much, maybe you should do something about it."

He wanted to chastise her for the psychobabble but didn't want to spoil their day out. This was supposed to be fun, exposing her to a taste of Melbourne culture, to something new she'd never done before. He should never have mentioned his father.

"The game's about to start," he said, raising his beer to his lips and wishing he could down the whole thing in one go to ease the tightness in his throat. "Go Kangas."

She stared at him through slightly narrowed eyes for what seemed like an eternity before averting her eyes and focussing on the field.

Relieved, he slumped into the hard, uncomfortable plastic seat and took a slug of beer. He should be enjoying himself. He had a beautiful woman by his side, he was watching his favourite footy team, and he intended on celebrating with her later back at his place. Instead, the beer burned a trail down his throat and settled in his gut like acid.

'You need to face me some time, Son.'

That fucking phrase reverberated around his head, impossible to dislodge no matter how hard he tried. Footy, beer, and sex: it should be a no brainer for clearing his head. But if the footy and the beer weren't doing the trick, maybe he needed to fast forward to the sex.

He rested a hand on Hope's thigh and leaned across to murmur in her ear. "Want to get out of here?"

"But the game's only just started?" She stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Yeah, but maybe I want to get started in a different way."

She liked his bluntness. She'd told him so. But this time he knew what she'd say before her mouth opened because it pursed in disapproval and a tiny frown slashed her brows.

"As much as I want you, I won't be any guy's temporary diversion." She tilted her nose in the air in her characteristic snooty move he found endearing. Except today. "I want to watch the game."

Okay, so she was paying him back for freezing her out about his dad. But how could he articulate all the shit he'd endured because of that man to a virtual stranger when he could hardly face up to it himself?

He itched to get the hell out of here, to leave and go drown his sorrows somewhere else. But he wouldn't run at the first sign of the tough stuff.

He wasn't his old man.

When she continued staring at him with that all too probing stare, he nodded. "Fine. We'll stay."

But he'd ruined the day and not even a Kangaroos victory by forty-five points or her apparent enthusiasm for his team could salvage what he'd screwed up.

When they left the stadium and headed for his Ute, he felt compelled to ask, "Do you fancy having dinner somewhere?" even though the thought of spending an evening across a table from her seemed unpalatable considering his mood. She didn't deserve this.

"No thanks. Take me home please." Her clipped tone alerted him to exactly how unimpressed she was by his behaviour and he didn't blame her.

It took less than twenty minutes from the Docklands stadium to her place and when he pulled up outside the front of Hope and Harmony she already had the car door half open.

"Hey." His hand shot out to still her. "I'm sorry."

"For what? For acting like a douche all day? For not speaking to me? For treating me like a hanger-on you couldn't wait to ditch?"

He winced and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I deserved that."

"Yeah, you did." Her tone softened and he felt the rigid muscles of her shoulder relax under his touch. "Look, neither of us signed up for a relationship. We're having fun for a short time not a long time and whatever other kind of fling cliché you'd like to use. But today wasn't fun for me and by that residual scowl on your face it was shitty for you too."

She gently removed his hand from her shoulder. "So why don't you sleep on it? Deal with whatever's bugging you. And we'll catch up some other time."

Logan managed a terse nod, appalled he'd treated her so badly today but unable to salvage something from it, not in his current mood.

"I'll call you," she said, broaching the gap between them to place an all too brief kiss on his lips.

Then he watched the woman who invaded his every waking thought get out of his car and head inside her place without looking back.