Page 19 of Want You Back

“Well, that’s over.”My father stomped ahead of me into the ranch house. He’d made an appearance at graduation because the town had expected it. A Lovelorn was graduating, so he’d put on a clean shirt and sat in the bleachers by the football field while we paraded in caps and gowns. But good luck expecting him to be happy about it. He’d sat, stony-faced as ever, the whole damn time.

“At least it wasn’t raining.” I shut the side door behind us. The kitchen was empty save half a pot of coffee. Ever since Britta left, we’d had a revolving door of housekeepers, none of whom lasted. “Faith sent a cake.”

I gestured to the white bakery box that had been delivered the day before. Dad had muttered something about wasted money, and I hadn’t bothered opening the box yet.

“No time for that.” He waved a calloused hand dismissively. “Cut yourself a piece and send the rest out to the bunkhouse. Got a buyer coming down from Cheyenne for some horses. I want you there.”

“Me?” I groaned and rested my head against the big double fridge. “It’s graduation day. Colt’s family invited me to their party.”

That earned a loud snort. “Ranch doesn’t stop for holidays. You know that.”

“Yup.” I let my tone shift dangerously sarcastic, but I was in no mood for one of his usual ranch-first lectures. The ranch had come first my whole life, put before birthdays, Christmas, trips, school, grieving. Ranch first. Always.

“Yes, sir,” my dad corrected, voice stern. “And CU will give you the book learning, but no degree is a substitute for what you’ll learn right here on the ranch.”

“I’m not going to CU.” I hardened my gaze. He hadn’t listened to me even for a minute over the last year. “Told you that for months now. I applied to other places. Got in.”

“I’m not paying for anywhere else.” He poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, simple as that. But for once, Melvin Lovelorn’s word wasn’t law.

“I got a scholarship to UCLA. Don’t need your tuition money,” I shot back, heart pounding with a new level of brashness. And anger. I was righteously pissed that he wanted to ruin my graduation day to sell a few horses, that he couldn’t even manage a congrats or eat a damn piece of cake. “Or this ranch.”

“This ranch isn’t a gift, Mel—Maverick.” He corrected himself just in time. He did that some, confused Mel and me, usually when angry or after his nightly whiskey. He wasn’t a drunk, but he damn sure couldn’t sleep without it. Every time he called me Mel by mistake was another papercut to the heart, one of hundreds of little slivers, none deadly, all stinging like hell. “It’s a responsibility. A birthright. An obligation.”

“More like a prison sentence.” I wrenched open the cake box.Congratulations, Maverick!greeted me, written in the school colors of green and orange, a gaudy celebration that felt like a mockery.

“Watch your mouth.”

“Does it make you happy?” I had to know. I was done holding back my questions. Ever since Mom and Mel had died, I couldn’t say as I’d seen him crack a single smile or seem anything remotely close to content. Everyone said grief got easier with time, but I missed my mother’s cheerful humming more every day. “Does the ranch make you happy?”

“Son, life’s not about being happy, and the sooner you realize that, the better.” And here came one of the patented Melvin Lovelorn lectures, one I’d heard so often I could deliver it right down to the defiant tone and fiery gaze.

“What’s the point of doing your duty if it doesn’t get you anything worth having?” I pulled a cake knife and server out of the utensil drawer. I was old enough now to understand that life was more than being one of the wealthiest kids in school, more than a shiny truck, more than a town bearing my last name. And ever since the night of prom with Colt, I’d been even more convinced that things truly worth having were the sort of intangibles my father had never valued.

“Everything worth having went down in that plane crash, and you know it,” he spat back.

“Everything?” Guess that answered the unspoken question of where I ranked in his life, although I’d certainly had a clue prior to this moment. For four years now, Dad had been a hollow shell of a man, held together by spite, whiskey, and that unending sense of duty. “And you weren’t that happy even when Mom and Mel were alive.” He’d had rules upon rules for us, chores, standards, plenty of lectures, but never affection or playfulness. Colt’s mother played board games and read books to the younger siblings. The idea of my father with a hand of cards or a storybook was laughable. “You’ve been bitter your whole life. Why would I want that for myself?”

“Lord, you try me, Maverick. You really try me.” He shook his head, judgment clear in his blue eyes, the same damn ones I saw in the mirror every morning. “At least your brother used to listen.”

“Say it.” I drove the cake knife into the soft, fluffy frosting. “You wish it had been me, not him, in that plane crash.”

“Well, hell. You always were a dramatic one.” Huffing, he glanced toward the door, not bothering to disguise his desire to escape this conversation. “Your brother knew his duty and was happy to do it?—”

“He was miserable.” I’d waited years to throw that punch, holding it close to my chest, waiting for maximum impact or perhaps simply the moment he might listen.

“You fucking watch your mouth.” This likely was not that moment, but I wasn’t done.

“Everyone loved him, including you, but he puked every morning.” Lovelorn’s golden boy had had a secret. Mom knew because she’d had to haul him off to Durango for doctors, even Denver, trying to figure out why a kid who had everything was making himself sick over it. I knew because I was the little brother who’d seen Mel cry more than once after harsh words from our father. “He had an ulcer by eighteen from worrying about this ranch. That shit’s not normal.”

“So he had a tetchy stomach. He would have outgrown that.” Dad pursed his thin lips. He’d lost weight himself since they’d died, down to bone, muscle, and stubbornness. “He knew how to cowboy up.”

“You would have run him into the ground, just like you run half the hands away. Just like you’re driving me away.” I dragged the knife through the cake, cutting a rectangle with a viciousness I hadn’t known I possessed. “I’m going. You can’t stop me. You can keep living in the past for Mel and Mom, but I can’t do it.”

“Don’t think you can come back with your tail between your legs when your big California dreams crumble into the ocean. That shit ain’t real.” My father spoke like I had any dreams beyond escape and being my own boss.

“I’m not coming back.” I had vague ideas of starting a business, but for four years of survival, not Hollywood fortune, had been the goal. I’d latched onto California because it was as far west as I could go without hitting the ocean. Sunny days and no snow sounded excellent to me.

“Good.” His eyes narrowed, hard like a diamond blade and equally deadly. “Stay gone. Not like you’re worth much here. Always running off to town. You’d think the Jennings adopted you.”

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