Jordan smiled over the irony as he stared at the ceiling. His car had been the fastest and easiest way for her to escape from him.
After a moment, he tossed the covers off and headed to the shower. He needed to clear his head and brainstorm a way out of this bind. What the hell was he supposed to say to her at their next physical therapy session?
And then there was the other problem he’d been meaning to get to ever since his last conversation with his mother. He bit back a grimace and figured he was overdue for trying to sort out a different Serenghetti family tangle. Plus, it would take his mind off Sera.
An hour later, after downing a quick breakfast, he headed to his parents’ house on the outskirts of Welsdale.
He found his father in an armchair, remote in hand, in the large living room that ran most of the width of the back of the house.
“Hi, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
Serg Serenghetti looked up grumpily. “At work. The cleaning service just left.”
“Yeah, I know. Conveniently, they let me in as they headed out.” Jordan smiled gamely. “So it’s just us guys, then.”
His father glanced at him from under bushy brows. Then he clicked the remote to change the channel from golf to a commercial.
“What are you going to watch?”
“One of those home-improvement shows your generation loves.” He guffawed. “As if any of these TV performers really knows the biz.”
“Right.” Jordan settled onto the sofa next to his father’s armchair.
Serg waved the remote. “If any of my children was interested, you’d be helping Serenghetti Construction with a television show.”
“Try Rick. He’s got the Hollywood ties these days.” Jordan looked around. “Quiet here.”
“If your mother was home, she’d just be fussing.” Serg turned off the TV. “Now it’s quiet.”
Jordan shook his head bemusedly. His parents’ marriage had lasted decades, producing four kids and now grandkids, while riding the ups and downs of Serenghetti Construction. His parents had met when his mother had been a front-desk clerk at a hotel in Tuscany, and Serg had been on his way to visit extended family north of Venice. So the whole feed-and-shelter hospitality biz was in his mother’s blood, and the latest incarnation of that was her cooking show. Until recently, his father had handled the sheltering part with his construction business, while his mother was all about sustenance.
Except that had all gotten upended lately. “So what’s got you down?”
“If you spent your days out of a job, sitting here watching TV, you’d be surly, too.”
“Right.”
Serg lowered his brows. “Come to think of it, that’s not too far off from where you are.”
Jordan shifted in his seat, because it hadn’t occurred to him before now that he and his father might have something more in common these days than sharing a passing family resemblance. An extended convalescence had prevented them both from returning to their old lives. In his father’s case, permanently. And in his... Chills ran up Jordan’s arms.
He’d thought that his days being sick and bedridden were well past him. But being sidelined with his injury brought back the old feelings of helplessness.
His father was nearing seventy. Not young, but not really old, either. Jordan wondered where he’d be at that age. Certainly not playing hockey, but what would his second act be? At least, he had some plans for what to do with his earnings as long as his injury didn’t get in the way.
“You need a second act,” he said into the void.
Serg grumbled and shifted. “Your mother doesn’t like to share the limelight.”
Jordan smiled slightly. “Yeah, I heard. You’d like a segment on Mom’s show.”
“The audience loved me when I did a special guest spot suggesting wine pairings.”
“You should revel in Mom’s success,” Jordan went on. “But I get it. She’s at the top of her game, and you’re at a crossroads.”
“Since when are you the family psychologist?”
Jordan chuckled. “Yeah, I know. It’s a dirty job, but someone in this family has to do it, and I did well running interference for Cole and Marisa.”