Page 26 of Badd Daddy
“So,” he said. “What d’you need help with?”
“This,” I said, patting my bad leg. “And this,” I said, patting my stomach.
Roman grinned. “I can do that.”
“I know you can. That’s why I asked, dumbass,” I said with a grin, making my insult affectionate.
“So, before we work on your gut, we gotta get your leg back to full strength.” He hesitated. “You probably also oughta think about making some changes to the way you eat.” He said this warily, because he knew, in ages past, that I’d have snapped like a wounded bear if he had brought up the idea of dieting. “I know you don’t like to—”
“Rome, don’t.” I sipped my coffee, and took a moment to think before I spoke. “Being in Ketchikan is fuckin’ hard, okay? Seeing you and your brothers here is hard, because the three of you are spitting images of me when I was in my prime, except you three are blond like your bitch of a mother…” I trailed off with a sigh. “Another thing I probably oughta address, is letting go of my hatred of that woman. Anyway. Being here is sorta forcing me to…face things. Like how bad I’ve let myself get. And then this friendship with Liv? Man, nothing’ll force you to take a long hard look at the man in the mirror like a good woman.”
“Is she?” Roman asked. “Good?”
I nodded. “Too good.” I cackled. “Too Goode.”
Roman frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“Her name is Goode,” I answered. “With an ‘E’ on the end. Olivia Goode.”
“She painted your apartment for you, huh?” Roman surmised.
“Nah, we both did it.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Ohreally?” he drawled. “Painting rooms together already?”
I glared. “I told you not to fuck with me and I meant it, punk.”
Roman held up both hands. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He tilted his head, staring at me hard. “You said ‘friendship.’”
I nodded. “Yep. That’s what it is. A friendship.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Friendship, huh? With a woman?”
I shrugged. “I know. But there it is.”
“In my experience, if there’s a woman in your life you consider a friend, you’re thinking of something else. At least a little bit, even if you’re trying not to.” Roman lifted a hand palm up. “But what do I know?”
I growled. “She’s classy, beautiful—upper-class East Coast transplant. Fashionable, smart, successful. A good parent, and a good person.”
Roman saw through me. “And you don’t think you’re in the same league as her.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “This is a weird conversation to have with my son.”
He leaned forward across the table. “You know, we don’t have to be just father and son, Dad. We can be friends.”
I cleared my throat gruffly, coughed, growled. “I weren’t no—I wasn’t any good as a father when you guys were growing up. Maybe…maybe I could do better as a friend, now that you’re grown.”
Roman sat back, grinning broadly. “I haven’t met her yet, but I think I already like this Olivia of yours.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know how to quit, do you?”
He just laughed. “Nope. Learned that from the best.”
I couldn’t help laughing at that. “Can’t deny that.”
Roman slugged back his coffee. “So. Step one, strengthen that knee of yours. You’ve been favoring it and hobbling around for long enough. Step two, eat better—no sugar, no refined carbs, and no more than one cheeseburger a week.” He was well acquainted with my weakness for burgers—I nearly burned down the trailer more than once in his childhood, trying to fry burgers on the stove while sauced out of my mind. “Step three, start lifting.”
I frowned at him. “I just want to get rid of the gut, not bulk up.”