More than Distance

7

Thinking about her now made my jeans tighten uncomfortably and I adjusted myself on the bike’s seat. I knew better than to think about her that way. Carla was off-limits and it was obvious she hadn’t been happy to see me at all. In fact, I was pretty sure she hated my guts. After the way I’d been a total d**k to her last time, who could blame her?

No, I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about those long legs, or remembering how soft and sweet her mouth had been, or picturing what it’d be like to have her naked and underneath me with her wild curls splayed out on a pillow. She had a boyfriend and it sounded pretty serious. Even if she was single, Daniel would beat the s**t out of me for even imagining the things I wanted to do to her.

I turned my bike around and headed into another area of the city. Even with the wind rushing against me and the miles flying past, nothing was working to clear my head. I had to suck it up and confront my past already.

Twenty minutes later I stopped my motorcycle outside a small house I hadn’t seen in years. A familiar dread rose up at the sight of the bar-covered windows, peeling paint, and dead grass. The sound of the freeway was almost deafening here, with the house tucked right under it. Not a prime location by any means, but hey, it had been cheap.

I yanked off my helmet and propped it under my arm, then slowly approached the front door. Felt like a damn death row walk, even if I wasn’t the one dying. I stared at the doorbell for a good minute, trying to steel myself for what was coming, before I finally rang it.

My stepmother Dolores opened the door. Her graying hair was in a messy bun and she wore a green bathrobe with a small hole in the shoulder. I’d known her for much of my life as my father’s secretary, but hadn’t seen her since their wedding three years ago. Actually, I hadn’t seen my father since then either, come to think of it.

“Hi, Ryan.” She stepped back to let me in. “Thanks for coming. I know it was a burden with your company and all.”

“It’s no trouble.” I swept my gaze across the small living room, noting the dark brown carpet I’d grown up with, the beige couch that still had the ketchup stain I’d gotten on it, and my mom’s Chinese brush paintings on the wall. Nothing had changed in this place since I was a kid. “Where is he?”

Her face was tired and more wrinkled than I remembered. “In the back, watching TV.”

“How is he doing?”

“He’s grumpy as can be. He started chemo this week, so I had to hear his bitching non-stop, but otherwise he’s hanging in there.”

“How are you doing?”

She blew out a long breath. “Busy. Overwhelmed. Worried. But I’m hanging in there too.” She gave me a weak smile. “It’ll be better now that you’re here.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but it sounded like she could use some help. I’d been shocked when she had called to tell me about my father’s lung cancer, but immediately agreed to come down to LA to see him. I’d taken a month off work, even though it meant putting a hold on the Slade Industries offer. Slade’s CEO was pissed, but my team insisted I go since I hadn’t taken a single vacation day since starting the company three years ago. They promised me they would handle everything in my absence and I had complete faith in them.

A guy with ginger hair came out of the kitchen, eating a sandwich and walking around barefoot like he lived here or something. It took me a moment to place him as Jay, my stepmother’s son from her previous marriage. I supposed that made him my stepbrother, although I’d met him only once, at the wedding. He was about the same age as me, but I doubted we had much in common besides our parents’ marriage.

He looked me over slowly and stood up straighter, his chest puffed out like he was trying to be intimidating even though he was smaller and shorter than me. He wore a frown and I got the feeling he wasn’t thrilled to see me. Not my first choice either, I wanted to tell him.

“The great Ryan Evans finally decided to grace us with his presence?” Jay asked. “So kind of you to slum it with us poor people.”

What the f**k was his problem? I stepped right up in his face, my anger flaring. “Don’t talk to me about being poor,” I growled. “I’m the one who grew up in this house, not you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but I fixed him with the hard-eyed stare that made businessmen quake in their expensive leather shoes. After a moment, he looked down at his feet. Yeah, that’s what I thought.

“Be nice,” Dolores said, hands on her hips. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or to him. I took off down the hall without another word, toward the family room and the sound of sports on TV.

My father sat in his usual brown recliner, but he looked so different from my mental image of him that I had to pause in the doorway to take him in. He was tall, like me, but his broad, hulking frame seemed small and frail now, like he’d been shrunk down to half his size. His brown hair had gone completely gray and a rough, scratchy beard covered his face. An empty ash tray sat next to him. At least he’d stopped smoking finally.

When his blue eyes snapped to mine they were as tough and alert as ever. “What are you doing here?”

So much for a nice family reunion. “Dolores called me.”

My father scowled. “Damn meddling woman.”

“She told me about the cancer. Why didn’t you say anything?”