Real Men Don't Quit

by Coleen Kwan

  “I’m sure he’ll finish the book,” she said stoutly, as if she had to convince herself. Luke wouldn’t fail. He’d finish the book. She’d make him, if need be.

  Rosie chuckled. “You look like you’re going to chain him to his desk until he does.” She exchanged looks with her twin, who nodded encouragingly. “About Helen’s birthday, Mags and I were hoping you’d come to her party, too.”

  “Me?” Tyler eyed them cautiously. “Are you sure? I’ve only just met you guys. Helen might not like a virtual stranger at her birthday party.”

  “But you were so good at diffusing the tension between Luke and Helen,” Mags said. “And besides, we like you,” she added with disarming honesty. “Please come, and bring Chloe with you. It’s just going to be a casual family affair next week Sunday, nothing fancy.”

  I like the twins, Tyler thought, and I always enjoy a party, but still she hesitated. “Does Luke know about this?”

  Mags waved her hand airily. “Sheesh, we don’t need his permission to invite you. And you don’t need his permission to come, either.”

  Tyler couldn’t help smiling. Maybe Luke wouldn’t like her butting in at a family gathering, but what the hell. He wasn’t going to be around long, and when he left, she’d still have two new friends in the twins.

  “In that case, I’d love to come.”

  Chapter Six

  Luke stared at the man sitting opposite him, feeling like all the air had been punched out of his lungs. Was this really happening? Years ago, after his father had left, Luke had waited for him to come back. Waited and hoped, for a long time. If his dad came back, maybe his mum would stop looking so sad and start singing like she used to. But his dad never came back, and gradually his mother stopped looking quite so sad, though he never heard her sing again.

  Over the years, Luke had gradually stopped thinking about his dad, but every now and then he’d wondered what had happened to him, whether he was still alive, what he looked like. Now he didn’t have to wonder anymore.

  The man sitting opposite him was tall and dapper, his figure still upright, his dark hair thick, neat, and only lightly peppered with gray. His brown suit was impeccably tailored, though old-fashioned and slightly worse for wear, his leather shoes were polished, his striped tie a perfect Windsor knot. He sat easily, fingers loosely linked, black eyes patient as Luke stared at him.

  More than five minutes must have passed since Patrick Maguire had knocked on his door and Luke, dazed after the first shock of recognition, had allowed him into the house. Silence stretched between them, unbroken in the cool, calm living room. Luke felt anything but cool and calm. A hundred questions and accusations battered his head.

  “Mum died last spring,” Luke blurted out.

  His father inclined his head. “I know. I’m very sorry. She was a fine woman, your mother.”

  Luke chewed the inside of his cheek. “You knew? Why didn’t you come to the funeral?”

  “I didn’t think I’d be welcome.” He spread his hands, gesturing regret.

  Luke tensed. Until then, he hadn’t realized how many memories of his father’s hands he retained—memories of those elegant hands turning the pages of a book, writing with a fountain pen, shaving his handsome face. Stroking Luke’s hair, tucking the blankets around him.

  Luke forced the memories away. “Where have you been all these years?”

  “Around the country, overseas. Where haven’t I been?”

  “Working? You have a job?”

  “Of course I have a job.” Patrick brushed his sleeve and crossed his legs. “And an apartment in Sydney with harbor views of the opera house.”

  “Sounds impressive,” Luke reluctantly answered. His father had never been good with money, but maybe without a family’s demands he’d changed.

  “I do okay.” His father rested his hands on his knees. “Not as good as you, though. You’ve hit the big time.” Smiling, he sat up, his eyes brightening. “I’m really proud of you, son. Really proud. I always knew you were special.”

  Yeah, so special you couldn’t hang around. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t spoken the words, but the rigidness in his face must have given his father a clue to his feelings. Patrick leaned forward.

  “Son, I know you’re angry, and you have every right.” The earnest dark eyes moistened ever so slightly. “I let you down. I let everyone down.”

