Page 54 of Hearts Don't Lie
“I told him I’d get him one. It’s what he chose,” he said, feeling buoyant.Your son.“He needed new boots too. Outgrew the ones he had.”
“That’s a good thing,” Mike said, nodding, regarding him before putting his sunglasses on. “The spot we’re going to is about an hour out.”
Hardin closed the gate of the SUV, and the men climbed into their front seats.
Mike whistled. “Nice ride, but the navigation system won’t be of any help. I’ll take us in, okay? I know the county like the back of my hand. Head south.”
Hardin slipped the Range Rover into gear and drove toward Main Street in anticipation of his first father-son outing.
“I expect our boys are going to be plugged in while we drive, which will give us time to start getting acquainted.” Mike twisted in his seat and handed them a device with headphones he had pulled from his backpack. “You two goofballs keep it down.”
Hardin soaked it all in—how Mike interacted with the boys and how his demeanor, while kind and light, said “respect me.” He wore fatherhood well, having parented since Beckett was born. “That’ll keep them busy?”
“Yeah, and they’ll gripe when I take it away, until their attention is redirected. Then it’ll be forgotten.”
Hardin kept his eye on the road and nodded. He was eleven years behind in Dad School.
“You’ll be fine, Hardin. Stowe’s a great kid, and Kenna says you’re a good man.”
There it was again. Kenna. The name that separated now from then. How to bridge that?
“So, Mike, tell me what you do for a living.”
“Damn. Wanted to talk about you and Kenna, but that’s fine. We’re going to have plenty of time.”
Hardin was nothing short of grateful for the time spent fly-fishing. Mike first worked with him, but then Stowe took over, exceptionally patient, much like Mac. After a few lessons, he tried to cast, losing two flies to tree branches. Later, after Stowe attached another fly—tied by Uncle Mike and apparently a work of art—to his line with what he called an improved cinch knot, Hardin found success.
“What else do you like to do besides fish?”
“Summer?”
“Yeah.”
“Hang with my friends, hike, swim, bouldering, play basketball and soccer, but I’m not anything close to you.”
“What’s bouldering?”
“It’s a type of climbing but on low rock. We climb without rope, harnesses, and other gear. Well, other than crash pads and sliders so we don’t get hurt when we fall. And helmets. Mom makes me wear one.”
“Smart, your mom. Got to protect that noggin.”
“Wanna try bouldering sometime? If you’re going to be around that is…”
“I’d like that. I’ll have to get a helmet though.”
“Yup. Are you going to be here next week?”
“I am.”I’m not going anywhere, son.
“Next week then, and just to let you know, you’re going to be sore as heck.”
“You think so?”
Stowe giggled. “I know so. Mom is in great shape and she could barely move afterward. She got a really long massage.”
Hardin dismissed the vision of Mac naked and him massaging her as soon as it appeared in his head. He cleared his throat. “Thanks for the warning. Should I book a massage before we go?”
Stowe let out a belly laugh. “You just might.”
