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  He’d had three years to prepare for this moment, thirty-six long months to exhaust his anger but it still smoldered, making him feel sick to his stomach.

  “Good to meet you, Son.” Christopher Harrison raised his hand in a casual wave, as if meeting offspring was something he did every day. “Sorry I couldn’t be there in person.”

  Zane found himself about to say, ‘that’s okay,’ but it wasn’t. Nothing was okay, not since the day this man chose to walk out on one family to start a new one.

  “Why’d you do it? Leave us and pretend we didn’t exist.” His voice sounded gravelly, hoarse, like he’d swallowed razorblades. And as his throat tightened further, Zane had no idea if it was the latent fury he’d tried to exhaust over the last few years or the damning lump of emotion akin to tears making speech difficult.

  If he expected Christopher to blanche and look guilty, he’d be waiting a long time. Because the squared shoulders and steely glint in Christopher’s unflinching gaze indicated his father wasn’t sorry or ashamed for what he’d done. Bastard.

  “Is that how we’re going to do this?” Christopher’s upper lip curled slightly. “You laying a guilt trip on me?”

  Reining in his rising temper, Zane shook his head. “It’s not too much to expect answers.”

  Christopher gave a terse nod, his glare defiant. “Marriages implode. Your mother and I had problems for a long time before I left.”

  “So Steele and I were a patch-up job? Failed attempts to save your marriage?”

  Christopher shrugged, his nonchalance as aggravating as his lack of remorse. “We tried. We didn’t make it. Then I met Lu-Lu and divorce seemed like the sensible option.”

  Zane wanted to yell ‘you gave up on us!’ But he didn’t. Because the answers his father had just given barely scratched the surface. Trite responses that meant nothing. Patronizing and placating. And not good enough, not by a long shot.

  “I get that one in three marriages end in divorce. But that doesn’t mean” —Zane cleared his throat, mortified when he could barely speak past the lump of emotion— “you had to turn your back on your kids.”

  At last, Christopher showed some sign of shame as sadness twisted his thin lips. “I didn’t. I wanted to file for joint custody, wanted you and your brother to spend some time in the States each year, but your mother…” He glanced down at his hands, seemingly unaware he’d been wringing them. “She was fragile. Suffered depression. Was unstable every time I contacted her.” He lowered his voice. “I was worried.”

  That damn lump in Zane’s throat welled further. “About?”

  “That she might do something to harm herself. Or you boys…” He shook his head, his expression grim. “I couldn’t take that chance, so I agreed to her terms not to contact you. She let me support you kids financially, but that was it.”

  Stunned by his father’s revelation, all Zane could do was stare at the screen. Did Christopher think he was that naive, that goddamn stupid? It was more insulting than meeting his father for the first time via a fucking computer screen.

  “So what’s your excuse for the last three years since Mum died?” Zane curled his fingers into his palm, resisting the urge to punch the screen. “Or the thirteen fucking years before that, when I turned eighteen?”

  Christopher blanched. “I had my reasons—”

  “You’re full of shit,” Zane sneered, the anger he’d been suppressing exploding in a raging torrent. “Steele and I haven’t been kids for a long time. You’ve had years to reach out to us. Years! Yet you’ve never lifted a fucking finger…”

  Zane dragged a hand over his face, hoping he wouldn’t cry and make more of a fool of himself than he already had. There wasn’t one thing Christopher could say to make any of this better.

  “I was afraid, Son.”

  Zane heard a sob, another. When he glanced at the screen again, the great Christopher Harrison was crying so hard that snot streamed from his nostrils and tears gathered in the wrinkles on his weatherworn face.

  “Afraid of what?” Zane gritted out, trying desperately to hang onto his fury but losing the battle as undeserving pity swamped him.

  “Afraid you’d hate me for what I did. Afraid you wouldn’t want to know me. Afraid you’d see right through me and recognize what a spineless bastard I am for not having the guts to get to know my sons.” Christopher dug a handkerchief out of his top pocket and swiped it across his nose. “I know apologizing doesn’t come close to making up for not acknowledging you all these years, Son. But I’m sorry. Truly sorry. And I’m hoping that by you reaching out to me, you’ll give a nasty old bastard who doesn’t deserve it a second chance.”

