Chapter XXVI Doggone Perfect （Brady）
XXVI
Doggone Perfect
(Brady)
It’s a beautiful, clear day when I find him by the boathouse dock.
If Dad has a favorite spot on earth, it’s here, lurking under the sprawling shade of this massive willow tree as he watches the lake rippling in the sunlight. He’s alone today like I knew he’d be, no Freddy around, though the nurse is never far behind.
It’s a scenario I’ve witnessed a hundred times growing up, but something about it stalls me in my tracks when I’m still a few feet behind him.
When has my father ever looked so small?
“Brady.” Even his voice sounds tiny and faded as he calls to me.
With my nostrils flaring, I walk up next to him. He doesn’t bother to look up at me.
No surprise.
“Well, let’s hear it,” I start. “I’m sure you’re livid. For once, I can’t say I blame you, Dad. If you want to go off and tell me how stupid and shitty and unworthy I am, now’s your chance.”
I don’t breathe.
Honestly, I probably shouldn’t be encouraging him to ragedump with his heart condition, but I just want this over with.
Dad takes his sweet time deciding how to tear my face off—probably considering his options. Then he smiles, his eyes fixed on a sailboat drifting by.
“What’s the damn point in rattling off the same script you’ve heard a thousand times? Especially when it isn’t true.”
What.
I blink, clearing my throat because I don’t know where this is going.
“I don’t understand. If you need me to spend the next week with PR, hashing out damage control strategies, I’m ready. If you never want me to meet with them again, I’ll do that too. I just need to know what direction you’d like to—”
“No direction,” he growls, cutting me off. “You’ve plotted your path, and I couldn’t blow you off course if I was Poseidon himself. I didn’t bring you here to spin you around. I want to sit back and watch where the wind blows.”
I’m so lost.
When I say nothing, he turns to me, his eyes rheumy and red today.
Christ. Is it his heart . . . or has he been crying?
“Dad, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you delivered, Brady. We’ve been waiting for this for years. You made your mistakes, and you took them on the chin like a man. That’s massive.”
I almost rock back from the shock. His pale-blue gaze sweeps through me.
“You’re feeling okay, right? No new health issues?” I ask gently, shaking my head. “No offense, but you look kind of rough.”
He chuckles. Low and easy like I haven’t heard for years.
That’s when I know the person I’m dealing with may look like Alec Pruitt, but I don’t know him.
“You know, some days I blamed you for putting me in this damn chair,” he whispers, shifting to sit up straighter.
“When I had the attack, I was under the gun with that big orchard deal. Your mother told you it pushed me over the edge—and it certainly didn’t help.
But it wasn’t what I was looking at in my office when I had a fit and they found me on the floor. ”
I swallow thickly, waiting.
He sighs. “I was reading about you. That model blowing her stack when you blew her off—the tabloids ripped you to pieces. And you just carried on posting about dog food.”
“Okay,” I snap. “What’s your point? We know what happened. Are you blaming me for your heart attack now?”
My veins feel like they’re clogged with lead, this paralyzing mix of hot anger and disbelief. Just when I think he can’t shit on me any harder, he proves me wrong.
“I’m blaming myself for panicking over you, Brady.
When that thing with the model came down, I thought you’d never change.
I didn’t see it in you.” He pauses, staring out at the calm water again.
“Then you walked into the biggest bear trap of your life. Instead of flailing, you rose to the occasion. I don’t say this often, but . . . I’m proud of you.”
Holy fuck.
I stand there, gutted, as he smiles at me warmly. I swear there are tears in his eyes as he looks at me.
“You’ll continue making us proud, and maybe you’ll give an old man a chance to move past his pride,” he says roughly.
“I don’t just mean with Lena, with your projects, with everything.
I have to get past the things I never told you.
I had a dog when I was a boy. A big white Lab named Klaus.
He was my best friend for eleven years.”
A dog? I have to pinch myself to make sure this is real.
Only there’s no mistaking the warble in his voice, the way his eyes glaze over with a bittersweet smile. His breath rattles.
“I was a jackass to deny you the same joy when you were little, the kind every kid should have. When that dog died, it broke me. I stuffed up my grief, my fear that another animal might remind me of the one I lost. I was selfish as hell, and I’m sorry.”
“Dad, shit. You’re welcome to meet Queenie anytime. The black Lab we’ve taken in.” I have to fucking cough to keep my throat from sticking. “I think she’d like you.”
