that angry at me.” His father looked totally betrayed. He seemed to sink into himself. “You’d just walk out on me.”
Dylan fought the urge to rescue him, to take it back, to promise to always be there. He knew that wasn’t good for either of them. He felt the empty ache he’d felt at eighteen seeing his father so ruined. Maybe Tara had a point. Maybe he thought he had to rescue his father or lose the man’s love.
“I’m not angry. I’m just determined. It’s time, Dad. For both of us.”
“I didn’t know you were so unhappy here.”
“We both need a break from each other.”
His father looked down. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to work with.”
“No, you’re not. And maybe I put up with too much from you over the years. You can do better. You’ll have to when Victor takes over. He’s not as easygoing as I am. And you can’t afford to lose him. That’s certain.”
His father looked at him. His eyes showed hurt, but Dylan saw a flicker of acceptance. “I didn’t raise you to let people down.”
“You raised me to believe in myself, to go after my dream. And that’s what I’m doing. I love you, Dad. I respect you. You’re a brilliant engineer. This is for the best.”
“So you say,” his dad said, but there was no energy behind his mockery.
“Right now, I’m going to talk to Dale about getting the testing mess fixed, once and for all. And you’re going to change out those drive assemblies you put in my car, Candee’s car and anybody else’s car.”
“They’re not broken, Dylan. I’d bet my life on it.”
“You bet all our lives on it, Dad. You’d better hope the part on Abbott’s car wasn’t faulty or you’ve not only lost a bet, you’ve your company helped kill a man and put a woman in a coma.”
At home, a few hours later, when he dropped onto the couch with a beer, the enormity of what had happened rolled over him.
The possibility that a Ryland part might have killed Abbott Wharton was almost more than he could bear. If it were true, it might well sink the company.
It had been hard to hurt his father, to hear him say Dylan was letting him down, but the decision was right. Dylan knew that. His father would see that...or he wouldn’t. Dylan would live with it, either way. If his father quit loving him, he’d live with that, too.
And then there was Tara. Their argument and their breakup. He sighed. In some ways, that hurt most of all. He ached all over, inside and out. It hurt to breathe.
Sensing his distress, Duster hauled his arthritic bones onto the couch and rested his muzzle on Dylan’s lap, tucking his head under Dylan’s hand. He seemed to think if Dylan petted him, Dylan would feel better.
“Won’t work, pal. I don’t think I’ll feel better for a long, long time.”
Dylan and Tara had shared only two nights, but it felt like they’d said no to a lifetime together, to happiness, to a closeness he’d never known before.
Not the closeness of teenagers marveling at the wonder of being in love for the first time, but an adult intimacy, a true connection, a lifelong bond.
Too much stood between them. Too little held them together. He was almost grateful to have a work problem to focus on, anything to keep him from feeling the heartbreak that waited to plow him under.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TARA SAT BESIDE DYLAN at a small table in Wharton’s testing office. With them were Dale Danvers and Jeb Harris. Jeb and Dale knew only of the first part of the mission—to look for patterns in part failures. Tara had been able to read the serial number on one of Dylan’s engine close-ups, so they planned to look for it among the failed parts lists.
Tara glanced at Dylan. He looked as awful as she felt. His eyes were red and haunted. He was unshaven, his face gray with exhaustion. She hadn’t been able to talk to him, but she guessed his misery wasn’t just about the possibility that a Ryland part had caused the wreck.
She’d missed him terribly last night. At midnight, she’d gotten all the way to her car, ready to drive to him before she realized how foolish that would be. This wasn’t a romantic movie where you forgot all that was wrong between you and figured love would find a way. Love couldn’t find a way past a dead-end.