  Damn him. Why couldn’t he bluster and make excuses so Luke could tear strips off him? Why did he have to look so frigging sincere? Luke shoved to his feet and started pacing the floor.

  “Easy for you to apologize now, but no amount of groveling will ever make up for what you did to Mum. You left her to cope on her own. Have you any idea how hard she struggled raising five children all by herself? Sometimes she went without eating just to meet the rent.” His insides seethed, and he couldn’t stop circling the same bit of carpet like a caged lion.

  “I’m not making any excuses for myself,” Patrick said quietly. “I know I did the wrong thing.”

  Luke twisted around to face him. “Then why? Why the hell did you do it?”

  For a long moment his father was still, then he lifted his shoulders. “Because I’m a feckless bastard, of course.”

  “Ah, jeez.” Sucking in a breath, Luke flung his head back and stared unseeing at the ceiling. Confronting his father was like trying to wrestle a shadow. “Why are you here? What do you want from me? Money, is that it? You heard I’m earning a fortune now, and you thought you’d get a piece of it? Okay. Tell me how much you want, I’ll write you out a check, and you can be on your way.”

  His father rose to his feet, face paling. The afternoon light streaming through the windows picked out his wrinkles with cruel clarity. “I didn’t realize you despised me so much.” His voice quavered. “I expected the girls to, but I thought you were different. I thought we shared something unique…those books I left behind for you…”

  Luke’s gut twisted at the memory of those books, the volumes of poetry and classics his father had placed in his bedroom the night before he’d left forever. Luke had read those books over and over, surreptitiously of course, never letting his mother know about them for fear she’d think he was disloyal to her. He’d wanted to throw them away, but he hadn’t been able to. Time after time the books had lured him, drawing him into worlds far beyond his small-town existence. But every time he’d closed the books and hid them under his bed, the guilt had surged back.

  “I don’t despise you, Dad.” If he despised anyone, it was himself for keeping those books.

  Patrick lifted his head, his expression heartened. “You called me Dad.”

  Hell. Unable to look at his father, Luke walked over to the table holding his laptop and made a show of tidying up a few papers. “Was there a purpose to your visit? Because I really need to get on with my writing.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to disturb your work.” Pulling out a pristine handkerchief, Patrick dabbed at his cheeks. “I thought perhaps we could go out for a drink, but only if it’s convenient for you.”

  The hands holding the handkerchief were gaunt, and there was a faint stoop to his shoulders. Fresh, unfamiliar guilt jabbed at Luke. This aging man with his old-fashioned suit, spiffy shoes, and pomaded hair was his father.

  Luke cleared his throat. “How did you find me?”

  “I rang your agent and spoke to a nice young girl.”

  He guessed his silver-tongued father had had no problem extracting the information from the assistant. “You drove all the way from Sydney?”

  His father nodded. “It’s a nice drive, and I like being on the road.” He pocketed the handkerchief and smoothed down his hair. “Look, I shouldn’t have turned up on your doorstep without warning. I’ll leave my number with you.” He drew out a business card and slid it onto the coffee table. “I’m down here for a few days. Maybe when you’ve had time to think about it, you’ll give me a ring.”

  Not knowing what to say, Luke watched as his father walked to
the door. “Whatever you decide,” the elderly man said, “know that I’m proud of you, Luke. I always dreamed of being a writer, but it never quite happened for me. Yet you’ve gone and achieved what I never could. Well done, son.”

  His father left. A minute later, Luke heard the faint sounds of a car pulling off. Swearing under his breath, he stalked out the house and down the driveway, making it to the street just in time to see a navy-blue Mercedes gliding away.

  As he watched, a bus lumbered to a halt a few meters away, obscuring his vision. Belatedly he saw Tyler and Chloe getting off the bus. Weighed down by shopping bags, Tyler was struggling to keep hold of them, her daughter, her oversize handbag, and her sunglasses. Without a word Luke walked over and relieved her of the bags. She started to thank him, but he was already marching to her door, where he waited for her to catch up and open it.

