“You are the last person,” he said, not bothering to hide the disgust in his voice, “the very last person in the world I want to have this conversation with.”
His old man didn’t say shit after that. He just sat there like a stone, staring at Frankie with an inscrutable expression on his face. Frankie didn’t need to say any more. His dad knew exactly what he meant.
“Whoa,” Ford said, looking between Frankie and their dad as if he’d never seen either man before. “What’s all that about?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Because Frankie was done keeping his old man’s secrets.
Finn and Ford both turned their dad, who sat leaning forward in his chair, his elbows planted on his thighs in an exact replica of how Frankie was sitting. Like father, like son.
Finally, he let out a long, weary sigh. “Is this about Becky Rimwald?”
The way he said it, as if it was just some silly thing, made something snap in Frankie and made his pulse roar in his ears. He jumped off the couch. “It’s about the fact that you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants even though Mom loved you more than anything and you always acted like you loved her.”
Everyone in the room tensed. Wild, frenetic energy pulsed through Frankie, and he had to move. It wasn’t a choice. He started pacing the length of the living room from the front door to the far wall.
“What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On,” Ford asked, his voice low and deadly.
Finn let out an annoyed snort. “Dad didn’t screw Becky Rimwald.”
Of course that’s what his twin would say, Frankie had sent him away to the store the second he’d turned the corner and seen Becky and his dad.
“You didn’t see what I did. I protected you from that.”
Finn got up from the couch and stalked over to Frankie. Mr. Even Keel’s cover was finally blown. His hands were curled into fists, and his entire body radiated wrath. But he didn’t take a swing. Instead, he got right up into Frankie’s face.
“You are such a moron,” Finn said. “I’m surprised you can chew gum and walk at the same time.”
“Wait.” Ford shoved himself between the twins, giving each of them a hard shove in opposite directions. “Rewind. Who is Becky Rimwald, and why in the hell would Frankie think that about Dad?”
“Because Frankie saw me kissing her,” their dad said, his voice uncharacteristically flat.
Whatever Frankie had been expecting when he’d imagined this moment, his father finally admitting his transgression, it hadn’t been this. There was no relief. There was no happiness. There was only a sick, gut-churning wave of disappointment that knocked his knees out and forced him to lean his ass against the windowsill or go down for the count. And that’s when he realized there’d always been a part of him that hadn’t believed, had hoped that he hadn’t seen what he’d seen.
“When?” Ford asked, breaking the heavy silence.
Finn shoved his fingers through his thick, dark hair and sat down on the couch. “Our senior year in high school.”
“I tried to tell you then, and I’ll tell you now,” Frank Sr. said. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Really?” Frankie all but snarled. “Her tongue wasn’t stuffed down your throat?”
His dad looked like there was nothing more in the world that he’d like to do at that moment than reach out and cuff his oldest—the Hartigan temper was as legendary as their ability to go wild—but he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes, let out a breath, and then focused his attention on Frankie.
“Do you remember the string of warehouse fires we had that year? Andy Rimwald was one of the firefighters who died in them before we caught the firebug.”
That summer had been awful. Ten firefighters had been killed in the fires, which had been rigged to do the most damage once everyone was on the scene. Katie Hartigan had spent most of the nights their dad was on shift sitting at the kitchen table polishing and polishing the set of silver utensils her great-great-grandmother had managed to sneak out of Ireland when she’d run off because the English had threatened to hang her for stealing. Frankie had organized it so that there was always one Hartigan kid sitting up with her, at least until she sent them to bed in the wee hours of the morning. He wasn’t sure if she ever slept while Frank Sr. was working that summer. The second he’d walk through the door, though, she’d collapse against him and allow herself thirty seconds of holding him before straightening up and starting a huge breakfast with all of his favorites. They’d all been keyed up and on edge.