Chapter 30 — Dinner

Landon:

"Of course, I wasn't hiding that from you. She was in the hospital. It’s not like we've been traipsing all over town; she's in recovery." I rub some of the sleepiness from my eyes as my dad yammers on through the line. It has been two months since Brooke's release, and Cahal seems to think that sleeping is a thing of the past. Knowing Brooke needs her rest for her recovery, I try to get up with him as much as possible so she does not have to. Even though sometimes she insists she takes care of him.

"Alright, we'll be there tonight at seven o'clock," I say, consenting to my dad's insistence we come to dinner. Brooke has met him only once before at the wedding, and I am not sure how she is going to feel about going to see him. I have not seen him myself in years. To be honest, I avoid him as much as possible. However, being as we are currently only two hours away from my childhood home, I should have known avoiding him was not going to be possible.

I scrub my hand across my face in exhaustion. I have no idea how Brooke is going to feel about this dinner, but there is nothing that can be done about it. With a dreaded sigh, I go find my wife.

Brooke:

Landon fidgets nervously at the wheel, which only heightens my anxiety. When Landon came into the living room with a forlorn look on his face, I thought he wanted to talk to me about a divorce. After all, that was the agreement made between him and my father. So, when he grudgingly told me we had to go to dinner with his father, I did not know what to feel.

At first, I was relieved. Another day that we tip-toed around that dreaded conversation. But Landon's behavior all day has caused me to be anxious. What is his father like? I try to think back to any interactions I had with him at the wedding. I remember he is the spitting image of Landon, or I guess Landon is the spitting image of him. Landon is taller, though, and more muscular.

I remember Landon's father came to our table very briefly to congratulate us. It was all very formal and stiff. But, I just wrote that off as contempt towards my family and me. It is no secret that my father is not a well-liked businessman.

When Landon starts finger tapping out a tune on the steering wheel, I snap. "Stop it, Landon, you're making me nervous." Cahal stirs at my raised voice but luckily stays asleep.

"What? What did I do?" he asks, confusion lacing his voice.

"You're fidgeting, and you have been acting strange all day," I say.

"I'm not fidgeting; I'm driving," he says in denial.

"You are fidgeting, and it is making me nervous. Are you...is it because of me?"

"What do you mean?" Landon asks, glancing at me quickly before returning his eyes to the road.

"I mean, he is your father, and I'm...well, our marriage wasn't exactly conventional, and you never really talked about your family before. I just thought..." I trail off.

"You thought what?"

I shrug, but Landon just gives me his stubborn look that tells me he is not going to let it go. "I don't know, embarrassed of me or ashamed." I mumble the last word under my breath. Landon suddenly pulls over and slams to a stop. I let out a squeak as I get tousled in my seat. He puts the car in park before he turns his body toward me, giving me his undivided attention.

He reaches across the console and takes my hand. "I am not, nor have I ever been embarrassed or ashamed of you," he says. His eyes stare into mine, and they are filled with sincerity. My eyes water, so I nervously turn my face away.

"Okay...um...good to know." I clear my throat of the raspy sound. "So, if it’s not about me, then why are you acting so strange?" I ask, meeting his eyes again.

He exhales a long sigh. "I'm acting strange because my father and I...we don't get along." That makes a lot of sense. In our whole marriage, Landon has never once mentioned his father. Nor have I noticed him ever receiving a call or calling him. There were never any birthday cards in the mail or gifts sent on Christmas.

"Okay," I say quietly. Landon raises a brow.

"That's it? Okay? You’re not going to ask why or something?" I shrug.

"If you wanted me to know, you'd tell me."

Landon nods his head then shakes it then nods again. "You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just surprised, that's all." I respond with a smile.

"Okay. Well then, we should probably get back on the road; we're going to be late." I nod my head, and Landon quickly shifts into drive and smoothly pulls back into traffic.

We arrive a short ten minutes later. Landon's childhood home is a huge fenced-in mansion with a private road and a security-coded gate. The driveway is lined with hedges cut into perfect circles. The grass is a vibrant green, not a weed in sight. It all seems so cold and non-child friendly. We park, and Landon grabs Cahal from the backseat.

A maid opens the door and takes our coats. Landon must be able to tell how nervous I am because he reaches for my hand. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before guiding us to a sitting room. We wait a good five minutes before he finally strolls in. Landon immediately stands up and offers his hand for a shake.

"Father."

"Son," they both say. Both of their voices are void of emotion.

"You know my wife, Brooke. And this is our son, Cahal." Landon lifts the car seat up from at his feet, placing the sleeping child in view of his grandfather. Mr. Campbell gives the child a quick once over before turning his attention to me.

"It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Campbell," I say, reaching out my hand in the same fashion as Landon did.

"Please call me Tavish," he says, ignoring my hand. He turns back to Landon. "Can I get you something to drink? I got a nice bottle of Drambuie." Landon shakes his head.

"No, thank you." Tavish grunts in disapproval before inviting us to sit.

"So, Brooke, tell me about yourself." I straighten up at the question, nervously tucking some hair behind my ears.

"Oh, well, there's not much to tell, really. I’m not that interesting," I stammer.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true. What charity board are you on?"

"I'm not on any." Tavish hums at that.

"Well, what plans do you have for that grandson of mine? He'll go to a private school, of course. Who did you hire for your nanny?"

"No nanny, and we haven't decided on a school yet. There's still plenty of time to choose," I say. Tavish gives another disapproving sound, but before he can ask me anything else, the maid comes to announce that dinner is ready.

Landon:

Dinner is not going well. It takes every ounce of my control not to get a drink from the bar my father keeps in the sitting room. But if Brooke can't drink through this, neither will I.

I can tell my father’s questions have made Brooke uneasy. Shit, we have not even talked about over half of his questions. I try to keep the conversations away from her, but my father seems determined to pick her apart.

"So, you didn't go to school. You don't participate in charity work, or work. What do you do that is of any use to the world?" I can physically feel Brooke curl in on herself at his question.

"Father!" I say, my voice filled with warning.

"What? I accepted your little wife because she came from a well-known family. Knowing that you have completed the requirements, I would assume you would have terminated your marriage. Personally, I do not see why you went through all that work to replace her liver. You have already killed someone, so it is not like turning a blind eye to her sickness would have been an issue for you. That leaves me to believe, by some reason unfathomable reason, you have decided you have feelings for this woman. Now, I do not have objections to her background, but she needs to at least participate in some social activities. Your mother hosted charity galas and tea parties. Your wife does nothing useful to society."

Sweat trickles down my back. I cannot look at Brooke. My father let too many truths spill. Truths I have yet to tell her. I stand up. "My wife is an amazing, beautiful woman who—despite her despicable father—is the most caring, kind, beautiful, and intelligent person I know. There is no one better to raise my children, and if she wants to stay home and raise the beautiful baby boy she gave me, then I fully support that. Now, if you will excuse me—my wife, child, and I will be leaving."

Brooke does not even hesitate to jump out of her chair and stride out of the room. I grab the car seat, where Cahal is gurgling happily, and follow. We do not talk, just hop in the car and leave. I am so angry, but on top of that, I am anxious and ashamed. Everything my father said is true. Well, not the parts about Brooke having no effect on society. But everything else....yeah. I have a lot of explaining to do; I just hope Brooke will stay long enough to listen.