Brenda Novak - Shooting the Moon

“Don’t cut your trip short yet,” she said. “Let’s wait and see how things go. Maybe after I talk to him he’ll just…go home.” Yeah, right!

“Okay. But promise you’ll call us after you talk to him.”

“I will.”

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

“Here, your mother wants to say hello.”

HARLEY SAT on the edge of a bed consisting of two mattresses and a cheap set of rails in Tank’s spare room, waiting anxiously for the sun to rise. He was surrounded by boxes filled with who knew what—leftovers from Tank’s marriage, probably, belongings that held too many memories to unpack—staring at empty walls and a dirty window with a broken blind. But he could’ve been sitting behind home plate at the World Series and it wouldn’t have made any difference. He would still have been thinking of Brandon.

He was going to meet his son today. Harley had envisioned coming face to face with him hundreds, even thousands of times, but he’d never anticipated feeling so…apprehensive. It might’ve been different if Brandon was younger and less likely to be critical. Toddlers didn’t care what a parent was like. They accepted whatever love they were offered. But a nine-year-old boy…

Harley stretched his neck, then squeezed the muscles in his left shoulder, wishing he could iron out a few of the knots. A nine-year-old boy would already know how to play ball and read and ride a bike. He’d have his own taste in clothes and his own opinions on what was cool and whether or not he might be interested in getting to know the man who’d fathered him.

What if Brandon didn’t want to be bothered? What if he didn’t want Harley to disturb his picture-perfect life with the Worthingtons?

He already has everything. He doesn’t need you.

“You up, man?” Tank stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but a muscle shirt and a pair of boxers, his voice dispelling the echo of Lauren’s words in Harley’s head.

“Yeah,” he replied, trying to stretch the kinks out of his neck again.

His friend yawned, then eyed the blankets that were still folded rather haphazardly behind Harley. “Didn’t you go to bed?”

After his meeting with Lauren, Harley had stopped by the Holiday Inn to pack his things and check out. Then he’d let himself into Tank’s apartment just after midnight, where he’d spent several hours on his laptop, seeing how sales were going at Burlingame Harley Davidson and answering e-mails sent to him by Joe Randall, his manager. He’d tried to sleep afterward but ended up pacing instead, and thinking about Brandon.

“I had too much on my mind. What are you doing up so early?”

“You kidding? I pour concrete for a living. I get up this early as a rule. Otherwise, I’m working late in the afternoon and it gets too damned hot. How’d it go with Lauren last night?”

“Good. Better than I expected.” He certainly hadn’t anticipated finding Audra’s little sister, or any member of Audra’s family, the least bit likeable. They lived in an expensive house, drove fancy cars, spent money as though it were water and had absolutely no idea what it was like to go without. Understanding and acceptance were concepts as unfamiliar to them as the idea of mowing their own lawn or painting their own house. But there was something about Lauren that made Harley wonder if she was really as bad as he’d assumed. She’d been decent last night. She’d allowed him to break through her icy reserve and reach what he hoped was her heart—provided she really had one.

“She gonna let you see Brandon?” Tank asked.

“Yeah, today as a matter of fact.”

“You nervous?”

“No,” Harley said, even though his heart raced at the prospect of what lay in store. God, he was scared. How did he introduce himself to his own child? Pick up in the middle of Brandon’s life and make a meaningful contribution?

“I’m supposed to go over there for dinner,” he explained. “Lauren suggested it might seem more natural if I came to the house and was treated like any other guest. She thinks it’ll help maintain Brandon’s emotional stability if we’re friendly and supportive of each other.”

Tank arched an eyebrow at him. “She’s willing to be supportive of you?”

“Go figure,” Harley said. “A sympathetic Worthington. It’s a contradiction in terms, isn’t it?”

“Does that mean she’s gonna tell Brandon who you are?”

“Yep. Said she’s always been honest with him and doesn’t want to erode the trust she’s established between them by lying to him now.”

“Sounds like something she’d say. I told you she was a straight arrow.”

“I prefer it this way, too. No games, no secrets.”

A hint of a smile lit Tank’s face. “Damien called while you were gone last night.”

“Your brother? What for?”

“Just to badger me some more about why we wanted Lauren’s number.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No, I said I had a friend who was looking for a good lay.” Tank’s smile turned into a devilish grin. “He nearly had a coronary. I love to mess with that guy’s head.”

“He want her back?” Harley asked.

Tank scratched his belly. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Why? What’s so appealing about her?”

“Didn’t you look at her, man? She’s gorgeous!”

“Her sister was even prettier, but there’s plenty of pretty women out there who are less spoiled.”

“You’re assuming Lauren is just like Audra used to be,” Tank said. “She’s not.”

“She can’t be that different,” Harley responded. “She’s cut from the same cloth. She has the same asshole for a father, the same nervous Nellie for a mother, and she had the same snobbish upbringing. She still lives in the same damned fortress, for Pete’s sake! So tell Damien to take it from me and stay the hell away from Lauren and anyone else even distantly related to her.”

Tank anchored his fingers above the lintel and let it support most of his weight. “Yeah, well, I think she’s pretty much made that decision for him. He’s tried to get her back, and she won’t budge. I just wish he’d quit moonin’ over her. Watching him wallow in misery is so damned annoying, you know? What does he think, no one else has ever gone through a break-up?”

Harley gazed at the boxes cluttering the floor and knew Tank had done his share of hurting. “You seeing anyone now?” he asked.

“Damien set me up on a blind date with one of his paralegals a couple months ago. Woman by the name of Rhonda. He only did it because she was crazy about him and he wanted to distract her, but it worked. She doesn’t call him anymore, and we catch a movie together every once in a while. What about you?”

“My business is my lover.”

“Sex life’s that good, huh?”

Harley shrugged. “I’m busy. When I get home at night, I’m exhausted, too tired to miss sex or anything else a woman has to offer.”

Skepticism etched a disbelieving frown on Tank’s face. “No way. I don’t believe you’ve changed that much.”

Harley couldn’t help laughing. Tank was right, up to a point. He missed having a robust sex life, but he craved having someone who was emotionally significant to him far more. The older he got, the more convinced he became that life wasn’t just about financial success or physical gratification. But he’d left his heart in Portland with an unborn baby when he moved to California ten years ago, and even though he’d had a few superficial relationships since then, no one had ever been able to fill the void. “Maybe your brother knows another female paralegal he can set me up with,” he joked.

“I’ll ask him,” Tank promised. “Just be forewarned. If he sets you up with anyone like Rhonda, she’ll be pudgy, pasty, too bold and emotionally starved.”