the years through the choices he’d made. Distancing himself from his family had probably hurt them, but he’d been the one to suffer the most.
They’d had each other.
He’d had no one.
He planned on changing all that.
When he released his mum, she moved over to the doorway, where Tom and Trav were deep in conversation. It gave Archer the opportunity to seek out his dad, who’d been hanging back during the tour.
While his brothers’ and mother’s opinion meant everything to him, it was Frank’s he prized most.
Over the years they’d fallen into a pattern of mutual gruffness and avoidance that seemed impossible to breach.
Every time he made the slightest effort to reconnect his dad would brush it off as unnecessary in his usual jovial way. And Archer would let him. He never pushed the issue, his pride reiterating that there was only so far he could extend the olive branch and it was up to his dad to grab it.
Frank never had, and he hated the distance between them. He’d once idolised his dad. He’d always reckoned him, Tom and Trav had been super-lucky, having a hands-on dad who took them fishing and camping and hiking. Frank had attended every one of their footy matches, had never missed a training session either.
It made what had happened later all the harder to accept, and made Archer doubt himself as nothing else could.
Tired of second-guessing himself, and buoyed by the shove in the right direction Callie had given him, he had every intention of ensuring the gap between them wasn’t irredeemable this time.
‘What do you think, Dad?’
He hated having to ask, wished Frank had volunteered some faint praise without prompting, for it signalled that the divide between them was bigger than he’d anticipated.
‘Good for Torquay.’ Frank glanced around, stuck his hands in his pockets, shuffled his feet as if he couldn’t wait to escape. ‘Though it’s a bit rough putting your name to something around these parts when you’re going to be AWOL all the time.’
His dad’s aloofness stung, but not as much as the barb behind his words. Frank hadn’t acknowledged the good thing he’d done in setting up the school; he’d said it was good for the town.
As for the dig about him being away all the time, it might be true, but why couldn’t his dad admit he was proud of him, rather than chastising him for having a school in his name?
‘I may be around more often,’ Archer said, making it sound blasé when in fact he was hanging on his dad’s response.
Frank turned away, but not before he’d seen the scepticism twisting his mouth. ‘Uh-huh.’
How two little syllables could hold so much doubt he’d never know.
Archer swallowed his disappointment. His pride in showing his family around and his hope for the future was shattered by his dad’s continued standoffishness.
If Frank didn’t get why he’d done this, couldn’t bring himself to offer one word of positive encouragement, why the hell should he keep busting a gut trying to build bridges between them?
His pride might have kept him from being truly a part of this family all these years, but they’d wronged him first. Was that a childish way to look at it? Yeah, but as years’ worth of hurt bubbled up from deep within it obliterated his intention to heal the rift between them.
‘Why, Dad?’
Frank stiffened. ‘Why what?’
Disgusted, Archer shook his head. ‘You know what.’
‘Frank, come take a look at this.’
Archer glanced at his mum. Her worried expression was a dead giveaway that she’d sensed tension and was trying to avoid a messy confrontation.
Uncertain, Frank hesitated.
With disappointment warring with his bitterness, Archer said, ‘Go.’
Which was exactly what he intended to do on Christmas Day, as planned.
Go back to his life, far from Torquay and the ghosts of the past haunting him.
* * *
‘Come back to bed.’
Archer slid his arms around Callie from behind, resting his chin on her head.
‘Just let me finish this.’ She’d like nothing better than to slip back into his arms, but she had less than a day to get this website done and she didn’t want to leave any loose ends.
Once Archer left she wanted a clean break. No contact.
It might be idealistic to hope for a stress-free resumption of their previous working relationship, where they e-mailed each other as needed, but she had a feeling Archer wouldn’t mind.
Since Izzy’s surf lesson and the impromptu Flett picnic at the beach this morning he’d withdrawn. Nothing overt, but she could tell.
She’d been here before.
In Capri it had been that silly joke she’d made about proposals in the Blue Grotto. Now she had no idea what had prompted his emotional shutdown.
From what she’d seen this morning he’d been closer to his family than he had all week. He’d been demonstrative and open and carefree—in his element.
Something must have happened during the tour of the surf school, because when they’d met up afterwards the tension between him and his dad had been so thick she was surprised it hadn’t clouded the sky.
And he refused to discuss what was happening on Christmas Day with his family, despite her subtle prompting this afternoon. She had plans of her own to make, and the least he could do was let her in on what the heck was going on.
The Christmas holidays might not be a big deal for him, considering he lived his life on the road, but his youngest brother was getting married, for goodness’ sake—surely this Christmas would be different?
‘We’ve got all tomorrow morning to work on the website.’ He ducked down beside her and kissed her cheek. ‘Now’s the time to play hooky.’
‘Won’t you have to do last-minute Christmas stuff before the wedding tomorrow night?’
Shadows darkened his eyes to indigo. ‘Not really. Like you, I do all my shopping online, so stuff will get delivered direct to the family tomorrow.’
Knowing she was treading a hazardous path, she pushed away from the laptop and swivelled to face him.
‘Don’t you do other stuff?’
‘Like?’
‘Help your mum chop veggies for the roast on Christmas Day? Set the table? Fill stockings? That kind of thing?’
He stared at her as if she’d
