On the drive back, some of Hudson’s resentment had faded. Initially, he’d been livid to learn his father was so invested in helping a co-worker when he hadn’t given a shit about his own family. But that was a long time ago and a small part of him knew that no matter how many millions he made, no matter how successful, if he didn’t let go of his residual bitterness against his father he’d never be truly happy.
‘I have no doubt you’ll find a new place to stay but if you’re interested I know of a few flats that are vacant at the moment. Low rent, long term, six-month lease.’
Rowan’s eyes lit up before he lowered his gaze, as if afraid of appearing too excited. ‘You’re helping me?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Why?’
Why indeed. Hudson could barely make sense of the jumble of emotions churning in his stomach, so he settled for the simplest response. ‘Because you did a good thing helping Dexter and we all deserve someone to look out for us when we need it most.’
If Rowan took it as a direct dig regarding what he hadn’t done for his wife and son, he didn’t show it. ‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ He grimaced. ‘My living situation has been rather fluid.’
‘As long as you’ve got a steady income, which it looks like you have, and can pay rent on time, the landlord won’t turf you out.’
He should know. He owned the building.
Another of his projects he kept quiet about but offering cheap housing to those who needed it most had been one of the first things he’d done when he took over the agency after Isaac died. His mentor had given him every opportunity but even the man who’d taken him under his wing hadn’t understood his passion for low-cost housing. As Isaac had told him on many occasions, selling houses made money and that’s where he needed to focus his energy when starting out. And he had, but diversifying along the way and helping those in dire need was Hudson’s way of giving back.
‘How did things go with Dex?’
‘I’m confident he’ll call Stella. He seems like a good kid.’
‘He’s a hard worker. Dry sense of humour. Did he tell you we met at a donut stand?’
‘Yeah.’
One of Hudson’s favourite childhood memories was of his father coming home from work on Thursdays, because he always stopped at a local bakery on payday and bought a dozen fresh donuts. Hudson could smell them as Rowan walked in the door—they’d still be piping hot and melt-in-the-mouth, the cinnamon and sugar clinging to his lips to be licked off later.
‘You’re still hooked on donuts, huh?’
Rowan’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You remember?’
‘I remember a lot.’ He bit back the rest of what he wanted to say:Not all of it good.‘Would you like to go see the flat now?’
Rowan shook his head. ‘I’m happy to take it if you reckon it’s a goer.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘It’s not like I have a choice. I’m just grateful you’ve hooked me up with a place to live.’ Rowan hesitated, his gaze sliding away to focus on the printer near Hudson’s right shoulder. ‘I’ve lived in my car too. A fair bit actually, before I couldn’t afford the running costs anymore and had to sell it. But living out of that bomb made me realise …’
Hudson wanted to yell, ‘Realise what?’ That the bone-deep chill from a Melbourne winter couldn’t be kept at bay with a blanket in the backseat? That showering at local pools meant using precious money to enter and use the facilities? That the hankering for a home-cooked meal never went away after living off cheap takeaway?
But he swallowed his anger and waited for Rowan to continue, because Hudson had a feeling if he started verbalising all the things he hated his father for, he’d never stop.
‘I can’t believe I was in such a bad place I didn’t realise what I put you and your mother through.’ Tears glimmered in Rowan’s eyes and he swiped a hand over his face. ‘You’re right to blame me for everything. Your mother dying is on me and I’ll never forgive myself for it. Losing our savings, our house, you … I can never take back what I did or change any of it, but I wish I could’ve done things differently.’
A futile wish, as all the self-realisation in the world wouldn’t change facts: his father’s selfishness, via addiction, had torn apart his family and resulted in Hudson losing his mother far too young.
‘Lamenting the past won’t change it,’ Hudson said, averting his eyes when he saw a tear slide down his father’s cheek. ‘And me helping you out now doesn’t change anything. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to forgive you.’
Rowan nodded, scrubbing his eyes with his knuckles. ‘I understand. For what it’s worth, what you’ve done for me today is more than I deserve. All this?’ He swept his arm wide. ‘I’ve kept an eye on your success over the years and I’m so proud of you. I don’t expect anything from you but you helping me today gives me hope.’
Hudson didn’t want to ask hope for what. He couldn’t promise his father anything beyond today. But it struck him that no matter how tough things had been for Rowan over the years, if he’d kept an eye on him and seen his success, he’d never approached him for a handout.
‘What are you hoping for, Dad?’
Rowan visibly jolted and Hudson realised why. He’d unwittingly called him Dad.
‘I hope that with time, we can find our way back to each other.’
Hudson wanted to say that was too much to hope for, but he saw the yearning in his father’s eyes so instead of telling him the harsh truth—it would never happen—he settled for a half-hearted nod.