Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 245(@200wpm)___ 196(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 245(@200wpm)___ 196(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
It wasn’t as if they’d fallen out over one specific event or at one particular time. Nick’s relationship with his father had bled out slowly over many years. A thousand tiny wounds, each one superficial on its own, had been devastating in combination. Maybe Nick believed there was nothing left to save. But Jackson didn’t think it was unfixable, not after meeting Reg.
“I don’t want to fucking talk to him.” His voice was icy. “And I certainly don’t want to drag up all the ways he hurt me in the past. I don’t trust him. Why would I want to make myself vulnerable again when I’ve spent years protecting myself from him? Why the fuck would you even suggest that? You’re my friend. You’re supposed to be on my side—and yes. It is about taking sides.”
Jackson felt a stab of guilt. “Shit, Nick. I’m sorry. I am on your side okay? I just want what’s best for you—and I thought that giving your dad a chance might not be such a bad idea. I thought maybe you could salvage a relationship with him. But maybe my judgement’s clouded on this, because….” His voice cracked, and he paused to try to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat.
The anger on Nick’s face melted away into understanding and compassion. “Because your dad isn’t around at all anymore.” Nick finished the sentence for him. “Jackson, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” He opened his arms and moved swiftly, pulling Jackson into a fierce hug. “I was too busy thinking about myself and my daddy issues to spare any thought for you, and how triggering this might be for you. I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry for being a shitty friend.”
“’S okay,” Jackson managed, his throat was tight and he squeezed his eyes shut to try to hold back the tears. “I didn’t realise it would be hard either… until it was.” He lost the battle against the emotions welling up inside him and a choked sob escaped.
Jackson had been six years old when the plane had crashed on a military training mission, killing his father and all the other occupants. When he tried to conjure up the hazy memories of his dad now, he saw a man who was like a giant, towering over him with a wide, kind smile. He remembered strong arms scooping him up, and sitting on his dad’s shoulders, looking down on the world in delight, yelling, “I’m taller than you now, Daddy!”
His father had laughed, a deep warm chuckle. “Maybe one day you will be, kiddo.”
Jackson had grown taller than his father sometime between his sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays, but his father hadn’t been around to see it happen.
He burrowed into the comfort of Nick’s arms, and Nick held him tight while his tears flowed.
Seven
The living room had barely changed in the years Nick had stayed away. Almost everything was the same from the patterned carpet, which hid a multitude of stains, to the pictures on the walls, to the now slightly faded sofas. With the Christmas tree in the bay window and the fire crackling in the grate, Nick could imagine he’d been transported back fifteen or twenty years. Even the fireguard that he remembered from his childhood was back, keeping Seth away from the flames, and the tinsel on the mantlepiece was probably the same piece they’d had for twenty years.
As he waited for the rest of his family to assemble to open their presents, Nick felt an unexpected wave of excitement, a nostalgic echo of all the times they’d waited impatiently as kids. Pete was the one who’d usually been bouncing on the sofa and yelling, “Hurry up!” to whichever parent was dragging their heels.
The current day version of Pete had just collapsed into an armchair, still looking rather rough around the edges despite the fact that he was dressed and showered. Adrian and Maria were sitting on the sofa with Seth, trying to keeping him entertained with a toy phone. Seth seemed more interested in chewing the phone than he did pressing the buttons.
“Right, can someone go and drag your father out of the kitchen, seeing as the rest of us are all here?” Nick’s mother asked.
Pete didn’t look as if he was willing to move, and Maria had Seth in her lap, so Nick said reluctantly, “Yeah, okay.”
He found his father with his arm inside a turkey. “Dad?”
“What?” He glanced up, pink-cheeked and slightly harassed looking.
“Mum sent me to fetch you. Everyone’s waiting to open presents.”
“Bloody hell! Is it that time already? I need to finish stuffing this bird and get it in the oven first. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Okay.” Poised to escape back to the living room, Nick remembered his earlier conversation with Jackson. Maybe it wouldn’t kill him to make a little more effort. “Is there anything I can help with?”