Chapter Thirteen

Nash

"What the fuck is this idiot thinking? Was he drunk when he wrote this email?"

Growling, I pushed away from my desk, standing up and stalking to the far side of the office where we kept our coffee bar, one of the few demands Reggie made in our business relationship. He enjoyed his fancy coffees, and stocking our little bar was one of the joys of his life.

I heard the squeak of his chair as he rose to his feet and trailed me to the espresso maker, reaching for his iced coffee mug and then hanging back to wait for me to finish making my basic black brew.

"Do we want to maybe switch over to decaf, my brother?" Reggie angled his body to be able to peer into my face. "I think the high test might not be agreeing with you this morning."

"I'm fine." I glowered at him and took a long swig from my mug. "Absolutely fucking fine."

"Hmmm." Reggie took my place, going through all the motions of doctoring his beverage, adding ice and carefully screwing on the lid to the top of the insulated mug. "I'm not sure you are being honest with yourself, Nash. Something is troubling you, and if it is not too much caffeine, I wonder what it is."

"Nothing. Just that jerk we deal with over at the county permit office. He wants us to jump through all these fucking hoops to get a few simple permits. How long has our company been dealing with that office? He needs to get a fucking clue." I tossed back some more coffee. "I'm going to have to haul my ass all the way over to the county admin complex this afternoon and deal with this joker."

"Or we could give it a few days and see if it doesn't work out," Reggie suggested. "Sometimes there are misunderstandings, or difficulties in communication?—"

I slammed down my mug so that the remaining liquid sloshed out over my wrist. "This has nothing to do with a misunderstanding, Reggie! I was very clear from the beginning exactly what I wanted and what I was willing to do to make it happen. When others refuse to understand—that's when there's a problem."

Reggie cocked his head. "Are we still discussing the permit office, my friend?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of course, we are. What the hell else would we be talking about?"

"Ah, I don't know." He shrugged eloquently, one of his last lingering European gestures. "I am not the most observant of men, but you are my brother and my best friend, so I notice things."

I closed my eyes, expelling a breath. Reggie had a knack for being able to guilt me with skill and finesse. I knew that he was worried about me, not only because he didn't want me to blow up the relationship our company had with local authorities but because he did truly consider me his beloved brother.

"Sorry, Reg," I ground out through gritted teeth.

"You returned from your reunion with a new spring in your step and a gleam in your eyes that I think wasn't entirely due to your amazing success with our friend Mr. Brady." Reggie sipped his iced coffee. "For a month, you were a whistling, smiling, happy version of my brother. It was a joy to see."

I grunted in response but said nothing else.

"And then everything changed a couple of weekends ago. You left on Friday almost dancing out of the office?—"

"Bullshit," I cut in. "I don't dance out of anywhere."

Reggie ignored me. "And then I arrived on Monday morning, and you were already in here, working. I greeted you with my usual cheer, and you answered me like a big grumpy bear."

I stayed silent.

"Since then, you have only grown worse. You almost never speak, and when you do, it is with anger. You lash out. You snap at me, you are borderline rude to our clients and associates?—"

"Now that is not true!" I countered harshly. "I am never rude to clients."

"I said borderline rude," Reggie corrected. "Let us agree that no one is under any misapprehension that you are happy, my brother."

A tic jumped in my cheek. I knew I owed my partner an explanation, but I wasn't in any state of mind to give it to him. It had been almost two weeks since Peyton had driven away from Burton—driven away from me—and I hadn't heard from her. I felt as though I was back in those dark days after graduation: once again, Peyton had walked away from me after I had bared my heart to her.

But there is a natural resiliency in the young that I no longer possessed. Everything was bleak, and hope was impossible to find. I had begun to doubt its existence.

"I don't remember acting happy as being part of my job description," I answered him finally. "And when someone is acting like an asshole, I'm not going to pretend he's not. I'm going to call him on it."

"Ah, yes." Reggie nodded. "I see. This is how we operate. All right, then." He paused. "Nash, my brother, my friend, you are acting like an asshole."

