It’s only then that I realize just how much I love . . . loved Jack Sutton, who is just as much of a liar as my husband . . . his brother.

  53

  JACK

  “Damn it, Tate.” I pound on the door, her muffled sobs just on the other side. “Open up. I need to explain. This was never supposed to happen. You were never supposed to happen. Fuck!” I give it one more pound and then lean against it as the weight of what Lauren did pulls me under.

  My chest hurts.

  My breath is harsh.

  My eyes burn.

  Fucking hell.

  All I want is for Fletcher to be alive so I can beat the ever-loving shit out of him for the hurt he’s caused my family.

  For the hurt he’s put Tate through.

  For goddamn fucking everything.

  But I can’t.

  I can’t because he died and I lived and all I wanted was to see if his widow was worthy of the inheritance check my father left him.

  All I wanted was to see the life he lived and remember why I was proud to be a Sutton when all he wanted was the money attached to the name, not the honor it held.

  All I needed was to learn about the man he turned out to be and validate my hatred for him.

  Hell if I didn’t get all of that . . . but I also fell in love with his widow.

  Every-fucking-crazy-thing about her.

  “Open the door, Tate.”

  I pound the wood as I slide to the ground and rest my back against it.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to sit here until you talk to me. And after you hear it all, if you want me to go . . . then I’ll still go.”

  “Go away,” she says, voice muffled and laden with hurt but still there.

  At least she’s still there.

  It’s something.

  “A few months before my dad died, he found out he had another son. He ran into an old mistress somewhere, and when she heard he was sick, she told him about the son he never knew he had. To make a long story short, he contacted him and asked to meet. The son didn’t believe him.”

  I remember being in Tennessee and the frantic call from Lauren, having to tell her to slow down, to explain what in the hell she meant by, “We have a brother.”

  “Apparently, Fletcher found out our dad owned one of the largest cattle ranches in the United States and decided to hear the old man out. At first, my dad was too blinded by his guilt to see what Lauren saw in Fletcher and then later would relay to me. He charmed the sense right out of our father and didn’t give a rat’s ass about him or that he was dying. All Fletcher wanted was his money. He convinced my father that a paternity test wasn’t needed because, damn, didn’t they have the same eyes?”

  I snort, remembering how pissed Lauren was every time he’d come around or call. How I was too tied up with the Gerard deal to head back and pay this any attention.

  Especially because every time I tried to talk to my father about it, he’d make excuses and avoid the topic.

  “We tried talking to my father about Fletcher. We tried to tell him the sides we saw of this new family member and how it was odd that Fletcher kept asking too many questions about the ranch and its worth and laying the charm on way too thick, but my father couldn’t see it. Instead, he bragged to me about whatever bullshit accomplishment Fletcher convinced him was true.” My exhale is frustration personified. “The whole thing caused more of a rift between my father and me. Here is a man I’d spent my whole life trying to get any kind of approval from, any kind of compliment from, to no avail, and he gives it to this snake-oil salesman without flinching. He told lie after lie, and my father fell for each and every one of them when I couldn’t even get him to congratulate me on being one of the top professionals in my field.”

  I lean my head back and recall the phone calls between my father and me. The relentless pressure he placed on me to succeed. The fuck you I felt deep in my bones after working endlessly for his approval and never getting it when Fletcher walked into our lives and had it without so much as a word.

  “To say I resented Fletcher is an understatement. To say it shoved the wedge deeper between my dad and me, even more so. Fletcher stole time from me with my dad. Time I can never get back, and I’ll never forgive him for that.” I laugh.

  I shift my position and listen for any sign of life on the other side of the door. When I’m sure she’s still there, I continue. “Fletcher even went as far as to call my dad’s attorney and ask point-blank how much was in the will for him. The executor—a smart man—told him the will hadn’t been changed at all since it had been finalized years before. You can imagine how that turned out. Fletcher pitched a full-on tantrum over it, but he was smart. He was a con man. He first worked his way into convincing our dad that he was on the cusp of succeeding and needed some investment capital, angling for my dad to offer to help. By that time, my father had spoken to his lawyer and the bubble had burst. My dad finally saw the real Fletcher—the one we had all seen from day one with his thirst for money over anything—and wouldn’t give him what he wanted. So Fletcher started in on Lauren. He knew she was a recovering alcoholic, so he sent her cases of wine every week. He encouraged her to drink the few times he was around and then threatened to have her kids taken away for neglect when she did. He pressured her until she begged our dad to pay him off so that she could hold onto her sobriety.”

  I sigh and pray that she’s listening. That she hears me and can forgive me. That she realizes we were conned by him too.

  “My father refused Lauren’s pleas. When Lauren stopped allowing Fletcher to come around, the threats turned to me. He had the balls to tell me he would ruin my professional reputation if I didn’t pay him off. I didn’t budge, and so he began a smear campaign on me. He sent letters to my customers, to my bosses, to anyone associated with me, really. Hell, when our father died, he even threatened to file a lawsuit to stake a rightful claim on the ranch I stood to inherit. I never met him face–to-face, Tate, but I swear to God, I fucking hated him.” I run a hand through my hair as something drags against the opposite side of the door.