I’ve never seen the old man cry, and he doesn’t today, but he comes dangerously, dangerously close.
Without another word running through us like knives, he extends a hand.
And my father gives me the lightest handshake of his entire life, free from fifty metric tons of emotional baggage.
By the time I leave him, I’ve met the man I didn’t know he could be, and I hope like hell to see him stick around.
The next few weeks are a rush like one long flight of top-shelf whiskey.
Somehow, while I was busy trying to unfuck everyone’s lives, my lab worked a miracle with the latest formula and a little help from Wendy’s farm.
The food checks all the boxes for nutrition and costs, and it dominated three similar legacy pet food brands in taste trials.
Now, the secret’s out. Every day there’s a new influencer, partner, or brand beating down my door to help launch Brady Belly in several different flavors.
It’s like I found Aladdin’s cave and a genie to turn the biggest shit show of my life into a granted wish. Before, I never believed it when they said “there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
But without Lena and the scandal, I never would’ve tasted this success.
Even so, it’s a relief to finally have a chance to breathe. And there’s nothing else I need besides my woman, a tent, and our dog.
So much for fostering Queenie. About a week after we got back together, we formally adopted her and had her chip changed over to our names.
No regrets.
No worries that we’re moving too fast.
Not when life has never felt easier.
Today, the gorgeous landscape of Mount Rainier National Park sprawls out around us. The ancient lakes up here are a realism painting come to life, so clear you can see straight through them.
It’s a clear September day as the golden sun beats down on our heads, giving me the calmest vibe I’ve felt since—hell, ever.
With Queenie’s head resting on her shoulder, Lena tips her head back and smiles. “Feels great to leave it all behind, doesn’t it?”
“Seattle? Yeah.”
“Anywhere with nosy people armed with cameras. But I haven’t seen a single hiker here pull out their phone.”
“Aw, you’re tired of the photo shoots?” I chuckle as she glares at me, but her eyes are dancing.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be emotionally prepared for the attention,” she says, absently stroking Queenie’s head.
The old girl’s tail is a helicopter blade, spinning since we set off this morning. It’s probably why she’s tired out after one quick run and a hike. That’s one reason we’re taking it slow, not going too far in one day—giving everybody plenty of rest.
With the shine in the Lab’s eyes, I’m half tempted to start taking her fish oil supplements myself.
“It’s beautiful here, though,” Lena whispers. The lake ahead reflects the grey mountains above like nature’s mirror.
No question. I made the right choice.
This is the kind of place where people go to figure out the rest of their lives.
I stick my hand in my pocket for reassurance that I still have my future waiting inside.
It’s been burning a damn hole in my flannel shirt since I woke up, but I’m waiting for the perfect moment. You only get to do this once, especially for real.
This entire hike looks perfect location-wise, but it’s early fall on Mount Rainier.
People come and go in spurts, winding along the paths. We’re tucked away from the buses bringing tourists, sure, but I want some privacy from stray hikers.
My first proposal was a performance.
I want this one to be ours.
Private. Perfect. Intimate.
“You know my favorite part?” she asks.
I look up. “Pretty sure you’re about to tell me.”
“The phone reception out here sucks, and I don’t even mind.”
She’s right. I haven’t checked my phone since we parked, unpacked our equipment, and started moving.
She kicks a rock with the toe of her boot, and it bounces off into the trees.
“The lawyers haven’t stopped calling about the case with Satan.” She says it so casually. We haven’t mentioned him in days.
If I had my way, we’d never mention that fuck for the rest of our lives after his criminal trial ends.
“Of course. You’re their gravy train.” I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “If anybody had a great reason to clean his ass out, it’s you. Don’t worry too much. The guys Marshall found you should handle everything.”
“He’s a genius. I don’t think the man ever sleeps. But it’s not about the money. I just want to make sure Harry will never do this to another woman again.”
“You’re selfless, Sass. One more reason it’s easy to love you.”
She smiles. The sun brings out freckles on her nose.
I want to spend the evening kissing every one.
“He’ll be behind bars before you know it,” I say, serious again. “With all the charges he’s facing, there’s no chance he’ll weasel out of it. Let him blow his money on legal damage control until he’s bankrupt.”
No exaggeration. Harry Jay faces a deluge of criminal fraud cases, bribery, and yes, revenge porn violations slapped by yours truly.