6. Owen
Owen
Iparked my car in front of my temporary log cabin and dug through the glove box for the bottle of Tums I kept handy. Just being here had my stomach churning.
The cabin wasn’t the issue. It was far nicer than I had expected and would be the perfect hideout for the next few weeks. It was being back in this town, a place I’d sworn I’d left behind forever, having to grapple with the legacy of my father and the family business.
And then there was Lila. The unexpected upside of this shitty situation. She was smart and curious and fun. I had a blast driving around with her tonight. Her positive attitude was infectious, and shockingly, she seemed to enjoy talking about accounting as much as I did.
Driving around, listening to music and NPR shows, and making deliveries together was more fun than I’d had in months.
She asked question after question about what I did as CFO of DiLuca Construction, eager for every detail. Her excitement reminded me of what it was like when I was trying to figure out my own career, desperate for as much information as I could consume.
I wanted to help her.
She had so much damn potential.
Potential she had no doubt wasted on my idiot brother.
She hadn’t said a bad word about him, but I could only imagine what could have gone down. My mind took off with possibilities, each one worse than the one before, making my blood heat and my fists clench.
If he had hurt her in any way…
With a deep breath in, I rolled my shoulders.
Lila was triggering protective instincts I never knew I had.
I wasn’t usually the kind of guy who got up in arms over drama between other people.
Maybe it was because she was so young. I’d never had a little sister, but that was the only reason that made sense.
The tightness in my chest was more than just the heartburn I knew was coming.
It seemed impossible that I’d left Boston just yesterday. My normal life seemed so far away. However, one glance at my phone brought reality slamming into me. The one hundred emails or so needing my attention hit like a solid punch to the gut.
I climbed out of my car and slipped my phone into my pocket, determined to avoid thinking about work for just a little longer.
As I carried boxes of files toward the large wrap-around porch, a sharp whistle rent the air. Within seconds, two large dogs were sniffing around my legs. I bobbled the boxes but recovered before they could fall to the ground.
“Rochester. Heathcliff,” a booming voice called. “Down!”
I spun at the sound, catching sight of Henri Gagnon, my landlord, and a lanky boy with too-long hair who came up to his shoulder walking down the driveway.
It had been years since I’d seen Henri, but he hadn’t changed much.
His beard was thicker, but he had the same barrel chest and permanent scowl.
The dogs abandoned me and took off at a run for him.
Once I’d set the boxes down, I turned and wiped my hands on my jeans. When Henri was close, I offered my hand. Instead of taking it, the flannel-wearing lumberjack pulled me in for a hug.
When he released me, I stumbled, confused. Had a Gagnon—a member of the family my dad had done his best to convince us boys to despise—just hugged me? What was happening here?
“Settled in okay?”
With a nod, I bent to scratch one of the dogs behind the ear.
Henri stepped to one side and tipped his chin at the boy with him. “This is my son, Tucker.”
The lanky boy, dressed in a Gagnon Lumber hoodie, had floppy dark hair that he pushed out of his eyes. “Tucker Gagnon.” He stuck his skinny arm out, offering me a surprisingly firm handshake.
Henri looked down at him and gave him a smile far softer than I thought was possible for this man.
“You’re my Uncle Finn’s brother?” he asked.
I shifted, at a loss for how to answer. It seemed simple. Yes, Finn was my brother. But this Gagnon kid had just referred to him as his uncle. Damn, things really had changed around here.
Henri grimaced and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “He’s not your uncle yet,” he said.
If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of discomfort in his voice. Again, I didn’t have a little sister, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Henri probably wasn’t thrilled that Finn had knocked up Adele.
Tucker scowled at his dad. “He’s going to marry Auntie Adele, and they’re having a baby.”
Henri grunted. “Yup. And she’s not gonna take it easy on him.”
“Does that mean you’re also my uncle?” Tucker asked me, his head tilted in curiosity.
“Uh…” That title, uncle, always made me feel a little itchy. Merry was great, but I hadn’t spent much time with her, and all this small-town familiarity was making me feel claustrophobic as well.
Thankfully, Henri intervened. “My wife Alice is up at our house making a welcome to town lasagna for you. I’ll bring it down later.”
“And these are for you,” Tucker said, shoving a brown carton of eggs at me.
I frowned at the eggs, then back up at the kid.
Henri huffed a laugh. “My beautiful wife insisted on buying our kids baby chicks. That meant I had to build a predator-proof chicken coop and run. She swore the kids would do all the work. The kids swore they would too. And guess who feeds and waters them every day?”
“You make me clean the coop,” the boy protested, crossing his arms over his chest.
