Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Any other time, Jack would have loved watching The Big Lebowski for the umpteenth time, but he was distracted by a half dozen things, none of them good. No, that wasn’t true. Tyrion hadn’t left his side. He’d even followed him into the bathroom and watched him send Maisie a text.

Is it six yet?

She hadn’t answered by the time he finished up and checked his phone.

“I hope that means she’s having a better time than I am,” he mumbled.

Tyrion released a small whine and rubbed his head against Jack’s leg.

“Sorry, buddy,” Jack said, squatting next to him and scratching both sides of his face. “It’s not you. You know I love hanging out with you. In fact, I’m not sure I could have gotten through this afternoon without you.”

Tyrion licked his face, and Jack laughed as he got to his feet. “Love you too, but we can’t hide in here any longer. We better head back out there.”

So he had. Finn had looked relieved to see him at least, like he’d thought Jack might have tried climbing out of the high, narrow window in the bathroom and pulling Tyrion through with him. They’d paused the movie for him, and the awkwardness was such a presence, it was like another guest. Poor River. It wasn’t much of a party so far, and it probably wouldn’t be as long as Little Lord Fauntleroy hung around. Finn was doing his best, talking about real estate in an animated manner that didn’t match the subject matter, but not even Finn could add life to this party.

They finished the movie and Jack nearly groaned in agony when he realized they had over an hour to kill before Maisie and Lurch were supposed to show up for the brewery tour. It felt like he’d died and gotten stuck in the inner circle of Dante’s inferno.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several seconds before Lee pushed himself out of his chair. “I’m going to head to the bathroom.”

As soon as he was out of the room, Finn and River exchanged a look. They were clearly dying to talk, but River cast Jack a sideways glance.

“I could use some fresh air,” Jack said as he got to his feet. “I’ll take Tyrion out to pee.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Finn said, a guilty look washing over his face. “He’s my responsibility.”

“Nah,” Jack said as he grabbed his coat off the rack and shoved his arms into the sleeves. “I take him out all the time. We’re pals.”

“Well, you don’t need to walk him,” Finn said as he and River started toward the kitchen. “Addy and I took him on a three-mile hike this morning. He’s good.”

“Okay,” Jack said as he opened the front door. Once they were on the porch, he glanced down at Tyrion. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out here for a while, so you’ll have plenty of time to sniff around.” Could he get away with spending the next hour outside?

Tyrion was eager to check out the front yard, so Jack trailed behind, giving him plenty of slack on his retractable leash. He considered taking it off since Tyrion hadn’t run off in over a month, but he didn’t want to chance it.

Tyrion sniffed around for several minutes, peeing on a couple of trees next to the neighbor’s yard, but then he went still and turned his attention to the street.

A black sedan was headed toward them, slowing down as it neared the house. Tyrion continued to watch, and a lump filled Jack’s stomach when he realized who was driving.

The car parked in front of the house, and the driver’s door opened. A distinguished older man in a tailored suit got out. He walked around the hood of his rented car and stood on the curb, his gaze scanning the house. His cold stare made Jack think he was inventorying the place, trying to figure out if it was worth his time to enter. He must have decided the pleasure he would take in making a bad party worse outweighed the possibility he’d catch some deadly disease from Finn’s half-a-million-dollar house, because he started up the sidewalk. Then, halfway up the walk, he stopped and turned to face Jack.

Prescott Buchanan’s lip curled as that cold, calculating gaze swept over his son.

Tyrion walked up beside Jack, pressing his solid body into Jack’s leg.

“Don’t worry. I have no interest in talking to you,” Jack said in disgust.

His father lifted his chin and sniffed. “I guess you’re not moving as far up in the world as you thought.” An amused look filled his eyes as he nodded toward Tyrion. “You’ve been relegated to cleaning up dog waste.”

Anger burned in Jack’s chest, and his hand tightened on the leash. “I take it you’ve never had a pet, Prescott?”

The older man gave him a confused look, somehow still full of disdain. “ No. ”

“I’m not surprised,” Jack said. “Pet owners are compassionate and empathetic. They treat other people with respect. You seem incapable of thinking of anyone other than yourself.”

Prescott snorted. “Respect is earned, and letting my daughter fund your little brewery escapade reeks of opportunism, not that I’m surprised.” Contempt filled his eyes. “You’re a leech, just like your white trash mother, and while my father may have given you part ownership of a run-down brewery, you turned down the only offer you’ll ever get from me.”

Good thing Jack didn’t want anything from him. A long time ago he’d wanted a father, but Prescott had made it crystal clear that wasn’t on the table, and Jack had accepted it before he’d even turned ten. His mother had arranged those early visits from Prescott, but Jack had never asked for that. He’d never asked for anything, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He opened his mouth to tell Prescott just that, but the front door opened, and Lee walked out onto the porch, his gaze firmly on his father.

