‘Thanks for coming, son.’ Rowan stuck out his hand and this time Hudson shook it without hesitation. Not that he remotely forgave his father for everything he’d put him through, and he still bristled at Rowan’s audacity in calling him ‘son’ when he hadn’t been treated as such in years, but he had to acknowledge his dad was doing a good thing here.
‘Is this your car?’
Rowan shook his head. ‘No. I take public transport. Cars are too expensive to run. This is Dexter’s and if you take a look in the back you’ll know why I suspect he’s living out of it.’
Hudson subdued a flicker of guilt that he could afford to buy his father any car he wanted and focussed on the task at hand. Threadbare curtains hung from the wagon’s interior, partially obscuring it, but from what he could see—a bunched-up sleeping bag, a worn duffel and an Esky—it looked like Rowan was right.
‘At least the kid’s smart enough to have a cooler. Mum and I didn’t.’
Rowan visibly flinched but the jibe didn’t make Hudson feel better. In reality, nothing would. His resentment festered and having his father care for some co-worker more than he had for his wife and kid made Hudson want to hurt him as much as he still hurt.
‘I wish I could take those years back, but I can’t. And my guilt and shame is something I live with every goddamn day. But continually punishing me for it isn’t going to change facts.’
His father appeared close to tears and Hudson didn’t want a bar of it. ‘What do you want me to say? I can’t help how I feel. You killed Mum and I’ll never forgive you for that.’
Rowan’s knees buckled and he leaned against the car, his face crumpling. Hudson reached out instinctively and Rowan grabbed onto him, his grip surprisingly firm for a man who appeared so frail.
‘Thanks,’ Rowan said, and cleared his throat. ‘All I’m asking for is a second chance. I know you’ll never forgive me for the past but if we can make inroads towards some kind of relationship, that could be a start. We’re family—’
‘Someone’s coming this way.’
Hudson had never been gladder to see anyone in his life as a scruffy-looking kid with shoulder-length black hair and a faded denim cap walked towards them. He didn’t want to hear his father’s pleas anymore or contemplate what he’d said. Time enough for that later, when he kicked back with a beer tonight and ruminated over the fact his father had breached the carefully erected walls around his heart. Because his father was right about one thing. They were the only family they had and maybe two decades was long enough to punish him.
‘Pretend like we’re having a casual conversation and I’ll introduce you,’ Rowan murmured, and Hudson nodded in acknowledgement as the kid approached.
‘Hey, what are you two doing?’ The kid had a gravelly voice that sounded out of place coming from someone so scrawny. At five-ten and lean, the kid looked like a gust off Port Phillip Bay could blow him over.
Rowan turned and held up his hand in a wave. ‘Hey, Dex. This is my son Hudson. He dropped by so we were just chatting.’
‘As long as you don’t scratch the paintwork on my limo,’ Dexter deadpanned, and Rowan laughed along with Hudson.
The kid had a sense of humour, which bode well, because it meant he couldn’t have been living out of his car long. If he had, he’d be more broken, angrier at the world. Hudson should know.
Rowan fished his buzzing mobile out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. ‘I’ve got to take this call. Looks like my landlord is on the warpath and I might be evicted.’
‘That sucks, man.’ Empathy glittered in Dexter’s eyes and Hudson had to hand it to his dad. He’d managed to give him the perfect intro to discuss Dexter’s living situation while making himself scarce at the same time. ‘Give him hell.’
‘Back in a sec,’ Rowan said, walking away with his mobile pressed to his ear, and Hudson wondered whether his father had made up that excuse or if it was fact.
The ultimate irony would be Rowan ending up homeless after all these years, but Hudson wouldn’t let that happen, no matter how much he resented his father.
‘Rowan’s a good guy,’ Dexter said. ‘He buys me lunch sometimes.’
Considering his father couldn’t afford a car, might be getting evicted for real and looked like he could barely buy lunch for himself, his generosity impressed Hudson.
‘Good to hear. We’ve done it tough so I guess he recognises if you need a hand.’
The kid eyed him warily as expected. ‘What do you mean you’ve done it tough?’
‘When I was in my teens we lost our house. I was homeless for a while, lived out of my mum’s car. Kids at school learned about it and were arseholes.’
Dexter’s eyes widened and Hudson glimpsed grudging respect. ‘Did Rowan live in the car too?’
Hudson had no right telling this kid their private business, especially as Rowan worked with him, but he needed to gain Dexter’s trust and kids who’d had it rough could see through bullshit a mile away, so Hudson had to give him some snippet of the truth. ‘No, he didn’t live in the car with me because he was the reason we lost our house—he had to live elsewhere.’
Hudson didn’t know where. After his mum’s funeral, he refused to see his father again and when Stella facilitated his transition into foster care until he turned eighteen, he’d been relieved.
‘So you guys understand …’ Dexter cast a quick glance at his wagon. ‘I’m doing it tough at the moment too so I’m living out of my car.’