  “Thanks.” She gave him a sunny smile, but for once its magic failed to lift his spirits.

  Still silent, he followed her inside and dumped the bags on the kitchen floor.

  Tyler tossed her handbag aside and pushed her sunglasses up to her hair. “What’s the matter?” she asked without preamble. “You look like your computer crashed and you lost all your work.”

  Considering the state of his writing, that wouldn’t be much of a disaster. He eyed the skintight jeans and flimsy silk top she was wearing. After a hard day’s work and a bus trip, she still managed to look radiant and free-spirited. Under the balm of her presence, his boiling tension ease down a few degrees. He’d intended going straight back next door, but now the thought of his empty house didn’t appeal. For the first time in ages he felt the biting need to be with someone. No, not just anyone. He wanted to be with Tyler.

  “What are you doing right now?” he asked.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Right now I’m planning on getting my ice cream into the freezer before it melts. I really need to get my car fixed soon. Catching a bus with my groceries is a nightmare.”

  “Can I take you and Chloe out to dinner?”

  Her eyebrows inched up even farther. “Now?”

  He had no idea what time it was, but the sun was slanting in low through the kitchen window, so it couldn’t be far off dusk. “Yeah, an early dinner. Do you know any place around here we could take Chloe?”

  “The Red Possum has a beer garden and bistro that caters to children.” She rested a hand on her hip, studying him pensively. “Are you sure nothing’s the matter? You look weird.”

  “Not weird as in Jack-Nicholson-in-The-Shining weird, I hope.” He tried to relax his facial muscles. “I’ve just had a long day, and I could do with some company.”

  She patted his arm. “We’ll be ready in a minute. Let me put the cold stuff away first.”

  Half an hour later they were seated at a wooden table in the courtyard of the Red Possum. Chloe had found some playmates at the climbing frame set up in one corner, leaving Luke and Tyler free. Luke had a cold beer in front of him, but Tyler had stuck to Coke.

  “I have to do a bit of work later on when Chloe’s asleep,” she explained. “I need to finish that Crystal Kerrigan piece. Then I can get my car running again.”

  She talked some more about her jewelry making, and he listened keenly, eager to submerge the feelings his father’s visit had provoked. He thought he succeeded. Their meals arrived, and the food and Chloe’s chatter further distracted him. But after their empty plates had been cleared away, Tyler rested her elbows on the table and fixed him with a purposeful look.

  “Now,” she said bossily, “are you going to tell me what’s biting you?”

  No tiptoeing around the subject for Tyler. That was what he liked about her, one of the many things he liked about her. She knew something was worrying him, and she wanted to help. “My father showed up today. I hadn’t seen him since I was eight.”

  Her eyes widened. “Tell me about him.”

  So he did. He told her about his handsome, charming, shiftless father who couldn’t keep a job, couldn’t stay in one place, couldn’t remain faithful to his wife. A father who couldn’t provide for his family but built castles in the air. A father who couldn’t be there for his son but beguiled him nevertheless.

  “Often he’d come home late from the pub, not drunk but a little tipsy,” Luke said, nursing the empty glass in his hands. “He’d wake me up and read me stories or poetry. I’d be half-asleep, struggling to stay awake while he read. I didn’t understand most of it, but I could sense the meaning through his voice and the rhythm of the words.”

  “He nurtured your imagination,” Tyler said matter-of-factly. “You’re a writer partly because of him.”

  As much as he wanted to protest, he couldn’t deny that. His mother was the one who had gotten him library books, bought him the reference books, framed his winners’ certificates, fostered his talents. It should have been she who’d germinated his desire to write, but instead it had been his father. His worthless, gutless father.

  He examined the depths of his beer glass. “I don’t know what he’s up to contacting me after all these years. Maybe he just wants to talk, but I don’t trust him. And I’m leery of him contacting my sisters, especially Helen. She’s still struggling to come to terms with Mum’s death. We all are, but until recently I hadn’t realized how badly it hit her. I don’t want my dad upsetting her even more.” He glanced across the table at Tyler. It felt good to confide in her, even if it was about his father.

