I laugh, the sound coming out flat.
“Not sure that she wants that Beckett determination barking at her door, Mom.”
“Then I have no doubt in my mind that you, being your father’s son, will make her change her way of thinking there.”
“I’m trying. God, I’m trying.”
She smiles, reaches out and pulls my hand from my glass. “Tell me what’s going on. Let’s talk game plan, honey.”
I give her a smile, matching the one on her face, and proceed to tell her everything that’s been going on for the last year. Starting with the feelings I had when I first met Megan. When I started spending time with Molly. How I knew she would be mine long before I confirmed that feeling. And finally how I’ve been trying to bring Megan back to herself. When I finish talking she has tears in her eyes.
“You’ve always felt deeply, son. I have to say, hearing how you talk about her and her daughter makes me feel nothing but pride.”
I open my mouth, but before I can get a word out, I hear the back door open.
“Wildcat, get your man some water. Damn it’s hot out there. I haven’t been this sweaty since—” My dad’s words die on his lips when he turns to see me sitting with my mom. His gaze, never missing a thing, takes in the serious vibes floating around before he—thankfully—can finish his sentence. “What’s wrong?”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Beck baby.” She gives my hand a squeeze, drawing my attention from my father, back to her. “You never give up, baby boy. Never. What you’re feeling, that’s all going to be worth it in the end. If you need me you know I’m here. I love you.”
She stands, gives me a kiss on the top of my head and moves to my father. His head tips down but his knowing eyes never leave mine. He gives her a kiss, turning his eyes to hers. I watch just as fascinated as I was when I was a kid and they would have one of their silent moments. They don’t speak, words never needed with them. Her hand comes up and caresses his cheek and he turns his head to kiss her palm. Her skin instantly filling with goose bumps and I know, if I could see her face, she would have that soft look and her eyes would be full of love.
He waits for her to fill a glass of water, taking it from her offering hand, before giving her another kiss and walking the few steps that separated the doorway and the kitchen table.
“Call me later, baby,” she tells me and I give her a nod.
I watch her walk through the arch that takes her from the kitchen and to the stairs that lead up to the second floor before I turn and look at my father.
“I knew this day would come.”
“Did you now?” I ask, pulling my glass up and draining the last of my drink.
“Always knew it would, I just hope I know how to steer you right, son.”
“At this point, I’m not sure there’s a right or wrong way to go.”
He smiles, his brown eyes so similar to my own give nothing away as he settles into his chair, leaning back and taking another sip of his water.
“Mom fill you in?”
“She filled me in enough. What does she mean about the apple not falling far from the tree?”
He laughs, “Liam, God son,” he takes a deep breath. “My guess, you’ve got a fight on your hands?”
I tip my head, rolling his words around and trying to form an answer. Before I can speak, he opens his mouth and continues.
“I always knew, with how badly I had to fight just to get your mom to give us a chance, that it would come easy once we finally got there. She has and always will be worth every fight and every struggle. I knew the second she came into my life that she was it. One look in a smoky, crowded bar, and I was knocked so hard on my ass I’m sure that I still have the bruise to show for it even now two decades and then some years later.”
With nothing but an empty glass, I lean back and wait for him to continue.
“When you were playing ball in high school, what did I tell you?”
Clearing my throat, I say, “That anything worth having is worth fighting for.”
“Exactly that. I don’t listen much when your mother is yammering on the phone with the girls. I sit back and let her do her thing knowing if she needs to clue me in, she will. So, son, tell me about her.”
“Tell you about?” I hedge.
“Megan.”
“You sure you don’t listen in, old man?” I laugh.
He winks and I laugh. Then, just like Mom, I tell my father everything about Megan and Molly. As I speak, his knowing eyes get bright and I watch as, through my story, my father loses himself in his own memories. When I finish speaking, he clears his throat and drains his glass dry.