  “The whole thing was horrible. I hated my dad for not being able to keep his dick in his pants and for causing the situation that was beginning to destroy our family in the final days of his life. I was so angry at what he’d caused that I didn’t want to go home and face him. The anger ate at me. His immediate acceptance of that piece of shit stung when I’d been busting my ass for years to get a tenth of that approval.” I cough to push the goddamn emotion that burns my chest away, to shove it down so that it never sees the light of day.

  “I never made it home to see my father before he died. I was so angry about everything with Fletcher that I didn’t believe Lauren when she called and said the time was near. Even though we had our problems, my father was invincible to me, a giant, and I couldn’t imagine him succumbing to cancer.” Even now, I’m consumed by guilt, but I have so much to lose so I keep explaining. “I was in Kentucky, standing in the middle of the Gerard’s family room when Lauren called. They were a nice couple who had spent their life savings trying to save a farm that had been in their family for generations. I remember I was standing there . . . amidst pictures and toys and evidence of a life lived . . . about to steal their farm for pennies on the dollar because it was what my boss wanted. I felt like shit for it, but I was the top agent and was so obsessed with the accolades and the praise over it, I was pretending not to notice the lives I was ruining in the process.”

  I blow out a breath and recall the punch in the gut I felt seeing Mrs. Gerard cry while sitting in the kitchen her great-great-grandfather had built with his own two hands. I recall my relief when I was able to step outside to take Lauren’s call, and then the utter panic that followed when I did.

  “When I answered the phone, she told me I had to get home and get home fast. I’d never heard her sound like that before and knew this wasn’t a ploy. I knew he was dying. I raced to the airport and begged to be on the next flight out.” I clear my throat and rest my head back against the door, reliving every damn moment. “You still there?”

  She doesn’t answer, but I hear Gracie’s tail thump on the floor, and that gives me hope that she is.

  “I called him before I got on the flight. He sounded so frail when he normally sounded like he could move mountains.” The thought makes me smile as I close my eyes and relive the conversation.

  “THAT YOU, JACK?”

  “I’m on my way, Dad.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, son.”

  “Good,” I say as tears threaten and guilt swallows me whole.

  “Sometimes things happen in life that you aren’t particularly proud of. In the moment, you do them because you think that’s what’s expected of you, but when you’re looking at minutes left instead of years, you realize you screwed up. You tell yourself that, if you could do it all over, you’d make amends.”

  I nod and assume he is talking about our relationship. That he feels the same kind of guilt I do over not being closer. Over not trying harder. Over the stress he put on us with everything with Fletcher.

  “I understand.” I think.

  “If there was one thing you’d want to make amends for in your life right now, excluding family and me, what would that be?”

  It is an odd question, but I humor him. I am fresh from Mrs. Gerard and her tears, and the unsettled and unfulfilled feeling I have from the deal still lingers in my gut. “I’d save a ranch, not ruin one,” I murmur through the line. “Help the small guy instead of the corporation for once.”

  His laugh sounds off and then turns into a cough that ends up with him struggling to breathe. I’m in a city, hundreds of miles away, and I’m helpless to do anything for him.

  “Dad? You okay?”

  He coughs a few more times, a murmured yes in there somewhere. His breaths are shorter now, though. His breathing more labored.

  “Promise me something, Jack.”

  “I’ll promise you whatever you want when I get home,” I say. “Face-to-face.”

  “Promise me you’ll make that amends, will you? Promise me.”

  I laugh, but it dies as quickly as I emit it because I realize he’s dead serious. “I promise, Dad.” I rise as my flight is called over the loudspeaker. “Is there anything you need me to do for you? Any amends you want me to help you make?”

  “Yes.” Another string of coughs as I get in line to board. “But I’ll tell you when you get here. Face-to-face.”

  “Okay. I’m boarding. I’ll be there soon.” I pause, my father never one to accept any show of affection. “I love you.” My words are soft and I fucking hate the tear that creeps down my cheek.

  “Me too, Jack. Me too.”

  “SO, SEE? I made my dad a promise that I’d make amends,” I say when I finish relaying that last conversation with my dad to Tate. “I focused on it the whole flight home. How I’d find a small ranch in trouble. How I’d come in and help it to succeed instead of helping sabotage it so it would fail. Sound like a ranch you know?”

  I shift and hope maybe that made her smile, but fuck if I know. I’m in the dark about what she’s thinking, so I trudge on.

  “By the time I landed, my father had died. Lauren’s texts were all over my phone the minute I turned it on. I was devastated. Ruined.” My voice breaks with emotion, and I pause for a moment. “What I didn’t know was he’d left me a voicemail while I was in flight. It’s still on my phone right now. One sec, I’ll play it for you.”

  I pick up my phone and navigate to my saved voicemails, pushing the speaker button just after I push play.

  “Jack.” My father’s voice booms through the speaker, and chills chase down my spine hearing it. “There’s so much to say to you and not enough time to say it. It’s something I should have said a long time ago, but I was too proud and you’re too stubborn . . . I love you, son.

