Shooting the Moon by Brenda Novak Page B

never anticipated feeling so…apprehensive. It might’ve been different if Brandon was younger and less likely to be critical. Toddlers didn’t care what a parent was like. They accepted whatever love they were offered. But a nine-year-old boy…
    Harley stretched his neck, then squeezed the muscles in his left shoulder, wishing he could iron out a few of the knots. A nine-year-old boy would already know howto play ball and read and ride a bike. He’d have his own taste in clothes and his own opinions on what was cool and whether or not he might be interested in getting to know the man who’d fathered him.
    What if Brandon didn’t want to be bothered? What if he didn’t want Harley to disturb his picture-perfect life with the Worthingtons?
    He already has everything. He doesn’t need you.
    “You up, man?” Tank stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but a muscle shirt and a pair of boxers, his voice dispelling the echo of Lauren’s words in Harley’s head.
    “Yeah,” he replied, trying to stretch the kinks out of his neck again.
    His friend yawned, then eyed the blankets that were still folded rather haphazardly behind Harley. “Didn’t you go to bed?”
    After his meeting with Lauren, Harley had stopped by the Holiday Inn to pack his things and check out. Then he’d let himself into Tank’s apartment just after midnight, where he’d spent several hours on his laptop, seeing how sales were going at Burlingame Harley Davidson and answering e-mails sent to him by Joe Randall, his manager. He’d tried to sleep afterward but ended up pacing instead, and thinking about Brandon.
    “I had too much on my mind. What are you doing up so early?”
    “You kidding? I pour concrete for a living. I get up this early as a rule. Otherwise, I’m working late in the afternoon and it gets too damned hot. How’d it go with Lauren last night?”
    “Good. Better than I expected.” He certainly hadn’t anticipated finding Audra’s little sister, or any member of Audra’s family, the least bit likeable. They lived in an expensive house, drove fancy cars, spent money as though it were water and had absolutely no idea what it was like to go without. Understanding and acceptance were concepts as unfamiliar to them as the idea of mowing their own lawn or painting their own house. But there was something about Lauren that made Harley wonder if she was really as bad as he’d assumed. She’d been decent last night. She’d allowed him to break through her icy reserve and reach what he hoped was her heart—provided she really had one.
    “She gonna let you see Brandon?” Tank asked.
    “Yeah, today as a matter of fact.”
    “You nervous?”
    “No,” Harley said, even though his heart raced at the prospect of what lay in store. God, he was scared. How did he introduce himself to his own child? Pick up in the middle of Brandon’s life and make a meaningful contribution?
    “I’m supposed to go over there for dinner,” he explained. “Lauren suggested it might seem more natural if I came to the house and was treated like any other guest. She thinks it’ll help maintain Brandon’s emotional stability if we’re friendly and supportive of each other.”
    Tank arched an eyebrow at him. “She’s willing to be supportive of you? ”
    “Go figure,” Harley said. “A sympathetic Worthington. It’s a contradiction in terms, isn’t it?”
    “Does that mean she’s gonna tell Brandon who you are?”
    “Yep. Said she’s always been honest with him and doesn’t want to erode the trust she’s established between them by lying to him now.”
    “Sounds like something she’d say. I told you she was a straight arrow.”
    “I prefer it this way, too. No games, no secrets.”
    A hint of a smile lit Tank’s face. “Damien called while you were gone last night.”
    “Your brother? What for?”
    “Just to badger me some more about why we wanted Lauren’s number.”
    “Did you tell him?”
    “No, I said I had a friend who