She was too good for me when we were younger, and she’s too good for me now. I hear what he’s saying loud and clear: I’m might be trash with an M.D. and a better haircut, but I’m still trash.
And maybe he has a point. Lark is from one of the most established families in Bliss River, from a long line of people who care about each other and stand up for each other and are classy and intelligent and kind and believe in good things happening to good people. For me to think that I could ever truly be a part of that—especially after what I did to Lark—is laughable.
No, I think as I stomp into the shadowy barn and pick my way through the mess of half-finished projects my uncle is never going to see through to completion.
It isn’t laughable, and I’m not a joke. I’m doing my best to make amends and prove I deserve a second chance, and I’m not going to let Parker poison me with doubt. I’m going to take Lark out and have a wonderful afternoon, and afterwards I’ll find somewhere to keep my boat.
One of my basketball buddies from high school, or my old friend, Nash, might be interested in having it around. I’ll either find someone to share it with in exchange for storage, or sell the damned thing myself. I’m not bringing it back here for Parker to sell.
I’m not coming back here again, period.
I pause with my hands on the edge of the tarp that covers the boat, the realization hitting me hard.
I don’t have to come back here.
Not ever again. I’m finally free.
I suppose I’ve been free for a long time—since high school, I only lived with Uncle Parker during the summers, and I haven’t seen him at all in the past four years—but some part of me still felt tied to him.
After all, he’s the only family I have left.
I haven’t seen my mom since the day she skipped town, the summer before my junior year of high school. She used to call every few months, but by the time I graduated from college, the calls had stopped. Last I heard from her, she was moving to Mexico with husband number ten and planned to send me her new number when she was settled.
The call never came.
If I cut myself off from Uncle Parker, I’ll truly be a man without a clan.
There was a time when the thought would have scared me, or at least felt wrong. Parker didn’t have to take me in. He could have left me to fend for myself, especially after high school, when I was legally an adult. If he hadn’t let me shack up with him here at his farm during the summers, I never would have been able to save enough money to pay for my apartment and expenses during the school year. I would have had to go to school part time, and it would have taken years longer for me to get my M.D. And yeah, we fought and he beat the shit out of me sometimes, but he also played a part in making my dreams come true.
I’ve always felt like I owed him for that, at least a card every Christmas and birthday, and lunch every now and then.
But now…
Well, it’s obvious he cares even less for me than he used to. I succeeded when he promised I would fail, and he’s hateful enough to resent me for making something of my life. He did his best to make our first conversation in four years as miserable and antagonistic as possible, for God’s sake.
Any pretense of family feeling between us is gone. It’s time for me to move on, to move forward toward a better life.
With Lark.
I’m going to win her back. I’ll prove Parker wrong about that the same way I’ve proven him wrong about everything else.
Head on straight once more, I hitch the little fishing boat to the back of my car and pull down the gravel driveway without a glance in the rearview.
It’s too dusty to see much, and I’m done looking back.
Chapter 7
Mason
Date Two
I pull up to the curb outside Lark’s parent’s house at three p.m. on the dot, heart lifting when I see her waiting outside on the front porch. I jump out of the car with a grin, so excited to see her that I’m halfway up the walk before I realize she’s not dressed for an afternoon on the lake.
In fact, she’s not dressed at all.
At least, not for leaving the house.
“What’s up?” I glance down, gaze skimming over her oversized gray t-shirt and thin pink pajama pants.
“I’m not feeling well.” She sniffs, rubbing her nose with the tissue wadded in her fist. “I woke up yucky.”
“What are your symptoms?” I ask, snapping into doctor mode, hoping she’s up to date on all her vaccinations. “Any fever? Body aches?”