Mac sighed. “Fine. I suppose sitting isn’t a prerequisite.” He left a pause. “You’re going to be angry with me.”
“I already am. I’m just waiting to find out what I’m angry about.”
A rueful smile appeared on Mac’s lips. It only lasted a couple of seconds before it was gone. “What I saw at the hospital?”
“The hospital. That was days ago. What does the hospital have to do with anything?”
“What I saw at the hospital were two men who’ve forgotten how to talk to each other, who are so similar they both hide how they really feel behind sharp words and carefully schooled facial expressions.”
It all clicked into place then. “You have my father in there.”
“Yeah,” Mac admitted. “He took some convincing. That’s why it was last minute.”
“I bet he did. How did you get him here? Did you have to pay him? What did it cost? A bottle of whiskey? Two?”
Mac stared at me calmly. “You see, that’s what I’m talking about. You immediately go on the attack. He’s not the villain in this piece. And neither are you,” he added quickly. “Before you decide to take that the wrong way.”
“How long have you been hatching this plan?”
“Since that night.”
“Wow! Before, after, or during our fuck?” I didn’t care if Finn and Cillian could hear. There was too much anger burning through me to give a damn about the false narrative we’d been weaving, especially when the lines had blurred about what was real and what wasn’t.
“Don’t be like that, Laurent.”
“You lured me here under false pretenses. How are you expecting me to be?”
“All I want is for the two of you to talk. Properly.”
“Properly? What does that even mean?”
“Without putting a wall up. Being completely honest. Telling him how you feel.”
I laughed. “Right. And then he can laugh and I’ll feel even worse. Thanks, Mac. What a lovely surprise this is. And to think I thought you were on my side.”
“I am on your side. The only reason I’m doing this is to find a solution. You can’t go on the way you’ve been doing. It’s not healthy for either of you.”
“I’m not the one with the problem.”
Mac looked like he was going to say something and then seemed to think better of it. “Look. You’re here now. Will you at least talk to him?”
My eyes strayed to the bedroom door. My father had to have heard the raised voices. What was he doing in there? Chilling on the bed, or stood nervously awaiting my arrival? Was he gearing himself up to have a go at me? “Is he drunk?”
“No.” Mac reacted to the lift of my eyebrow that said I’d believe it when I saw it. “He isn’t. I told him he had to be sober for this conversation.”
“I bet he loved that.”
“Probably not. But he was sober when he turned up.”
I studied Mac for a moment. “And what do you think blindsiding me like this is going to do to our relationship?” It would have been easy for Mac to shrug, or to point out we were just fuck buddies, but he did neither of those things, his slight grimace somewhat gratifying.
“I think that will depend on how it goes.”
“Do you? I think you’re confusing me with someone more forgiving, if you really believe that.”
“Maybe,” Mac said quietly.
“Or is this your way of telling me you’re going home?”
