on the shoulder, Flynn rapped lightly on the study door. “Dad, it’s me. Can I come in?”
There was a short pause. “No.”
“Can I ask why?”
“No.”
“Mom’s worried about you. We all are. Talk to us, Dad.”
Silence. His mother shook her head helplessly.
“Dad, if you don’t let me in, I’m going to have to break the door down.”
More silence. Flynn eyed the frame. The house was over a hundred years old, the doorjambs solid. It was going to take some effort, but it was doable.
“For God’s sake, just leave me alone.” There was so much despair and anguish in his father’s words.
Flynn exchanged glances with his mother. “Stand back from the door, Dad.”
His mother pressed her fingers to her mouth. Flynn stepped away far enough to give himself a run-up. He’d never kicked a door in before, but he figured that if he aimed his foot at the latch, something would have to give. Eventually.
He tensed his muscles, ready to power forward.
“Wait.” His father’s voice was resigned. Weary.
The key turned in the lock and the door opened an inch or two. Only a strip of his father’s face was visible through the opening.
“Just Flynn.”
Flynn’s mother swallowed audibly and Flynn squeezed her shoulder again. She gave him a watery half smile.
“You got him to open the door. That’s the important bit,” she said quietly. She sank onto her chair as Flynn entered the study.
“Shut the door,” his father barked the moment Flynn crossed the threshold.
Flynn complied and turned to regard his father. The older man stood behind his desk chair, both hands gripping the high leather backrest. His steel-gray hair was rumpled, his face pale with fatigue and anxiety. His blue eyes watched Flynn almost resentfully.
“What’s going on, Dad?”
“Nothing. I want to be left alone. Is that too much to ask? Aren’t I entitled to privacy anymore? Do I have to lose that, too, as well as everything else?”
The gruff anger in his father’s voice was alien to Flynn. Adam Randall had always had high standards and he didn’t suffer fools gladly, but he’d never been a bully and he’d certainly never been a man who let his emotions rule him.
“No one wants to take anything away from you, Dad. We love you. We were worried about you. Can you understand that?”
“I’m not an imbecile!”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be patronizing. I want you to understand our point of view.”
His father stared at him, his eyes filling with tears. His chin wobbled and he took a quick, agitated breath.
“What’s going on, Dad?”
His father continued to stare at him for a long moment. Then he stepped out from behind the chair. The crotch of his navy trousers was dark with moisture.
Bone-deep empathy washed through Flynn as he lifted his gaze to his father’s anguished face.
“I was checking my email. I needed to go, but I wanted to check on something first. Then I just…lost track of things.”
Flynn could hear the shame in his father’s voice, but he didn’t know what to say. He knew how unmanly this must be, how terrified his father must feel to have lost control of his own body. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around his father.
“It doesn’t matter, Dad.”
His father hugged him so fiercely his body trembled with the effort. It was a moment before he spoke. “I don’t want your mother to see me like this. Not yet.” His voice was low and determined.
“She won’t care.”
“I care.”
After a long beat, Flynn released his father, stepping away to give him breathing room.
“I’ll get you a fresh pair of pants. Okay?”
His father nodded, dashing his knuckles across his eyes. Flynn exited the study. His mother rose to her feet.
“He’s okay,” he reassured her.
Her eyes were full of questions.
“He needs a clean pair of pants,” Flynn explained quietly.
Comprehension dawned. For a moment her face seemed to sag. Then her chin came up and she nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
She strode down the hallway, head high. Flynn rubbed the back of his neck and stared blankly at the framed Picasso sketch on the wall.
There were going to be many, many moments like this in the future. Too many to count. Bit by bit his father’s dignity would be chipped away. It was as inevitable as the sun rising every morning, and as unstoppable.
Flynn returned to the study. He found his father slumped in his office chair, his eyes closed.
“Won’t be a minute,” Flynn said.
His father nodded. Flynn’s chest hurt, watching him. Seeing how hard this was for him. There was a knock on the door. He opened it to find his mother armed with a towel, a fresh pair of boxer shorts and a pair of trousers.
“Thanks.” He shut the door again and handed the towel and clothes over to his father.
“I’ll be outside,” Flynn said.
His father nodded, his gaze fixed on the pile of clothes in his lap as Flynn left the room.
Five minutes later, his father emerged. His mother stood and the two of them simply stared at each other for a long moment. Flynn could see how much effort it took for his father to hold her gaze, but he didn’t look away. Not for a second. His mother closed the distance between them and took her husband’s face in both her hands.
“I love you, Adam Randall,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “No matter what. Okay?”
His father blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry.”
His mother shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize. Not to me.”
She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. His father’s arms closed around her. Flynn turned away, using the excuse of checking his phone for messages to give them privacy.
“Come on, let’s have a cup of tea,” his mother said.
Flynn glanced surreptitiously as his watch. He and Hayley had been
