Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I change directions. “I didn’t realize he comes here so much. That’s nice.”
“It’s more than nice. He’s here almost every day, visiting.”
That is news. But instead, I keep smiling and pretend I know all of this.
“It’s amazing of him that he finds time. He’s so busy at work,” I say.
“He says the location is close to his office, but I’m not geographically challenged. I know Cresthill is at the very edge of the city, and he’s not. That traffic is a bitch when he comes. I’m thankful that he tries to stop by every day for a game of cards.”
I cock my head to the side.
“You like to play?” I ask.
He beams at my question. The deep lines on his face grow larger. “Love it.”
“That’s how you and Trent bonded?”
“Yeah, Trent plays poker. He’s good. But not as good as me.”
“Do you guys play for money?”
He narrows his eyes on me. “Nope. Trent doesn’t believe in gambling for money.”
My spine goes ramrod straight. What a dumb question. Of course, Trent doesn’t play for cash, not after what his father did. I should have known this, and Henry is probably wondering why I didn’t.
“Doesn’t matter,” Henry finally says. “It’s still fun, regardless. I’m simply happy for the company.”
He looks away from me. A faraway look consumes his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“I was just thinking.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He tilts his head and stares. “I guess . . . Trent trusts you after all.”
I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the gut with the lie that’s lodged in my throat, threatening to choke me, but my instincts tell me it’s worth it for Henry to open up to me.
“You can tell me anything.” I pause, feeling so much guilt but laying it on thick anyway. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“My son,” he whispers. It’s a haunted, broken sound.
“What about your son?”
“We had a falling out, and my son”—Henry shakes his head—“he won’t talk to me.”
“Have you tried to reach out to him?”
He nods. “I have, but I don’t know where he is anymore. We lost touch, and every day I’m here, I wonder how much time I have left. I’m not the same man I once was . . . I have regrets. I don’t want to die without righting my wrongs.”
I reach for his hand and squeeze it, gentling my voice. “Tell me about your son.”
And this time, I forget about my mission.
This is one hundred percent about the broken man in front of me. The one I find a kindred soul.
Henry spends the next hour telling me all about his son. The good times. The tough times. The falling out. Every now and then, he stops, and it looks like he will cry.
It breaks my heart, and I know I must do something.
Tell someone.
An hour later, I settle on an answer. One that isn’t my first choice but is the best option we have.
I get back in the car with Trent when he picks me up.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure.” He sighs.
If it were up to him, I’d probably never speak.
Well, that’s not true.
In a couple of weeks, he expects me to speak in front of his staff on the information I have turned in.
I can’t believe I’m going to have to do that.
Not the point.
“It’s about Henry.”
“What about him?” He glances quickly at me while he navigates traffic.
Now that I have his attention, I can see the concern. It’s obvious that he cares greatly for the man.
My gut tells me after Ronald showed his true colors, Henry replaced him as a father figure in his life.
“He doesn’t seem okay.”
Trent pulls over, double-parking in front of a cop car without a care in the world. His head turns to me fully. His jaw is tight, and his eyes are wide.
“Why? Did he look sick?”
“Um, no.” I try to stay calm. “Is he sick?”
Trent looks away, and I think maybe Henry is, but that’s not why I’m talking to Trent about him. And if he is sick, then what I have to say is even more important.
“He misses his son,” I blurt out when it’s clear Trent isn’t going to talk. “He doesn’t know where he is. I think we need to find him.”
He looks back at me, relief sinking into his body for a moment. His shoulders relax. He leans against the plush leather seat. There’s a softness to him I’ve never seen before, one that I’d consider fondness if I weren’t so unused to any positive emotion from him.
Then all at once, his brows raise, and he looks back at the road with wide eyes. He starts the engine again, veering onto the road so fast, it’s like he’s crazed.
“We?” He speeds. “There is no we. Henry is not your problem.”
I’m not sure why he snaps at me, but it does shut me up. Too bad it can’t stop my heart from wanting to break free of my chest. It wants to run straight to Trent and fix him.