He clapped Tucker on the shoulder. “Builds character.”
God, this guy was too nice. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Most people in Lovewell were outwardly hostile these days, if my brothers were to be believed.
Henri had every reason to hate me and my family. My dad had been responsible for the death of his. His business had struggled for years because of my dad’s illegal and quasi-legal manipulations.
And here he was, making small talk and dropping off fresh eggs.
Though I suppose this could be pity rather than genuine kindness.
That wouldn’t surprise me in the least. If anyone understood what we were going through financially, it was the Gagnons.
We’d sold some acreage to them last year, which allowed us to pay our employees through the winter.
Through the whole process, Henri and his brother Pascal had been professional and helpful.
They clearly took no joy in the demise of our family business, thus establishing them as much better human beings than I could ever be.
God, being here was torture. I was a living, breathing reminder of all my father had done. And although I could not atone for his sins, I could at least acknowledge them.
“I’m sorry,” I said, holding his gaze. “About your father.” It was awkward as fuck, and I felt like an idiot, but I had to say something. There was no protocol for this type of thing. At least I hadn’t blurted out nonsense like “sorry my dad murdered yours. Thanks for the eggs!”
He pursed his lips and gave me a nod. “Thanks, man. You gotta know, we don’t blame you or your family.”
“Yeah,” Tucker added with a firm nod. “We like Uncle Finn. Dad was mad at him for a while, but now he takes me up in his plane.”
That sounded like Finn. Kids adored him because, deep down, he was one. It wasn’t hard to imagine how perfectly he fit in with this nice, close-knit family. I was happy for him. He’d found what he wanted. Family. Belonging. In the most unexpected of places. Namely, this town.
Sadly, what had become a safe haven for him still felt like a nightmare for me, with unforeseen dangers lurking around every corner.
Henri cleared his throat. “Just thought we’d stop by to welcome you and make sure you’re settling in. There’s a decent amount of firewood.” He gestured to a neat stack on the covered porch. “And there are instructions on the wall about how to light the wood stove.”
“I can handle it.”
“My wife almost burned the place down a couple of years ago. I wrote them for her, and they’ve stayed up. Last year, she framed them and hung them on the wall.”
Tucker shook his head, executing the perfect teen eye roll. “Mom.”
“You should be all set. We’ve got a whole shed full of firewood up the hill. You can drive up anytime and help yourself.”
“Or you could chop some,” Tucker said. “My dad and I chop it all ourselves. Sometimes my uncles help too.”
I smirked. This kid had zero issue with shaming a grown man he’d just met. I liked it.
It had been many, many years since I’d chopped wood.
As common as the chore was up here, it wasn’t necessary in a city like Boston.
I was probably six or seven the first time I chopped wood using a small hatchet my dad had given me.
Each of us boys had our own. In retrospect, arming us with sharp blades at such a young age was wildly dangerous and inappropriate, but occasions like that, where we got to spend real quality time with him, were few and far between, so we were always eager to go along with whatever manly shit he was trying to shove down our throats.
“I can chop wood,” I said, giving the kid a gentle glare. “I may live in Boston, but I grew up here.”
“Good.” He gave me a chin tip. “Because my dad and uncles compete. I’m gonna too, once I’m sixteen. Sometimes Uncle Paz and Uncle Remy come over and race.”
Jesus. The last thing I wanted to do was get into some kind of lumberjack competition with the Gagnons.
“Uncle Finn comes too. Aunt Adele is better than him, but she’s pregnant now, so we’re helping him train.”
Now that I’d pay to see. Finn might be an ace pilot, but like me, he wasn’t exactly a mountain man.
“Text me the next time Finn comes over,” I said. “I’d love to see him make a fool of himself.”
That got a smile out of the kid.
Once they’d made their way back to their house, I sat on the porch in an Adirondack chair, taking in the scenery. The moon was almost full and the stars were so bright they lit up the forest. I pulled my knit hat down over my ears, sipped my beer, and tried to make peace with my circumstances.
Yes, I hated this town. But this cabin and this view were pretty great. And then there was Lila.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to ignore the pull I felt toward her. She was an employee, temporary or not, and my little brother’s ex-girlfriend. Not to mention a decade younger than me.
Yet none of those pesky details mattered when she smiled at me.
And when she did, it was like standing in the sun. Her attention was warm and comforting, and it created an ache inside me, one I’d never felt before and couldn’t identify.
But I was here to get the business sold and nothing else. After a good night’s sleep and a gallon of coffee, my self-control would certainly return, and I’d stop thinking about her.
But I reached for another beer just in case.