Sinful Longing (Sinful Nights, #3)(52)
“Shit,” he said, cursing at himself as he drank more of the caffeinated brew, then set the nearly drained mug on the counter. He’d already logged some time on the lake this morning, on top of last night’s epic two-hour row club workout. The bookends to his midnight and dawn had worked—they’d kept him on the straight and narrow. He’d been tempted last night—the pull of the one sure way to wash away his woes had been potent. But he’d stayed strong, so at least he had that victory.
Now all he wanted was to see Elle and make sense of what had gone down. But it was too early, so he grabbed his keys and sunglasses, left his house, and headed to visit the two people he knew would be up at this hour on a weekend—his dad’s two best friends, Sanders and Donald. That was the cool thing about older dudes. They could be counted on to be wide-awake at dawn.
He drove over to the Golden Nugget and found them where they always were on a Saturday morning. Sanders usually joined Donald at his table for a few final rounds with his favorite dealer before Donald’s overnight shift ended. They’d cap that off with eggs and bacon, then meet their wives for coffee.
Donald dealt cards at the Golden Nugget and had for years, and Sanders was a mechanic at the limo company where Colin’s dad had worked. Colin had known them growing up, before and after his dad’s death. Sanders was a salt-and-pepper haired fellow with a bad back from working on cars his whole life, while Donald was a balding, skinny guy with an ever-present glint in his eyes that seemed to draw crowds to his tables whenever he worked.
At this hour on a Saturday, Sanders was the only one at Donald’s table, so Colin caught them up on the latest news from the detective about the drug dealing, as well as yesterday’s shocker.
“Is that not the craziest thing you’ve heard?” Colin said, as he finished the story and perused his cards.
Donald blew out a long stream of air, capping it with a low whistle. “If it’s not the craziest, it’s damn close. She was a real piece of work, that woman.”
Colin huffed. “Yeah, that’s for sure. Did my dad even know about the stuff she was up to?”
Sanders shook his head. “Hell no,” he said emphatically. “He knew she was getting into some bad shit and running into trouble with money. But being pregnant? No way. He’d have told us for sure.”
“He would?”
Sanders nodded as he studied his cards, exchanging one for a new card. “We were all pretty up front with each other. He told us some of what was going on at work. Like when there was some trouble at the company for a spell and he was trying to make heads and tails of it. Told us, too, what was happening at home with Dora and the fights they had about money, then stuff about you guys. Teaching Mike to drive and Shan to play pool. Hell, we all heard the story of that hickey you got,” he said with a wink, darting out his index finger to tap Colin’s neck as if he were twelve again.
Colin lifted his palm as if he were in a court taking an oath. “I solemnly swear it was an accidental scratch.”
Donald nodded and adopted a too-serious look. “Yeah, that sixth-grader at your school dance had some sharp nails.”
Colin chuckled, remembering when he’d made up that elaborate tale to avoid saying a girl had given him a hickey at a middle school dance. He’d been twelve and wildly embarrassed by the black and blue amoeba-shaped mark on his neck, so he’d concocted a crazy fable when his father had picked him up. His dad saw straight through it and teased him about it. Evidently his dad had told his best buddies, too. That warmed his heart.
He returned to less amusing topics. “What about the cheating, though? Did my dad know about Luke?”
“He was suspicious,” Donald said as he doled out two more cards to Colin.
Colin arched an eyebrow. “He knew she was fooling around?”
“He didn’t have any evidence, but a man just knows these things,” Donald said, setting down the deck and parking his hands on the green felt of the table. “He could tell from her behavior. That’s what he told us—that she’d been spending more time out of the house. More time unaccounted for. But you know, it was different back then. People didn’t have cell phones and email, and didn’t walk around with cameras, snapping pics of people having affairs. It was way easier for her to get away with it.”
Colin’s gut churned, and his shoulders tensed with simmering hate. He detested everything his mom had done to his dad. Every single thing. “Did he care? Was he bothered? Was he in love with her still?”
Sanders tipped his chin at Donald. “What do you think, Don? Did Thomas still love Dora?”
Donald ran his hand over his smooth head. “Ah, hell. How can I answer that? We weren’t fond of your mom, kid. We didn’t like her way before any of the real shit went down, because she was f*cking around on him. So I don’t want my dislike for her to cloud the answer. But I think he cared for her. And more than anything, he cared about you kids. You were the center of his world. The four of you—man, that’s what he loved most. Being your dad. He was as good to Dora as anyone could be to a woman like that, and he cared about her because she was the mother of his children. He showed her respect. Because he loved you and your brothers and sister.”
As Donald picked up the deck, Colin stared distantly at the sparse morning sprinkling of gamblers at slots and tables, blinking away the tears that threatened to well up. His father had been gone so long, and most days he honestly didn’t think about him that much. Not for lack of love, but because time has a way of soothing the pain. The years made the hurt of missing him recede into the horizon.