Chapter 37
Fact or Fiction?
A moving target is harder to hit.
Luke
When I pull up to John Monroe’s property and get out of my truck, I duck behind my door when I hear a loud bang off in the
distance. My eyes swerve around, trying to find the source of what sounds like gunshots, but when another bang sounds off,
I realize it’s coming from behind the house.
At least those shots aren’t being fired at me . . . yet.
Wrapping my coat up tight around me, I crunch through the thick snow as I walk around back and spot John off in the distance.
He’s standing at a table with a long rifle propped on a bipod stand, which he’s apparently using to shoot down a row of beer
cans on a ledge that runs along the border of his wooded property.
He’s clearly in the middle of target practice, which makes me feel a bit like I couldn’t have picked a worse time to drop
by unannounced.
But I’m here for my wife. The love of my life. And I’m not going to let her big bear of a father scare me away no matter how
much ammunition he has. We must have the same end goal in sight. We want his daughter happy. And I feel well-informed on what
will make her happy these days.
I pause as I watch him knock down another can, my nerves dancing in my belly with the loud boom.
My dad was never a big hunter, so it wasn’t something we all engaged in growing up.
And even living in the rural mountains all these years, with the hope of being as sustainable as possible up on our peak, none of us has ever taken to hunting.
We each have some protection rifles that rarely see the light of day, but for the most part, we are not killers.
We respect it for the necessity of feeding a family and I can appreciate the sustainability of it, but to be the one to do the work to kill it .
. . not for me. What can I say? I’m a lover not a fighter.
Something tells me John is a fighter.
“Mr. Monroe,” I call out and step behind a tree in case he perceives me as a threat and aims his weapon right at me.
John removes his noise-canceling earmuffs and turns around, his brows furrowed as he squints in my direction. I offer a timid
wave as I force myself to come out from behind the tree like a big boy.
“What the hell are you doing here?” John barks, turning to dismount his rifle from the holder.
I make my way over and see that he’s removing the shells from the chamber.
That’s a good start, I guess.
“I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment.” I grip the back of my neck as I stand beside him at the table, squinting
at the mangled beer cans off in the distance. Most people would probably be using a target to shoot on. Not John.
“Is now a good time?”
“Now is a great time!” John grips his gun and props it upward on the table, posing like he’s ready for me to take his photo.
All he needs is a dead animal carcass in his free hand to really complete the scene.
I pause, wondering if it’s me he’s picturing in the photo with him, playing the part of a carcass, and as if he can read my
thoughts, he sighs heavily and lays the rifle back down.
“What can I do for you?” he asks with a deep, throaty voice.
My mouth goes dry instantly as I struggle with where to start. I practiced what I was going to say to him on the drive over here, but now my mind is blank. A void of nothing. Robyn . . . something about Robyn. God, I hate saying her name.
Clearing my throat I mutter, “Um . . . it was made aware to me this week that the potential buyers for Monroe Lumber are Robyn
and Matt Whitaker with Precision Construction?”
John wrinkles his nose at me. “Yeah . . . what of it?”
I nod now that he’s confirmed it. “Well, I know them. Kind of. And I thought you should know that my family doesn’t have the
best history with them. It dates back to a beef between my father and Matt over a bidding war on a new development here in
Boulder.”
John twitches his gray mustache and waves me off. “Oh, that’s just business.”
“It gets worse,” I state quickly, an edge to my voice over the fact that I know I’m going to have to share more than I wanted
to with him in order to get him to fucking listen. “My brothers and I were . . . involved with Robyn.”
John’s face twists in confusion.
Can’t blame the guy.
“It was over a decade ago, but it wasn’t pretty. I’m not proud. In fact, I’m fucking ashamed, and I’d really not like to discuss
the particulars. I hid this past from your daughter because of how disappointed in myself I am over it, but I’m here to tell
you that if you sell Monroe’s to the Whitakers, you are letting a world of darkness into your life.”
“What are you talking about?” John shakes his hand in front of me, clearly not absorbing the gravity of what I’m saying.
“They’re horrible people,” I state firmly, refusing to let him slag me off. “They don’t live by normal rules of society, and
that’s saying a lot when my brothers and I chose to live on a secluded mountain to get away from society.”
John exhales harshly. “So, what are you saying? Their money is no good? They doubled their offer to me. Doubled. Signed a letter of intent and showed proof of funds. Do you know how much money we’re talking here?”
“I’m saying that if you sell to them, you will be without a doubt extricating your daughter from that business. She will not
want to work for them and if she does, they will figure out a way to make her life miserable so she quits.”
“What, ya still got the hots for his wife?” John huffs, wrinkling his nose.
“I love your daughter, sir,” I state firmly, my eyes laser focused on the man I refuse to let make me feel small in this moment.
“I love her with everything I have and I’m telling you that what you’re doing is wrong.”
“Now, listen here,” John barks, stepping forward and forcing me to take a step back. His eyes are slits as his jaw works back
and forth. “I know I came and helped you boys with some business when Steven passed, but that doesn’t give you the right to
come over and tell me how to run my business. You got it?”