  Zane had never had a first chance with his father. He’d been twelve months old when Christopher had abandoned him. But despite his residual anger, he understood his father’s motivations. It had taken him three years to fly over here and instigate a meeting. Christopher may have had longer than that to pluck up the courage, but old guys were set in their ways. Rigid. He’d worked with enough of them around the footy club to know.

  The way he saw it, he had two choices. Head back to Melbourne, content to have had his questions answered. Or he could stick around a while and get to know his other family.

  Steele thought he was a stupid prick for doing this and considering Steele had had four more years with their father than him, he got it. Steele had bonded with Christopher. From his account, he’d adored their dad. So Steele’s bitterness was beyond compare. He hadn’t forgiven Patricia for telling them Christopher was dead, and he sure as hell hadn’t forgiven Christopher for walking away without a backward glance.

  But Zane didn’t want to be that guy. He didn’t want to head home filled with regrets. He wanted to know his father, his brothers. To do that, he needed to release some of the demons that haunted.

  “I’m staying around for a while.”

  It was as close to an admission of forgiveness that Zane was willing to give.

  “That’s great.” Christopher dabbed at his damp eyes. “There’s an LA team looking for a new kicker. I can organize a tryout for you?”

  Zane wasn’t interested in playing NFL, but he’d hoped to use it as an in with Christopher. Considering this was his father’s first olive branch, he felt obliged to take it.

  “Sure.”

  Christopher managed a wobbly smile and for the first time since his father’s face had popped up on the screen, Zane was struck by his resemblance to Steele.

  “Great, I’ll be in touch.” Christopher leaned in closer to the screen. “And thanks for reaching out, Son. You’ve got bigger balls than I have and I really appreciate it.”

  With Christopher’s eyes suspiciously shiny again, Zane clicked off, a mass of confusion. And relief.

  He’d done it.

  Met his father for the first time.

  He may never lose the resentment or the feeling of coming second best where his dad was concerned, but he’d taken the first step.

  Whatever happened from here, he knew one thing: he’d give it his best shot and he had nothing to lose.

  An hour later, Zane sat opposite Wyatt in one of the MGM’s many bars, nursing a beer.

  They hadn’t moved beyond greetings yet and he belatedly wished he’d left this catch up for another time. Meeting with Wyatt hot on the heels of his meet-n-greet with daddy dearest hadn’t been one of his better ideas. He still felt raw, flayed, exposed. Too many bottled up emotions from the last few years threatening to erupt in an ugly spill.

  “For a star footballer, you don’t talk much.” Wyatt took a swig of his beer, before eyeballing him. “You’re the exact opposite of Kurt, who’s so full of himself that every time he opens his mouth shit flows out.”

  Zane snickered. “Maybe it’s an American football thing.”

  “Nah, jocks tend to be jocks the world over.” Wyatt paused, as if weighing the wisdom of his next words. “Cocky, arrogant, sons of bitches.”

  “Whereas geeks are recalcitrant
introverts who never speak their minds or swear?”

  Wyatt grinned and raised his beer bottle. “Touché.”

  Zane once again found himself smiling at his half-brother, liking his bluntness. He clinked his beer bottle to Wyatt’s, before draining his.

  “You forgot to add footballers are a bunch of piss-heads.”

  “I’m assuming that means alcoholics?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have you translating Aussie speak for Kurt in no time,” Zane said, accidentally tripping some inner wire for Wyatt when he frowned and placed his beer on the table.

  “Don’t expect Kurt to throw down a welcoming mat,” Wyatt said, fiddling with the label on his beer. “He’s pretty intense.”

  “I can handle that.”

  Wyatt winced, eyeing him like he’d grown an extra head. “He’s not too rapt to discover he’s not the apple of daddy’s eye anymore. Or to find out he’s not the eldest.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Wyatt continued to pick the label off his beer. “I’m assuming you did your research on us before lobbing here, right?”

