Chapter 2
Chapter Two
WEST
I sat through yet another mind-numbing meeting, resisting the urge to rub my temples while my team clicked through their sleek presentations. Graphs danced across the screen. Numbers. Projections. Growth. All telling a story I no longer had the energy to narrate even though it was mine.
The story of how I bought and rebuilt old homes in Harmony Haven. How I’d made them appealing to young couples who wanted a place to plant roots. It kept people local, gave the town new life, and proved that beneath the dust and neglect, those old towns still had something to offer.
Across the polished conference table, Mr. McConnell, an investor straight out of Texas with boots, bravado, and more money than God, leaned in. His narrowed eyes made it clear that despite Devin, my right-hand man, giving it his best effort. He wasn't buying the pitch. Not yet.
This wasn’t a get-rich-quick kind of investment. It wasn’t even going to make us any money. We both knew it. I hadn’t flown him to Atlanta for a fast return. I brought him here because we shared something rare: a stubborn belief that small towns were still the heartbeat of America.
Places like Harmony Haven, where porch lights stayed on late, and neighbors actually gave a damn.
The irony? I was the poster child for the people who left and never looked back.
I had walked out of Harmony Haven at eighteen with my heart hollowed out and pockets stuffed with the ten grand my parents left me when they died.
I chased something bigger, something shinier than Harmony Haven could ever have offered.
I turned that ten grand into an empire so sprawling, so insulated, that money became white noise. And yet, none of it filled the hollow spaces. None of it felt like enough.
To fill the void, I began buying and rebuilding homes. It wasn't about real estate for me, it was about redemption. About taking the pieces of my soul that I was convinced were destined for hell, and turning them into something good.
Repentance.
No matter how many therapists I paid, I never stopped blaming myself for the fire that took my parents. Twenty years later and that guilt still sat in my chest like an anvil.
Mr. McConnell’s voice cut through the fog of memory. He was frowning and his thick accent dragged over every syllable.
“Mr. Brooks,” he said slowly, “this ain’t the kind of commitment folks make unless there’s big money in it. Says right here in black and white that you know this won’t be lucrative. So if you don’t mind me askin’... what’s in it for you?”
My fingers itched to drum against the table, but I kept still and leaned back. I tried to fake a calm I didn’t feel.
“What do you mean?” I asked, already knowing damn well what he meant.
He grinned. “It’s admirable, what you’ve done in Harmony Haven. But why expand? What’s really pushing you?”
It was a fair question. One I had no intention of answering honestly because he’d never believe me.
“Well,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “what motivates you, Mr. McConnell?”
He chuckled, warm and shrewd. “My family. My kids. My grandkids. Their future.”
“Exactly,” I replied with a tight smile. “My grandparents, my brothers—they’re everything to me.”
Didn’t that count? Wasn’t that enough to make me a family man on paper?
“Tell me about your family,” he pressed, clearly losing interest in my team’s polished pitch.
“I don’t bring my family into the boardroom,” I said simply.
Which was true. My family was the one thing I kept separate from the noise. Sacred. Untouched.
Mr. McConnell stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, Mr. Brooks, this deal is motivated by family, so it matters. I reckon I’ll need to take this proposal home. For me, it's a family decision. You understand.”
I swallowed the frustration clawing its way up my throat. I didn’t just want his money, I needed his name. His signature alone could open doors, get the right contractors, the right city permits.
“I understand,” I said, managing a clipped smile. “The timeline’s flexible.”
He stood and shook my hand, firm and slow. My team shifted uncomfortably behind me, trying to mask their disappointment. I should’ve said something right then. Should’ve told them it wasn’t their fault. That it was mine.
But instead, before I could stop myself, I opened my mouth and made everything so much worse.
“If you need anything,” I said, “I’ll be spending time with my fiancée. She’s been wanting me to be more involved with the wedding plans, but I always tell her I’d marry her tomorrow, right here in this board room, if she’d let me.”
The words dropped like a live grenade.
Silence.
Eyes widened.
My team stared like I’d grown a second head.
Mr. McConnell blinked.
Fiancée?
Wedding plans?
What the actual hell, Westley?
To his credit, Mr. McConnell recovered first, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, congratulations. I look forward to meetin’ her.”
I mumbled something resembling thanks and bolted. I crossed the hall, slammed my office door, and paced like a caged animal.
