Gray planted both feet on the ground and stopped the swing. After all these years, his father was finally seeking help? Hell, acknowledging there was even a problem? Gray scrambled for something to say and came up dry. Instead he waited, opting to take his cue from his dad.
His father scratched a hand along his salt-and-pepper hair, still trimmed to military regulation even ten years after retirement. "We've been talking about those days in the camp. Getting some things straight in my head. If it were up to me, I'd just let it all lie. But your mother needs this. So I go. Sometimes we go together."
Those were more words than his father had strung together in as long as Gray could remember. The talkative bent at the family party hadn't been a fluke. "That's good, Dad. Real good."
"So your mother says. And I have to admit … it helps." He stared out over the water, silent for one of those long stretches habitual since his POW days. Without looking away, he cleared his throat. "Back in 'Nam, there was this box they put us in."
Gray winced at the conversational leap, his mind catching up even though his stomach still lurched as if he'd pitched off the swing.
His father's brows knit together. "In some ways the box was good, because they left you alone as long as you were in there. Then it got hot. And you needed some distraction. I came home in my mind."
Gray tried to relax his fists. He knew all about the box, a crate about the size of a dog carrier, but without a window.
His time in survival training had included a stint in a mock POW camp. How many days he'd spent there, he'd never known. He'd had no watch, and most of the time was spent with loudspeakers blaring away any hope of sleep. He'd been marched through a hellish regimen meant to prepare flyers for possible capture.
Definitely hell, and he'd had the reassurance that he would be leaving soon. Hours spent in the box had given him too much time to think about what his father had been through, a torture beyond any the instructors could have doled out.
Gray studied his father. What could he say, though, Hey, Dad, I pulled a weekend stint in one of those, so I understand your pain? He let his father talk.
"When I came home in my head, you and I sat out under that tree, and I taught you about the stars. Sometimes we pitched a ball around." His eyes fogged with a distant look, as if seeing long-ago days. "Other times I told you things you needed to know, things a father should tell his son. I may have been in that box, but I couldn't stop being your dad."
The words slammed on top of so many memories of waiting for his father to come home, the years after when he'd felt he lost his dad altogether. How strange to get his old man back right before a move cross country. "Dad, it means a—"
His father held up a hand. "Funny thing was, once I got home, I didn't do all those things with you like I'd planned. I was still stuck in that box, more so than when I was back over there." He turned to face Gray. "Son, you've put yourself in a box."
"What?" When had this become about him? Not three seconds ago they were discussing his father.
"Just because you're in that box doesn't mean you can stop loving Lori and that little girl."
Their eyes met and Gray looked, really looked, and found his father for the first time in nearly thirty years. His eyes were clear, sharp. Familiar. And too wise.
His father blinked, shifted away, scrubbing a hand along his bristly face, a five-o'clock shadow speckling even at ten in the morning. He cleared his throat, the gruff old man back in place. "A couple of sessions and I'm turning into some damn Sigmund Freud." He stood and stretched as if they'd done no more than pass a leisurely chat about ball scores. "Time for my afternoon walk. Been good talking to you, son."
His father lumbered down the steps, retracing his regular path along the water.
Gray's gaze slid away and down to his hands clasped loosely between his knees. He'd faced combat, flown countless missions in hazardous conditions without a qualm, yet his hands trembled at thoughts of commitment. Not some live-in offer or pathetic proposal no woman worth her salt would accept. But a real commitment.
Could his old man have been right? Had Gray put himself in a box? Lori couldn't reject his love if he never offered it. She couldn't turn away from him as his father had done.
His father had been one hundred percent correct.
Churning his father's words around in his mind, Gray welcomed a flash of gratitude toward his dad after so many years of bitterness. Too often Gray had only seen the tension between them from his mother's side.
Today he'd stood with his father, as parent and child, as a fellow serviceman.
Now it was time to stand with Lori. No more running.
Denying he loved Lori didn't make it any less real. And he'd let her slip away again.
Gray yanked his cell phone from his back pocket and punched in Lori's number. He wouldn't actually propose over the phone, but he could start the wheels rolling with an apology, followed by—
"Hello," a voice that definitely wasn't Lori answered.
Had he dialed the wrong number? "Hello?"
"Gray? Hi. This is Julia."
"Julia?" Damn, he felt like a parrot. "Could I speak to Lori?"