Page 46 of Renegade Rift
“You keep saying that, but it’s not an excuse to just take over and do whatever you think is best.” I take another bite, needing a moment to put together my next thought. “It makes this all seem so one-sided. I feel like you know all these things about me, and can step in and do things for me, but I could never do the same for you.”
“But you do,” he counters. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have an organized D&D cart.”
“True.”
“And we’ve exchanged little bits of information while finding ways to make my apartment less chaotic.”
“Also, true.”
“But I get the feeling you aren’t convinced that’s enough.” Ford sets down his takeout and smiles. “Which for the record it is.”
He’s right. But also, wrong.
“I think I’m just trying to understand you. Figure out what makes you tick.” I pause and study the way he hangs on my every word. “Nothing seems to add up.”
“I’m not that deep.” Ford laughs. “What you see is what you get.”
“See, I don’t think that’s true.”
“Then ask me anything.”
“Well, Mr. McCoy…”
That earns me a frown. “What did I say about calling me that?”
“Then let’s start there. Tell me about your dad.”
It’s something I’ve been wondering about. Ford often mentions life with his mom after they left Tyler and Marcus, but he never mentions his father.
“My dad…”
He blinks and his eyes grow distant, but not in a shutting out the world kind of way. More like he’s remembering something that gives his heart the ability to beat.
And I realize that’s what I need. Not the everyday things he tells me, but the things that make him who he is at his core. I need to know I can trust him, because I think there’s still a part of me that’s afraid—even after everything he’s done—that he’ll turn out to be exactly like Tyler said.
“My dad was perfect. He was the kind of man who stood up for what was right. He’d give you the shirt off his back and help you push your car uphill to his shop, then fix it for whatever you could pay him.”
“No wonder you like to help people.”
Ford gives a halfhearted shrug. “I haven’t always been good at it, but it’s always been something I aspire to.”
“Is that why you don’t want to own the name given to you by your dad?”
He nods. “Not yet, at least.”
Ford might say what you see is what you get, but as I suspected there’s more to him than meets the eye. My heart aches for him, and I wonder what it would take for him to see past the hints of self-doubt and believe he’s worthy. Because as far as I can tell, this man’s capacity to care for others is right up there with those nominated for sainthood.
“When did he die?” I ask.
Ford’s eyes drop to his lap. “He was in an accident when I was eight.”
Instinctively, I reach out my hand and rest it on top of his. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
We sit in silence for a beat, the same way we did in the cemetery. It should be awkward, but with Ford even these moments are easy. And I’m not sure what that means. It’s been so long since I’ve had a sense of family. Even still, mine wasn’t like this. My mom always needed to fill the space with music and laughter while my dad met her there with dancing and singing.
This is new for me. And I don’t hate it.