I blinked at him, surprised by his quick comeback but unable to argue with his succinct point.

"And in this space—" Reggie waved his arms to indicate our open office. "I need my energy to be clear. Every morning now, I come in and set up my crystals, smudge the doorways, and meditate. And then you come skulking in with the dark cloud over your head, and you infect this place with your anger and negativity. So now, I am sending you out."

Grabbing my arm, Reggie dragged me to the door as I stumbled in shock.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded. "You can't kick me out of my own office. I'm a partner here."

"Yes, you are," Reggie agreed. "You are not only my valued partner in business, but you are my beloved brother." He loosened his grip on my arm and gazed into my face. "Nash, when I was at my most desperate, when my sister was dying and needed someone to rescue her in a way that I could not, you didn't hesitate to step up. You sacrificed years of your life to make sure that she died with peace and dignity. You eased her last days. For that alone, I will never be able to repay you." Tears filled his brown eyes, and I had to look away or risk crying, too.

"Not only that, you took on the care of her son, my nephew." Reggie drew in a ragged breath. "You didn't have to do that." He pressed his hand into his chest. "I would have raised Max as his uncle. I would have given him everything I could. But I would not have been his father, and you have been that. What makes your love more valuable to Max is that it was a choice. It was not an obligation. You chose Max, and he will never forget that. It has helped to shape the excellent man he has grown to be."

Now it was me swallowing over a lump in my throat. I tried to speak, but it was impossible.

"I say all of this because I want you to remember how much I love you, my friend, and how much gratitude I have for you. I can never thank you enough for what you did for Lena and for Max."

"You never had to thank me," I managed gruffly. "It was an honor."

"Because you are such a good man," he responded gently. "I want you to remember all that as I—what did you call it? As I kick you out of our office. Just for the afternoon," he added as I began to sputter again in outrage. "Or until you manage, as Max puts it, to get your shit together."

I tossed up both hands. "Where the hell am I supposed to go?"

Reggie smiled. "You said it yourself that you have to go speak with the county admins, to clear up the issues with our permits. Why don't you go to an early lunch at that little pub around the corner from the building? You can take the time to consider how to find your joy once again—or at least how to stop yourself from robbing others of their joy."

I wanted to argue with Reggie—I wanted to storm back to my desk, sit down, and refuse to listen to him. But even in my current state of angst, I knew that he was only acting out of love and compassion for me, and he was right: staying here would only drag him down into my mire of misery.

So with a sigh, I nodded and left the building.

"Well, fancy meeting you here."

Max took off his sunglasses and slid into a chair across from me at the pub. I glanced up at him, frowning in surprise at his sudden appearance.

"What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, the gesture oddly reminiscent of his uncle. "Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd grab a bite. I'm off tonight, and there's a really bitchin' kitchen supply store here."

"Oh, really?" I fastened my son with a laser sharp glare. "So you're saying that your uncle didn't call and tell you where I'd be?"

Max looked momentarily uncomfortable. The kid hated to lie, and he was rotten at it. "Reggie didn't call me—" he began, and I had to chuckle.

"So he texted you." I nodded. "Damn that guy. I'm sorry he dragged you all the way down here on your day off, son. I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me."

"No, he didn't text me, either." Max shook his head. "I actually stopped in at the office, and he told me that you were in a foul mood, so he sent you away until you could act like a normal human being."

I snorted. "He referred to me this morning as a bear."

"And was he wrong?"

I rolled my eyes and then shook my head. "No. He wasn't. I was being a real son-of-a-bitch."

"Yeah, you've been occupying that headspace for a couple of weeks now. Care to spill your guts and tell me why?"

"Nope. It's nothing I want to talk about." I crossed my arms over my chest. "It has nothing to do with you or Reggie. I'll get over it. Eventually."

"Would you let me get away with that shit if I was sulking around?" Max inquired. "I don't think so. I think you'd be dragging it out of me, never giving up until I finally talked."