“But—”
“This conversation is over.” He turns around like he’s going back to his target practice, and I can’t help but step forward
and place a hand on the barrel, forcing him to lower it and listen.
“You’re selling your daughter short,” I snap, and my eyes widen when John’s face fills with rage. My teeth crack as I grind
out, “And if you can’t see that, then you don’t deserve her.”
“You think you deserve her?” he snarls, stabbing a finger into my chest. “From what it sounds like, you and your brothers
are a bunch of perverts up on that mountain. How do I know you’re not all fucking with my daughter in the same way?”
My lips thin as I look away. “We made bad choices, but we’ve learned from them. Have you learned from your mistakes?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” His eyes flare and I have to swallow down the pit in my throat to stay strong. He’ll never respect me if I back down now.
“I mean, unless you’ve been a perfect father and a perfect husband and a perfect business owner, maybe extend a bit of grace
to someone before you judge them.”
“Bullshit.” He waves me off and turns away. “You should be happy about this deal. It means you guys no longer have to keep
the charade up. My daughter will never have to work another day in her life.”
“She likes to work!”
“I don’t give a shit,” he thunders, the veins in his temples bulging angrily. “I know what’s best for my business and selling
for this kind of life-changing money is what’s best.”
I shake my head and eye my supposed father-in-law harshly. He looks tired and old and, if I’m being honest, painfully insecure.
He gives the illusion of control and confidence, but there’s a hitch in his stance that reveals a weak spot.
My voice is grave when I ask, “Why don’t you believe in her?”
“I do believe in her,” he snaps, his eyes wide and urgent.
“Then why not let her have this?”
“’Cause she’s all I fucking got left!” he roars, his face twisting in pain. He coughs loudly and turns away, agitated and
trembling as he props his hands on his hips and stares out into the trees. He runs his fingers through his thinning hair and
sighs as if in pain. “Until you know the horror of losing a child, don’t you tell me you’d know what you’d do in my situation.”
I stare at the man standing before me and, weirdly, I see a lot of Addison in him. Both of them scared and pushing away the
good things in their life because they’re too afraid of what might happen if it all goes away. It’s a coward’s game and they’re
playing to win.
But my dad taught me different.
“I may not have lost a child, but I lost my dad,” I state, my voice tight and showing more emotion than I want to in front of this old bear.
“I literally had him die in my fucking arms, so I’m no stranger to pain.
” I inhale a breath, steeling myself to continue.
“But one thing my dad would never do . . . is not believe in me with something I was passionate about. And your daughter is passionate about that yard and the people who work there. Hell, they gave her a bread pan as a wedding present, and she spent weeks making fresh loaves every night until she was able to give one to every single employee. Did you ever do anything like that? Has anyone on this earth ever done anything like that?” I lift my shoulders and feel my chest ache with love and adoration.
“Most people would just write a fucking thank-you card.”
John stares back at me with a scowl as he crosses his arms over his chest, clearly not as impressed by that story as I thought
he should be.
Damn him.
Damn him for not seeing her.
She’s all I see.
I realize with grave disappointment that this was a fool’s errand. Guys like John don’t change their minds. They’re too old
and too set in their ways. My dad had his stubborn streaks too.
But my dad wouldn’t do this. He’s one of the good ones.
The jury is still out on John.
I zip my coat up because I’ve said all that I need to say. Today wasn’t just about informing him of Robyn and Matt. It was
about informing him of his daughter. And if he doesn’t see how wonderful Addison is by now, he never will. But I’ll make it
my life’s mission to make sure she knows for as long as she’ll have me.
“Anyways, I came here to warn you about the Whitakers. They aren’t good people.
It would be a huge mistake to sell to them.
Robyn has made it very clear how she feels about your daughter, so if you do sell to them, you’ll be dropping Roe in the middle of an impossible situation that will destroy her because the lumberyard is her life.
No amount of money will change that fact or buy back the respect you’ll lose from your only child. I’ll see you at the rehearsal.”
I turn to leave and then pause to add one more thing. “The marriage is real for me, by the way. I don’t want out. It’s real
and it always has been for me.” I turn on my heel to look him in the eyes. “I don’t think it’s the same for your daughter,
but I’ll be whatever she needs me to be because that’s how much I love her . . . for whatever that’s worth to you.”
He nods as his eyes move up and down my body, assessing me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “You know it was Aaron
who started the whole fact-or-fiction thing.”
A chill runs down my spine and I forget the second part of the sentence and because I’m so focused on the first part. Addison
said her father never talks about Aaron. Doesn’t even speak his name, so I’m shocked at him uttering it so casually just now.
“I’ve heard you and Addison say that phrase to each other before and I didn’t know if you ever knew it came from Aaron.” John’s
cheeks stretch into something resembling a smirk. “He was learning the definition of nonfiction books in school just before
he died, and he got real obsessed with it. He’d constantly ask Addie if stuff was fact or fiction on the television. It was
their thing.”
My chest aches with that information and who I learned it from. “I’m really grateful you told me that.”
He coughs loudly and loses all affection on his face. “She loves you back.” John nods, his jaw taut. “Even if she don’t say
it. It’s still a fact.”