More than Distance

8

He sniffed and turned his attention back to the TV. “No one’s problem but mine.”

Shit, he was stubborn. I’d forgotten how infuriating he could be. “I’m your son. It’s my problem, too.”

“Yeah? And what do you think you can do about it?”

I ran a hand through my hair, forcing myself not to get pissed and rise to his challenge. “Whatever I can. I’m back in town for a while and I can help with anything you need.”

“I don’t want your damn money,” he snapped.

“That’s not—” I clenched my jaw and tried again. “Just tell me what I can do.”

My father glared at me for a long moment before speaking. “You want to know what you can do? You can come work for me like I asked you to six years ago. Learn the ropes so you can take over the company when I’m gone.”

Fuck. I should have known this was coming. “I can’t do that.”

“Figured you’d say that.” He took the remote and turned the volume up on the TV so it became almost deafening.

“There must be something else I can do.” When he didn’t answer, I grabbed the remote from him and turned the TV down. “For Christ’s sake, I’m talking to you here.”

“What’s there to talk about? You never gave a damn about the family business when you were younger and I see that hasn’t changed. There’s nothing else you can do, so we’re done here.”

My father owned a company—Evans Construction—that had been passed down to him from his father and his grandfather before that. He’d always expected me to grow up and join him in the family business, but I’d never been interested in that path. When he’d wanted me to build things with blocks, I’d wanted to play video games. By sixteen, I was designing the games. My brain had never worked the way he’d wanted, and it never would.

“Of course I care about the business, but I have my own company now. I can’t just abandon it to go work for yours.”

“That video game company?” He snorted. “You need to make something real. Something with your hands, that you can touch, that will last a hundred years. Not that computer shit.”

He was right about one thing, nothing had changed. I was still getting the same s**t I’d gotten when I was eighteen and went off to college instead of going to work for him. It wasn’t good enough for him that I’d been the first of the Evans to go to college, no—I was a disgrace for not coming to work for the family business. When I graduated and still didn’t go work for him, it was even worse. He was the reason I’d stayed in Seattle after I finished school. Him, and Carla.

“I won’t come work for you, but I can still help in other ways.” I gestured around the room. “Look at this place. It’s a mess. Dolores can’t do everything on her own. Let me get you some help. If nothing else, I’ll get you to the best cancer specialist—”

“I already got a good doctor. And Dolores is fine. We’re both fine. We don’t need your help.”

Damn my father and his pride. Why wouldn’t he let me do anything for him? “Is the company in trouble? Because if you’re worried about losing it, my company could buy it out, or I could loan you—”

“I don’t want your damn charity!” he roared. “Take your money and get out of here!”

Gritting my teeth, I used two words I never said to him. “Dad. Please.”

He struggled to his feet, his eyes hard. “I don’t need anything from you and I don’t want your help. I already told you once, if you won’t continue the family business, then you’re no son of mine. Now go. Get out of here. I don’t want to see your face again.”

Flashbacks of being eighteen and having this exact same conversation with the exact same outcome came back to me. I didn’t even bother to argue this time. I already knew he wouldn’t change his mind.

I grabbed my motorcycle helmet and stormed out of the house without another word. I jumped back on my bike, kicked it to life, and went to the same place I went when this happened before: to my real brother.

Wasn’t there some saying about how you could never really go home again? Yeah, I was definitely finding that to be true tonight.

I parked outside Daniel’s apartment complex and let myself in the front door. He’d slipped me a key before we’d left his parents’ house, shortly after Carla had taken off. His place was a typical bachelor pad with only the bare essentials and not much in the way of decoration, but he had an extra room with a pull-out bed and that was good enough for me. Sure, I could easily afford to stay in a nice hotel, but I missed this—feeling like I was part of his family, pretending he was my real brother, not being alone for once. It was one of the reasons I debated moving back to LA all the time. Five minutes with my dad had killed that idea pretty fast.

Daniel was on his leather couch, watching that show he and Carla were obsessed with, Road Trip Race. Three empty bottles of beer stood in a row on the table, and he nursed another one in his hand.

“How’d it go?” he asked, as I shut the door.

“About the same as your family dinner.”

He snorted and took a sip of beer. “That good? Sorry, man.”