"Well, I'm your father. That's my job."

"And I'm your son—your grown son." Max sat back, extending his long legs under the table. "Listening to you is part of my job, Pops. Also, in case you forgot, I love you and I want to try to help."

Sighing, I let my head drop back. "There isn't anything you can do. There's nothing anyone can do, and that's probably why I'm being such a jackass to the whole world. I feel . . ." I searched for the word. "Powerless. Like there's no answer, and so I just have to live with things the way they are, and excuse my French, Max, but that fucking sucks."

"Well, now we're getting somewhere." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "It's a woman, isn't it? That woman from high school—the one who I looked up before you went to Florida for the reunion—she showed up, didn't she?"

I groaned. "Are you really going to make me go through this?"

Max nodded. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"Fine." I heaved a long breath. "Yes, Peyton was at the reunion."

"And has she married the dickhead?"

I smirked. I'd almost forgotten that I'd sketched out the bare skeleton of my relationship with Peyton to Max and Reggie before I'd left for the Cove.

"No, she didn't marry him. She left town with him and his parents, but he ran off, and so all this time, she's been raising her baby on her own." I paused. "Oh, and with the help of his mother. I guess Mrs. Harvey knew her son was a dickhead, and so she's been in Peyton's corner all this time."

"Well, that's great." Max's smile grew. "So she's single, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And so are you. That means the two of you finally got that second chance, right?"

I picked up my rolled cloth napkin and dropped it onto my lap. "I thought we did. We . . . reconnected at the reunion?—"

"Yeah, you did," Max chortled until I glared him into silence.

"And since she lives in Savannah, I felt like things would work out perfectly for us. She has a daughter named Charlie—she's just a little younger than you, actually—who's a lawyer there."

"Which is crazy," Max put in. "All this time, neither of you knew how close you were, geographically speaking, that is."

"Right," I agreed. "So a couple of weekends ago, Peyton came down to see me—to see Burton, check out my house and everything?—"

"Check out your bedroom." Max nodded, grinning again.

"You're incorrigible. Who raised you, anyway?" I pretended to scowl at him.

"That would be you, the best Pops around. But go on. What happened when she was with you in Burton? Besides the two of you doing the horizontal hokey pokey, I mean."

I ignored that last comment. "We had a great time. Peyton loved Burton, and I began to really hope that we could build a life together. I had visions of big family dinners—hers and mine, combined—in my dining room. I was thinking we could travel together. But mostly, I was thinking that we could make up for lost time." I shook my head. "But she doesn't want that. She doesn't want me."

Max frowned. "Pops, did she say that? Did she actually say the words?"

"Not exactly, but she told me that she likes her life the way it is. She said that it's taken her a long time to get to a place where she feels settled and content, and she's worried that changing all of that now would be . . . risky, I guess."

"Huh." Max pursed his lips. "Yeah, I guess I can understand that."

"Oh, can you?" I replied sarcastically. "Really? Then you're a better man than me, because I can't."

"Pops, it sounds like she had to fight for everything she has. If that guy—the dickhead—got her pregnant and then ran, she probably has gigantic trust issues. Not to mention a chip on her shoulder about doing things by herself. And then you come sailing back into her life, and as much as she loves you?—"

"She never said she did. She never told me that she loves me," I countered.

"How could she not?" My son reached across to squeeze my arm. "You're awesome, Pops. She couldn't help but love you. Anyway, though, she's probably scared to death. Turning everything that she's come to count on upside down would be damn terrifying, I'd think."

My forehead wrinkled. "But I don't want to upend her life. I just want us to be together."

"And how would that look, Pops?" Max asked. "Tell me about it. Would she move to Burton, or would you move to Savannah?"

I shrugged. "I can't move to Savannah. Or, I guess, I could, but why would I? I have this amazing community in Burton. Peyton even told me that she loved that. She wants it for herself, or so she says."

"Uh-huh. She probably does. But you said her daughter and her friend who's the dickhead's mom—what's her name? I don't want to keep calling this fine lady the dickhead's mom."

