“Damn it, John, you’re thirty-six, and you’ve never had a stable relationship.”
Patrick Sheppard adjusted his tie and gave him that familiar look, that “I’m trying to love you, son, but you just keep on disappointing me’ expression, which had started somewhere around John’s eleventh or twelfth birthday - just as soon as he got an ounce of healthy rebellion - and had rarely left his dad’s face since.