  Zane nodded.

  “Then you’d know Christopher’s company is worth gazillions.” Wyatt rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, indicating mega bucks. “Kurt pretty much assumes he’s going to step into the CEO role once his football days are behind him. But with you and Steele being older, he’s got his jockstrap in a knot.”

  “He thinks we’d step into roles at the company?” Zane made loopy circles at his temple. “I’m heading back to Australia in a few weeks and Steele is CEO of his own company so tell the big guy to chill.”

  Wyatt swiped his brow in a relieved gesture. “Phew. Saves me having to watch the two jocks slugging it out.”

  “Trust me, the last thing I want is anything to do with Christopher’s company.” He was still trying to process how much he actually wanted to do with his father at all.

  Zane may have accepted the fact Christopher was a gutless wonder but a few tears and a half-arsed apology didn’t eradicate the years of acrimony.

  “Damn, I shouldn’t have mentioned the C word,” Wyatt said, with a wry grin. “Don’t let my jaded view of the man taint yours.” He gestured to a waiter for two more beers. “When are you going to meet the old bastard?”

  “We Skyped earlier.”

  Wyatt whistled low. “His lordship couldn’t fly in to meet you in person? Shit. Guess I’m not the only one he doesn’t have time for.”

  Zane had a dilemma. He wanted to know as much as possible about his father and his siblings, but he didn’t want to waste this bonding time with Wyatt, or get him offside by delving into what was obviously a sore subject.

  “As you can tell, I’m bitter and twisted,” Wyatt said, thanking the waiter and tipping him when their beers were deposited on the table between them. “Christopher’s a man’s man. Sport is his life. So since we were little, he could relate to Kurt and didn’t have a fucking clue how to handle me.”

  “At least he was around.” Zane sounded spiteful and jealous and insecure but he couldn’t help it. He’d missed out on so much growing up without a father, while Kurt and Wyatt hadn’t. Even if Christopher had been the worst dad in the world, at least he’d been there for his half-brothers, which is more than he could say for Steele and him.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Wyatt said, the pity in his eyes indicating he understood. But thankfully, he didn’t press the issue. Instead, Wyatt studied him with curiosity. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot.”

  “If you’re heading back to Australia soon, what do you hope to get out of this visit?”

  The million-dollar question Zane had asked himself many times since he’d bordered the Vegas-bound plane in Melbourne. Despite this catch up with Wyatt and the Skype call with Christopher earlier, he was no closer to an answer.

  “Since Mum died three years ago, it’s only Steele and me back home, so I guess I wanted to meet the rest of my family.”

  “Sorry about your mom.” Wyatt slapped him on the back. “Another question. Why’d you wait three years?”

  “Because it took me that long to calm down enough not to want to punch the shit out of Christopher for running out on us and staying away by choice.”

  Wyatt’s steady stare held admiration. “With that kind of honesty, I think we’re going to get on fine, bro.”

  Zane had no idea if the diminutive of brother was an American thing or not, but being called bro by Wyatt resonated. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

  “I did some stupid shit back home when I first found out. Channeled some of the frustration onto the footy field and ended up winning awards for it.” Zane barked out a laugh that held little humor. “Off-field I was a real prick. Angry all the time. Used women. Abused alcohol. Pissed off Steele.” He shrugged. “But then I figured I couldn’t be any worse off coming over here to meet the old man and his other kids so here I am.”

  Wyatt didn’t offer a trite apology and Zane respected him for it.

  “What’s Steele like?”

  “Like you, a geek,” Zane said, chuckling at the way Wyatt’s eyes lit up. “He’s CEO of a digital marketing company. Loves anything to do with computers.”

  “Smart guy.”

  “He’s also driven, controlling and arrogant.”

  “Sounds more like Kurt than me,” Wyatt said, but he hadn’t lost the interested look. “Is he coming out here too?”

  Zane shook his head, the familiar disappointment filtering through him. “Steele hates Christopher. He was five when he left so he remembers a lot more, had bonded with him.” Zane dragged a hand through his hair. “He can’t forgive him for leaving us once we discovered Christopher wasn’t dead, which is what our mum told us ‘til three years ago. Less so for Christopher pretending we didn’t exist all these years.”