"Peg," I supplied.

"Okay, Peg and the daughter live in Savannah." Max paused. "So do I. When you look at things that way, Pops, it makes more sense for you to move to Savannah. Did you offer to do that?"

"No." I was getting aggravated again. "My office is in Burton?—"

"Her store is in Savannah."

"—and I built that house in Burton. She loves my house. I can't imagine selling it after all of the blood, sweat and tears I poured into making that place a reality."

"Ah." Max sat back again, his eyes on me. "You can't imagine turning your life upside down, huh?"

I opened my mouth and then shut it again abruptly. "Damn."

"Yeah, I know." Max wagged his head. "Everything seems so clear until you look at it from another angle."

"I just wanted her to say that she'd give anything to be with me," I mused, as clarity came crashing in. "I wanted her to prove she loves me by giving up what's important to her—because once upon a time, I offered to do the same for her."

"Back in high school?" Max cocked his head.

"Yeah." I sighed heavily. "She was pregnant, and the dickhead was planning to abandon her. I went to Peyton and offered to marry her, to be her baby's father. She didn't want to do that to me, but finally she agreed. I thought after we graduated, we were going to talk to our parents and then get married. But instead, she left the morning before we graduated."

"Awww, Pops." Max's voice was filled with genuine empathy. "I'm so sorry. Why didn't you ever tell me about her?"

"I don't know. It was still painful. I really loved her. And she really broke my heart, although at the reunion, I found out why. Her folks had kicked her out when they learned she was pregnant, and she went to Ryan because she was desperate. He would've cut her loose, too, if it hadn't been for his mom, who insisted they had to take care of Peyton and the baby." I thought about how frightened Peyton must have been, leaving her hometown with people she didn't know well and a guy who'd already cast her away. Was it any wonder that she still had some trust issues?

"Geez, that's harsh." Max was quiet for a second. "Pops, you know, this isn't a lost cause. It's just a bump in the road."

"Oh, really?" I managed a brief smile. "You think we can figure this out, huh?"

"Maybe it's Uncle Reg's influence, but yeah, I totally believe you can. I think the universe wants you to be together. So we just have to grab some positive vibes."

I spread my hands. "I'm all ears. Lay your wisdom on me."

Max looked thoughtful. "If Peyton hadn't been dating the dickhead back in high school, what would you have done to win her over? To let her know that you loved her?"

I considered his question. "I had all kinds of plans and schemes, actually. I spent way too much time thinking about Peyton and how things could be different if it wasn't for Ryan."

"Do you remember any of them?"

"A few," I answered slowly. "Most of them wouldn't apply now—they were all high school-style gestures that went out of style after 1989." I smiled a little, remembering. "I thought about calling in to her favorite radio station, the one I knew she listened to after school every day, and dedicating a different song that expressed how I felt about her every day for as long as it took. I even had a list of the songs I'd use."

"Pops, that's an awesome idea." Max rubbed his hands together. "It's perfect."

"I don't think so." I shook my head. "I don't even know what radio station Peyton listens to in Savannah, and when she listens."

"Stop thinking like it's 1989," he returned, his grin huge. "You don't need a radio station. You just need your music streaming app and the ability to text."

Realization dawned on me. "Oh . . ." My old plan was rapidly reformulating in my brain. "Max, that's genius."

"Yeah, I know. I get it from my dad." His eyes sparkled. "Do you still have that list from the old days, Pops?"

"No, I threw that away when I started college," I admitted. "But that's okay. I can make an even better one now."

"That's the spirit," Max approved. He reached for his phone and opened a notes app. "Let's get it started."

"Max. Son." I gripped his arm and gazed at him gratefully. "Thank you. Thanks for listening and understanding. It means a lot to me. I can't imagine my world without you."

He smiled, patting my hand. "I know, Pops. I know. Ditto for me." He shot me a quick wink. "Now let's get to work. You have a woman to woo."

Damn right I did.