Yeah, it definitely hurts me to see you too, buddy. Especially after how we left things.
“There’s glass in the way,” I mumble, picking up on his weird, awkward joke, then tap the window with my knuckles a few times for emphasis.
He thrusts his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “I … came as soon as I heard, Stefan.”
“He’s alright,” I tell him right away. “I mean, rather, he’s going to be fine.”
“He … collapsed at the gym?”
“Yeah. Overdid it, that zealous little fool.” I chuckle dryly and lean against the window, folding my arms. “They’re just running some tests to be sure. Kept him overnight. Taking precautions.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
Ryan nods, then slowly comes around the leather couches. I watch him, studying every little movement as if it’ll give away what’s going on in his head. Is he pissed about the other night? Is he thinking about it, too? Is he suffering the same complex tangle of emotions as I am?
He gives a short glance at the fake plant by the couch, closes his eyes, then tells me, “Stefan, I … I have a few things I need to get off my chest about how we—”
“Ryan?”
My dad’s entrance isn’t the timeliest. I huff, frustrated, as my dad comes into the room with a strange look on his face. I’m surprised to find more life in his eyes than I’ve seen for a long time when he looks at Ryan.
When Ryan turns, an expression of happy surprise floods his own face. “Mr. Baker.” He smiles and cheerily extends a hand. “It’s been a long while, sir.”
“Too long,” my dad agrees, accepting the handshake heartily. His eyes are perpetually half-lidded, giving him this look of being utterly unimpressed with anything, but I still catch a rare twinkle of appreciation in them when he looks at Ryan. “What’re you doing here?”
“I … guess you don’t know. I’m actually Rudy’s counselor at Morris High. I heard he was in the hospital and came to offer my support.”
“Well.” My dad shuffles his feet. “It’s good to see you, Ryan.”
“It’s unfortunate it has to be under these circumstances.”
My dad grunts his agreement, then faces me with a pained look. “I need to talk to my son. Alone, please.”
Ryan shifts his gaze uneasily between us, then finally says, “I’ll … I’ll be down the hall talking to Mrs. Baker. I’ll give you two some space and let you be.”
“No,” I state, my word like a steely cold axe chopping what tiny shred of a light, merry mood was brewing in this lounge. “I was talking to my friend, Dad. You came and interrupted us.”
“Really, it’s okay,” Ryan insists, lifting his hands up. As usual, he’s trying to cool the waters and pull the fuse from my constant, fuming desire to out-tough my father. “You and I can talk later. I’m not … I’m not going anywhere.”
My hard stare meets his. I don’t respond. Apparently I don’t need to; Ryan simply nods at us, then heads off down the hall.
And even with all the tension in my body, my eyes can’t help but drift downward to watch his cute ass in those tight slacks and belt as he walks away.
Damn.
“Son, we need to talk.”
I lift my eyes to my father, turning to ice at once. “Go ahead. Whatever you got to say, just let it out.”
He shuffles his feet heavily, pockets his bony hands, then lifts his tired, emotionless face to me. “I love you.”
I flinch. That wasn’t what I was expecting.
“I pushed you,” he grunts. “Pushed you, watched you fall, then kicked you while you were flat on your ass. Good dads don’t do that. A good dad would have helped his son up, brushed off the bullshit, and …” He makes a strange gesture toward me. “Gave care. Encouragement. Shit, son, I’m no good at apologies.”
“Is that what this is?” I ask him, my forehead screwing up.
“Yes. I should have recognized your pain. I screwed up bad when I was your age. Almost lost everything. Then I got up, fought hard, and now look at the life I built for you and your brother.”
“Yeah. A life where my kid brother feels so overlooked and unappreciated that he nearly kills himself at the gym trying to become your perfect little star athlete to impress you.”
“You and your brother grew up with a roof over your heads and full bellies every night,” he states—again in that infuriatingly calm, unaffected voice. “But a good life like this doesn’t come for free, and you’re smart and old enough to know that. I sacrificed a lot for you boys and for Mom. You gotta work hard for—”
“You’re a bit late for a pep talk, old man.”
“I am.” He sets his jaw and brings his hard gaze on me. “And I know it. But it’s never too late to look your son in the eye and tell him you were wrong.”