The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(105)

“His dad is visiting,” he answered, turning a page in his magazine. Which magazine, he couldn’t quite say.

“Really.” She frowned. “How are you doing with that?”

Such an American question. And she didn’t want to know. “It’s fine.” Such a British answer.

She didn’t ask any more questions.

On Thursday, the boxing club met, and by the time it rolled around, Tom was climbing the walls. He had to go up to Blue Heron after this and take a look at the bottling system; John Holland had asked him to check it out, being an engineer and all. And Tom recognized it was a way of Honor’s dad showing his approval, which he’d instantly revoke if he knew just why Tom was marrying his daughter.

But, of course, he’d said sure. He imagined taking Charlie up, maybe having a nice family dinner chez Holland with his future in-laws, give Charlie the chance to remember that he was part of that clan, as well.

But Charlie wasn’t at boxing club. Apparently, he hadn’t been in school, according to the other kids. “All right,” he said. “Start running laps. I’ve got to make a call. Ten times around, mates.”

He went over by the heavy bags and called Janice. Yes, Charlie had taken a day off from school to go to a car race with Mitchell.

“Do you think it’s a good idea, Janice?” Tom asked. “Letting him spend so much time with his father?”

“Of course it’s a good idea,” Janice snapped. “How could it not be?”

“Because Mitchell has a habit of disappearing on the kid, that’s why.”

“So? This time, maybe it’s different.” There was the telltale rattle of ice cubes. “Charlie’s older now and not such a pain. Maybe he’ll want to go live with Mitchell.”

Jesus. He clenched the phone a little harder. “Janice, you can’t be serious.”

“Why? We already raised our child, Tom. We never signed up to do it again.”

“I asked you if I could take custody of Charlie, and you said—”

“And you’re not his father, are you? You’re just some guy my daughter slept with for a few months.”

A solid body blow, right in the lungs. “Thank you, Janice.”

“You know what I mean. Listen, I have to go. Talk to you soon, Tom.”

The remainder of class seemed to take hours.

When Tom was packing up his gloves, his phone buzzed with a text. Charlie.



Can’t do the tournament next week. Sorry.



Tom hit the call button. Thank God, the boy answered. “Charlie, it’s Tom.”

“Yeah. I know. Your name comes up on the screen.” The too-familiar tinge of disgust lay heavily over the words.

“Listen, mate, don’t drop out.”

There was a long pause. “Yeah, well, the thing is, it’s not my thing. Boxing and whatever.”

“I thought you liked it.” There was a hateful pleading note in his voice.

“Not really.”

There was music in the background, and a lot of voices, too. “Where are you?”

“With my dad.”

“Can I see you? Talk to you in person?”

“Why?”

“Because, Charlie, you’ve put a lot of time into this. And the rest of the club will miss you.”

“Whatever. I’m still quitting.”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I talk to your dad?”

An exhausted sigh was his answer. “It’s Tom,” Charlie said, and there was a muffled laugh in the background.

A second later, Mitchell’s voice came on the line. “Mitch DeLuca here.”

“Mitchell, listen, um...I’ve been coaching Charlie on boxing, and he’s really—”

“Yeah, he says he’s kind of bored with that, and I don’t believe in making kids do something they don’t want to.”

Oh, so he had a child-rearing philosophy now, did he? “He wanted to very much until you came to visit. I’m sure that if you encouraged him—”

“He’s a teenager, not a baby. He can make up his own mind.”

Tom scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Look, I think it’s great that you’re visiting, and I know how much Charlie loves you.”

“This is sounding very g*y.”

“Mitchell, he’s been really struggling since Melissa—”

“Dude, I don’t need some stranger telling me how my son is doing, all right? I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, but we have an unbreakable bond. Right, bud?”

“Sure, Dad.” Tom could hear Charlie in the background, could practically see the hope on the boy’s face.

“And why don’t you get to see him that much?” Tom asked, his voice hardening. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, dude, but things may be changing.”

Ice knifed through Tom’s stomach. “Mitchell, if you’re going to be a part of his—”

“Like I said, not your problem. Hanging up now. Bye. Mate.”

And that was that.

“Hey.” Tom looked up from the phone. Levi Cooper stood in front of him. “Everything okay?”