  You were always my shining light. You never knew it, but you were. Yes, I was tough on you, and I hope you can forgive me for that, but this is a brutal business. I pushed you so that you would go out on your own and become your own man. I wanted you to harden and grow tough. I needed you to trust your instincts and rely on yourself.

  Of course, I let you think I didn’t want you to leave.

  But I did.

  I knew you’d step into my shoes one day, and I needed you to be taught the things I never was. That when the sun sets, it’s you who has to lie in the bed with the decisions you make every day. It’s you who has to be confident they are the right ones even when everyone else thinks they are wrong.

  I’m proud of you, son. Of what you’ve accomplished on your own. Of what you’ll accomplish when I’m gone. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you that face-to-face.

  Time has a way of creeping up on all of us. Of running out on us when we only want one more minute . . . one more second. I wish I had those with you. I wish I had a do-over so I could see you live the day-to-day, knowing how proud I am of you.

  Come back to the ranch, don’t come back to the ranch—you do whatever’s best for you. But the ranch is yours. Every last bit of it. There’s more than enough set aside for Lauren and the kids, so don’t you worry about taking care of them.

  One last thing. You promised me you’d make your amends, and I’m holding you to that. I know your word is good . . . but I have one I need you to help me make too. The executor has an envelope for Fletcher. It’s a payoff. I know, I know. You’re mad at me for that, but I had a paternity test done anyway, and he’s mine. If he takes the money, then he waives all rights to any claim of anything from the estate. The amount is small in the grand scheme of things and it gives me peace of mind that he won’t be able to come after you or your inheritance—that my mistakes won’t haunt your future.

  So two promises, Jack: Make amends and pay the asshole off.

  And remember I love you. I always have. I always will.”

  “I hope you could hear that,” I say when the voice mail ends. “I hope you’re still there because there’s more to tell.”

  There’s a shift against the door, and I feel like that’s her way of telling me she’s still there. That it’s her way of letting me know she’s listening.

  “My father died two weeks before Fletcher did, and after months in probate and legal channels, and even more time spent trying to track you down . . . well, you know the rest.”

  The lock at my back turns.

  I scramble up as the door swings open.

  Tate’s cheeks are splotchy and her eyes are bloodshot, but at least she’s standing there.

  “I don’t know the rest. How can I?” Her voice has so much hurt and betrayal woven within every single thread of it that I don’t know how to answer her. “You came here to pay off your dead brother, and what? Saw me and thought you’d fuck over his widow instead? You thought you’d get back at him by messing with me?”

  “Fuck her over?” I choke on my disbelief. “I came here to fulfill the promise I made to him and the promise I made to myself. I helped save this place. It was like kismet. You were struggling and looking to hire help. I saw the ad, and I swear to you I felt like my dad had set it all up ahead of time. How can you even begin to consider all that we did here on the ranch as me trying to fuck you over?” I try not to sound defensive because I’m more aware than anyone that I don’t have a leg to stand on.

  If I weren’t aware, all I would have to do is look at Tate to know that.

  “Not the ranch. Not the business. Me.” Her chin quivers as she fights back tears, and it guts me. Absolutely guts me. “You let this happen, Jack. You caused this.”

  “Tate . . .”

  “You made me believe you. You made me believe in me. You made me hope. You made me dream the dream that wasn’t really mine.” She hiccups back a sob. “You made me love you. Even worse, you made me trust you when I swore I’d never be able to trust again . . . so yeah, you fucked me over.”

  I watch a single tear slip down her cheek and know there’s nothing I can say to fix this, at least not in the heat of the moment . . . maybe not even a few hours removed from my sister and her bullshit.

  So I tell her the truth.

  “You’re right. I did all of those things. I saw you that first day on the porch with your hand on your hip and your threat to shoot me and I knew my brother didn’t deserve a fucking ounce of your love. Not fucking one.”

  “It doesn’t change a thing, Jack. You still lied. You still—”

  “I was wrong.” I run a hand through my hair to try to find something to say to get her to hear me. “I was determined to hate you at first sight. Sure, we’d talked on the phone and you had offered me the position, but I expected to look at you and know you were just as much of an asshole as your husband was. I thought I could show up and walk away and that might be enough to convince my conscience that I had tried to make good with what I’d promised my father.” I itch to reach out and touch her. I crave any kind of connection with her but know she won’t have it. I’ll have to make it through words. “But there was something about you, Tate. I don’t know if it was your beauty, the pain in your eyes, the defiance in your posture . . . but there was something about you that told me I should stay and see for myself exactly who you were.”

  Her hand grips the doorknob so tightly it creaks under the pressure, but I see her bottom lip quiver. “I meant what I said. I need you to go.”

  Tears course down her cheeks, the pain I caused in every single track they leave.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  She nods. “I do.” But her eyes say differently. “Please be gone in the morning.”

  “I love you.”

  She physically rejects the words with the grimace on her face, a hitch of her breath, the shake of her head.

  “I know,” she whispers. “I believe you . . . but . . . but I lived a life with a man who thought it was okay to lie to me. It didn’t start that way, but it morphed into it. When he died, I promised myself never again. I told myself I deserve better. So I can’t . . . I won’t allow myself to walk into a relationship that’s been a lie since the beginning.”