  “You can’t blame him.” Wyatt folded his arms and leaned back. “Christopher’s a narcissistic bastard but what kind of asshole ignores his kids even when they’re all grown up?”

  Zane couldn’t agree more but he wouldn’t mind getting Wyatt’s take on Christopher’s excuses. “He explained it to me. Admitted he was a gutless prick and thought we’d hate him.”

  Wyatt’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “According to you Steele does, so guess one out of two ain’t bad.”

  “I haven’t forgiven him.” Zane picked up his beer, toyed with it, before placing it back on the table. “But I’ve come this far, I figure it’s easier to get rid of my resentment face to face than wallow in it.”

  “Hey, it’s not all bad. Even if Christopher turns out to be the same shithead with you as he is with me, your trip wasn’t entirely wasted.” Wyatt raised his beer. “You got to meet the most intelligent member of the Harrison clan.”

  Zane laughed. “Don’t let Steele hear you say that.”

  Wyatt’s amusement faded. “If Steele’s not flying over, I might visit Australia one of these days.”

  “Really?”

  Wyatt nodded. “I’m not real close with Kurt. We have nothing in common. So I was kinda chuffed when I learned yesterday I had more brothers.” He tapped the side of his head. “Brothers who may actually have more than half a brain cell, and that half not devoted to the fifty yard line and touchdowns.”

  “You’ll be pleased to know I’m more than this.” Zane flexed a bicep. “I’m the whole package. Brawn and brains.”

  “You’re as modest as that Neanderthal Kurt too,” Wyatt muttered, but he returned Zane’s smile.

  “If I have more than half a brain cell, does that mean you’ll be okay with us hanging out while I’m here?”

  Wyatt pretended to think before making a grand show of rolling his eyes. “Guess it can’t hurt.”

  When Zane held out his hand, Wyatt shook it, their matching grins goofy.

  Zane was thankful he hadn’t reneged on their catch up. He’d needed it after the tension-fraught Skype call with Christopher. A laid-back bon
ding session with his brother, whose dry yet astute observations indicated a good sense of humor beneath his reserved exterior.

  Though they had little in common, Wyatt was a cool guy. If Kurt was as accepting, Zane could head home content with his decision to meet his American half-siblings.

  As for Christopher and his feeble excuses for ignoring his Aussie sons all these years, Zane would take it one day at a time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You should’ve booked me a massage after that killer workout, not brought me one of these.” Chantal raised her strawberry smoothie at Ashlin. “But thanks, Ash. While my hamstrings and quads are screaming, my stomach thanks you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Ashlin sat cross-legged on the sofa in Chantal’s office, not showing the slightest discomfort after the intense yoga session Miranda Pirelli had put them through. “Maybe the queen of pain can book you the massage, considering she’s to blame.”

  Miranda blew them a kiss. “Ladies, you whine like this every week. But have you taken a look in the mirror lately?” She wolf whistled. “You’re smokin’ hot.”

  “There is that.” Chantal stuck her hand on her hip and struck a pose. The girls laughed.

  Miranda smirked, the svelte brunette’s body enough of an incentive to keep Chantal attending her classes tri-weekly. “Besides, you can thank me when you have extremely flexible sex with your hot football player.”

  Chantal’s post-yoga-glow faded fast. Since their sizzling make-out session three days ago, Zane hadn’t contacted her. He’d reneged on the promised date the night after and had answered her text about an impromptu tour of Vegas with a lame brush-off.

  She wasn’t impressed. Or happy. And if she didn’t have to potentially do business with his father over the sponsorship deal, she would’ve deleted his number from her cell. After a terse text telling him to shove it.

  “Uh-oh.” Ashlin lowered her smoothie. “By that glower, Zane still hasn’t called?”

  “Nope.” Chantal realized she was in danger of getting a smoothie shower, she was gripping her plastic cup so hard, and deliberately eased her grasp.