“Dad. What are you doing here?” he asked in surprise.

Prescott turned his back on Jack and gave his attention to his son—the real one. “I finished my business and came by to check on things since you weren’t answering your phone.”

Lee crossed his arms over his chest. “I was busy.”

An incredulous look washed over Prescott’s face as he gestured to the house. “Busy in there…with them ?”

“I told you we had plans.”

Prescott’s gaze narrowed. “Just because your sisters and the men they have lowered themselves to associate with feel they can take a day off, doesn’t mean we can as well.”

“It’s a Saturday,” Lee said, becoming irritated. “I’m spending time with the men my sisters are planning to marry.”

Prescott’s brow lowered and he gruffly said, “Adalia is not engaged.”

Jack was still in the side yard, and while Prescott knew he was there, Jack was fairly certain Lee didn’t. Should he make his presence known? Should he slink around the other side of the house so he didn’t interrupt them? He decided he’d been there first, so he’d stay put.

Lee shook his head. “If you paid your daughters any attention at all, you’d see that Addy’s crazy about Finn, and he’s just as crazy about her. They’re going to get married, Dad. It’s just a matter of time.”

Prescott’s cheeks reddened. “Then you need to break them up. That boy encouraged her to drag our name into that article.”

Jack nearly intervened—presumably by “that article,” Prescott meant the New York Times piece about Alan Stansworth, the sleazebag who’d stolen Adalia’s art—but then Lee surprised him.

“That’s not happening,” he said, shaking his head. “Finn makes Addy happy, and contrary to what you might think, she deserves happiness.”

Prescott clenched his fists at his sides. “I gave you a simple job, Lee. Put a stop to Georgie’s marriage before the engagement party tomorrow night. Have you made any progress?”

“No, Dad,” Lee said, dropping his hands to his sides. “While you might have told me to break them up, I never agreed. I’ll admit I had reservations about the guy, but after talking to him, I think he really loves her.”

“ Love? ” Prescott asked in an ice-cold voice. “A good marriage is built on what each person has to bring to the table. Take Victoria.”

Lee shook his head with a look of disgust.

“Victoria is an intelligent woman with important connections,” Prescott continued. “She comes from a solid family. Marrying her will serve our business interests.”

“I told you I don’t care about that crap, Dad.”

“Well, you should ,” Prescott snapped bitterly. “I thought I loved your mother, but all it got me was a house in the suburbs of Connecticut and three ungrateful children. Get your head screwed on straight, Junior, because Victoria’s mother is planning your engagement party for New Year’s Eve.”

Lee’s face lost all color, and he opened his mouth as if to protest, but Prescott turned on his heels, his shoes clicking on the sidewalk. He couldn’t be bothered to give Jack a parting glance—confirming Jack’s insignificance in his eyes. Good riddance.

Lee watched his father get in his car and drive off in silence, waiting several seconds before he sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders as though preparing to go into battle. But as he started to turn, he caught a glimpse of Jack and he froze.

“How long have you been standing there?” Lee demanded, his voice filled with rage.

“Long enough.”

Lee’s face reddened. “Do you make a habit of spying on other people’s private conversations, asshole?”

“I wasn’t spying. Your father knew I was here the entire time,” Jack said, his back stiff.

Lee’s jaw squared and his voice shook. “You may have fooled my sisters into believing you’re part of this family, but make no mistake: you never have been. And you never will be.”

Jack felt the pain of Lee’s words as sharply as if he’d been stabbed with a dull knife.

Lee turned around and headed back inside, leaving Jack and Tyrion in the yard.

Jack drew a ragged breath, wondering again why he cared what either Buchanan man thought about him. For a split second, he wondered if he should relinquish his one-fourth share of the brewery, but he reminded himself that Beau had wanted him to be an owner. In this one respect, he was equal to his half-siblings.

Still, he had no interest in spending the evening with Lee. He wanted to go home—to whatever one-fourth section he owned—and forget Lee Buchanan existed.

He pulled out his phone and sent Maisie a quick text, softening his message.

I’m going home, Maisie. I don’t belong here.

Her response was quicker than he’d expected. Don’t go anywhere. I’m leaving now.

He cast a glance at the house, willing himself to go in, to be the bigger person and show Lee that he couldn’t care less what he thought, but he couldn’t muster the energy to do it. He didn’t want to fight the Buchanan men. All he’d wanted was to finally have something of his own. To feel like he belonged somewhere. But they hadn’t allowed him even that.

He tugged on Tyrion’s leash. “Let’s go home, buddy.”

But for the first time since he’d arrived in Asheville, Jack felt the tiny prick of conviction that maybe Asheville wasn’t his home after all.