Chapter 37

“He does.”

“That’s something, right?”

“It’s something. It’s just odd, is all. Is something. Says something. Right in the stands for Ben Thornton because he had a hard-on for screwing the guy over, what it would do for him. Or else he had a hard-on for screwing Ben. That’s what it was, I tell you. Watches me on the telly. Says something.”

A long beat.

“But I don’t want him to die.”

“No.”

“Maybe he didn’t think I’d want him there. Didn’t know I ached for him to be there. He couldn’t, though, could he? I was a bastard boy in my teens, Tom Alan. Can you imagine such a thing? A real bugger, I was. Bloody awful with my mouth. I don’t want him to die.”

For the next few minutes, Tom Alan just listened as Milo cried thirty-six-hundred miles away.

“Maybe Sochi,” Milo finally croaked out.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll tell him I forgive him before he goes into surgery, and he’ll tell me he’s coming to Sochi, and we’ll be father and son again. Maybe.”