The intercom buzzed twice, but I didn’t bother answering. Then, without knocking, Hattie, my longtime assistant and the only person brave enough to deal with my moods, marched in.
“Mr. Brooks,” she said calmly, “Mr. McConnell would like to schedule a dinner. With you. And your... fiancée?”
She was definitely asking more than one question.
“Do it,” I barked, waving her off before she could ask the ten thousand questions for which I had no answers. “Best restaurant in town. Book it for when he’s back.”
As the door clicked shut behind her, I dropped into my chair and rubbed my face as if that would somehow erase the disaster I’d just created.
Then I pressed the intercom.
“Hattie, tell Hugo to ready the chopper,” I muttered. “I need to be in Harmony Haven. ASAP.”
After dinner, I stepped out onto the back porch with a glass of iced tea I didn’t ask for, but was somehow always handed.
Grams had gone to bed early, and Gramps joined me out on the porch, settling into his favorite chair like he’d been waiting for that exact moment.
The one where he could give me another speech about how much I suck at life.
The sun was dropping behind the trees, casting long shadows across the field. Fireflies had started blinking to life in the tall grass, and everything felt still and quiet. It had only been a week since his last speech, but I took a deep breath to prepare myself for another.
“You gonna tell me what really brought you home tonight?” Gramps asked, voice low and casual. He didn’t expect an answer, but I knew he would sit there until I gave him one.
I took a sip of the tea, then let out another slow breath. “I needed to get out of the city.”
“That ain’t the same thing as coming home.”
I didn’t respond. Mostly because I didn’t know how to explain that I had imploded my entire afternoon over a single sentence I couldn’t take back. That I was already preparing to lie again, to invent a woman and a love story and a future just to secure a deal that had nothing to do with either.
I’d never lied like that before. Not in business. And sure as hell not about something as big as a relationship. But I also couldn’t admit that I was unraveling. Not out loud. Not even to Gramps.
So instead, I gave him the only truth I could offer. “I just needed to breathe.”
Gramps nodded, slow and understanding, in the way that always made me feel like a little kid again. But then he tilted his head toward me and added, “Breathing is easier when you stop running.”
My jaw clenched. Anger started coming to the surface, but it was mostly at myself.
Had I not lost control of myself, I wouldn’t have been there in the first place.
I’d have waited until Sunday dinner to come into town, and having everyone around would have been enough of a distraction to keep Gramps off my back.
“I’ll head over to the lake house,” I said instead of arguing as though I hadn’t just been emotionally cornered. “Appreciate the tea.”
Gramps didn’t argue. Didn’t tell me to stay. He had seen Marcus, my driver, making his way down the long drive and knew I’d have an escape in a matter of seconds anyway.
“You know where to find us,” he said.
Always.
Before Marcus even had the car in park, I jogged down the steps and slid into the front seat. Technically, it wasn’t protocol. He hated when I sat up front, saying it wasn’t safe. But it wasn’t like I was high on any hit lists. Or at least, I hoped not.
Marcus, ex-Secret Service and built like a human wall, didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Nor did I. He knew when I took off from Atlanta that he would have to come find me, and he knew exactly where to look and where we were going.
Times like this made having multiple properties in the area a real advantage. I usually flipped them fast, but the lake house was one I’d kept for myself. Quiet. Secluded. Mine.
I’d only stayed there once before, a few weeks back when Miles was spiraling over falling in love, and I needed to be close.
The house sat on the edge of Echo Lake, with a dock that creaked when you walked on it and a hammock that had never been used.
Lonely.
When we arrived, I punched the code to the front door and dropped a bag Marcus had brought me inside. Then I immediately went out to the back deck, where the stars felt closer than they ever did in the city.
I should’ve felt peace.
Instead, I stood there pretending I wasn’t the one who set the fire burning under my own damn feet.
Pretending I wasn’t the son who blamed himself.
The man who lied to get what he wanted. The guy who didn’t believe he deserved real happiness, but still wanted something that didn’t feel so damn empty.
The guy who hadn’t just told a bold face lie to get what he wanted from a man he respected.
It was too much, and before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed my jacket off the chair in the living room and ran toward the door.
“Marcus,” I yelled, hoping he was still nearby. “I need to get out of here.”