  “I know what it’s like.” Tyler drew her finger through a wet patch on the table left behind by her glass. “When my mother finally reappeared in my life, I could barely speak to her I was so angry with her for leaving me. We still don’t get along.”

  This was the first time she’d revealed anything about her mother. Luke leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

  But Tyler was already shaking her head, as if she regretted her disclosure. “About your sisters,” she said briskly “The twins dropped by the store today. We got chatting, and they invited Chloe and me to Helen’s birthday party. I said yes, but if you object I’ll make some excuse.”

  Diverted, he sat back and blinked at her. “Helen’s birthday? Crap.”

  She wriggled her lips. “Okay, you don’t have to be so blunt. I get the message. You don’t want me to go.”

  “What? No, I forgot it’s her birthday next week. I never know what to buy her.”

  “I can help you there. You can get her the matching earrings that go with the necklace your sisters bought for her from the store.”

  “Great.” He exhaled a breath, then added, “And of course I don’t object to you going to the party.” Far from it, he thought. Tyler would perk up any party.

  “Sure about that? I don’t want to complicate things for you.”

  “Meaning?”

  Her lips curled up into a rueful smile. “Your sisters were under the impression there was something going on between you and me.” She shrugged, the silky material of her blouse shifting over her breasts, drawing his attention to her curves. “I put them straight, but going with you to a family gathering might lead them astray again.”

  His gaze lingered on her breasts. Trouble was, there were so many ways Tyler could lead him astray. Just sitting there, listening to him ramble on was leading him astray. He’d opened up to her more than any other woman before. Add her luscious body in the mix, and he was dicing with trouble. But he didn’t care much anymore. She was sexy and lively, and he liked being with her, and she’d make a family party a whole lot more fun.

  “Leave my sisters to me,” he said.

  “Okay.” She gave him a cheeky grin that made her look the spitting image of Chloe. “I was going to go regardless, but it’s nice to know you approve.”

  “Huh.” He shook his head but couldn’t stop smiling.

  Ten minutes later Chloe, having run herself ragged around the play area, collapsed in Tyler’s arms. Luke paid the bill and drove them home, where he carried Chloe’s slumbering form into her bedroom. Ty
ler tucked in the sheets, then walked with Luke to the front door.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she said.

  “No, I should thank you. My father’s visit left me in a bit of a funk. You and Chloe managed to pull me out of it.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “That’s me. A funky distraction.”

  Again her top did that seductive slipping thing with her breasts. All evening she’d been exercising his imagination, and now, with the dimness of the hallway around them and crickets chirping outside, he couldn’t keep his distance any longer. Reaching out, he fingered the silky material at her shoulder, and instant heat rolled through him. Whoa… This time the attraction throbbing through him was a lot more volatile.

  She stilled, surprise flickering in her face. A pulse at the base of her throat suddenly kicked up. “Are we going on the scenic route again?”

  Shifting his stance, he curled his palm under her heavy fall of hair to rest it against the back of her neck. Anticipation boiled like a thundercloud in him. To hell with keeping his distance. Right now, he needed this more than anything.

  “Not this time,” he said huskily. “This time, I know exactly where I’m going.”

  He lowered his head, his lips meeting hers halfway as she tilted toward him. Her mouth was hot, sweet, drugging. The pleasure of the kiss sent shock waves through him. Before he knew it, he pulled her closer so his body was plastered against hers. He kissed her deeper, harder, and she responded, opening her mouth to stroke her tongue against his.

  Her boldness shattered the last of his restraint. Her blouse rustled as he crushed her closer. The feel of her breasts rubbing against his chest sent his heart rate soaring, his hands gripping at her hips and waist so she couldn’t get away. It appeared she didn’t want to get away. She wrapped one long, denim-clad leg around his, her moans soft and arousing as she molded her lips and body to his. He couldn’t control the desire shooting through him, and before he knew it he was aching to take things further.