The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(67)

She gave a singular nod and turned, walking into the house, into the kitchen. As she passed the table she pulled out a chair for him, giving another nod toward it. “What would you like to drink? Tea? Wine? Cola?”

“Coffee?” he asked.

“I’ll brew a pot.”

She got busy in the kitchen while he sat at the table, taking in the view. “Well, this isn’t bad,” he said. “I can see why you were drawn to it. But it’s not as though we don’t have views back East. This place has nothing on Cape Cod, the Hamptons, Kennebunkport, Newport...”

She loved the unique and exquisite view but now she knew that’s not why she’d come to Thunder Point. “I don’t live alone here,” she said. She set the coffee to brew and opened a bottle of wine. She felt a sudden temptation to take a few gulps from the bottle, but she poured herself a small glass. She went to the table and sat across from him. “I live with a man. I’ve lived with him for almost three months. His name is Eric.”

“And what does he do?” Senior asked.

She tilted her head and leveled her gaze at his piercing blue eyes. Of course her father didn’t ask if he was a good man, if he was kind or intelligent or funny or generous. He didn’t wonder if he had integrity. “He owns a gas station.”

“A gas station?” he asked with a short laugh. “Well, you must like him.”

She leaned toward him. “I don’t need his rent money. I’m never lonely, especially when I’m alone. I’m not needy. I’m not scared. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. Of course I like him.”

He smiled slightly. “Ah, so he’s brave.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“Because you’re a terrifying woman.”

Impatient, she leaned back in her chair and even though she was sitting, her hands went to her hips. “Is this about the FBI again?”

“Oh, I’ve been warned about that,” he said, holding up his hands with palms toward her. “But I got to thinking—we should put all that to rest for your mother’s sake.”

“It’s a bit late for that. Mom is finally free of our conflicted relationship,” she said. “And she always supported my choices.” She got up and went to the cupboard, retrieving a mug. She poured him some coffee. Then she put cream and sugar on the table with a spoon. She glanced at the clock—five-fifteen. While Senior dressed his coffee, she pulled her phone into her lap, hidden, and texted Eric: My father is here!

He texted back right away. Do you need me?

See you at six? she texted back and he replied immediately, I’ll be there.

“Eric will be home around six,” she told her father. “I was busy most of the day so I didn’t cook. Where are you staying?”

“Laine,” he grumbled. “Am I not welcome here? Don’t you have a guest room?”

She took a sip of her wine. “Here’s the deal, Dad. The last time we were together for more than twenty-four hours we got into a shouting match and it all started when I told you I was getting a commendation from the FBI and you belittled me. You said you’d much rather have a daughter without a bullet in her shoulder than any kind of award—you said I was a huge disappointment to you. You said you didn’t want to hear another word about it and you said you wouldn’t celebrate it.”

He lifted his chin defiantly.

“And do you remember what I said?” she continued.

“That I owed you an apology, which I offered before sitting at your table.”

“No, you didn’t. You asked if I wanted one and the answer is still the same. Yes, I do.”

“Fine. Consider this an apology. What else?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you joking or just trying to be difficult? That wasn’t an apology! You have to change your attitude! You’ve been critical of every choice I’ve made since I was seventeen and I’m done. Do you hear me, Dad? Because I’m serious about this—there’s no point in us having a relationship if it’s going to be toxic.”

“Tell me what you want, Laine!”

He was unbelievable. “I want you to be proud of me when I accomplish something I worked hard at but if that’s not possible I at least insist you not criticize my efforts. Otherwise, we don’t have a relationship.”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do that. Can we be at peace on this? For once?”

“Understand something, Dad—I’m serious about this. This is the last time I quarrel with you about how I choose to live my life. It’s not as though I’m making bad choices. I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m doing something right. I’m doing something very difficult and admirable, something very few can do and I am tired of the tension between us. If you can’t show me respect, I don’t want you in my life.” And what she couldn’t put into words—he was the only man who could hurt her! Why that was, she couldn’t understand.

“I’m your father,” he said. “I want us to get along.”

“That’s entirely up to you,” she told him. “I don’t criticize you.”

“Oh, but you do. You call me narrow-minded, toxic, critical and last I heard, a selfish ass with...what was that you said...?”