Chapter 19
SAM
Isit at the kitchen counter, laptop open, updating the spreadsheet before I head out.
I canceled the equipment rental for the week and borrowed an excavator from a guy I’ve worked with for years—cost me a case of beer instead of six hundred bucks.
I switched suppliers on lumber too and sold off the extra composite decking I had from a previous job.
Even took on a small evening repair gig I would’ve passed on before.
Nothing fancy, just labor and cash in hand.
I type in the numbers, watching the total tick down.
It’s the first time the number feels like it’s moving in the right direction. Not fast enough, not even close.
Today, I plan to finally confront Rick. Determined, I head into my truck and drive to Cascadia Country Club.
I’ve been here plenty of times because my parents have a membership and Holly’s always looking for an excuse to stop in since Mandy’s dad owns the place.
But right now, I am here for my own business.
I spot Rick in the distance, decked out in an all-white tennis outfit, nursing a scotch. Not a hair out of place. Did he even break a sweat?
“Hey, Sammy boy!” he calls out, clapping me on the back. “You really need to get a membership. This is where all the bigwigs hang.”
I glance around. He’s not wrong; deals get made in places like this. But the longer I look, the more I realize something: these may be the men who rake in the big money, but I don’t want their lives.
Old guys flirting with cocktail waitresses, their beer bellies out in the sauna as they gossip about stock tips and whisper backdoor deals to keep each other rich.
Is this what I was chasing? Did I really want to make enough money, be successful in my own name, to impress men like them?
“Nah,” I say. “I’m more of a beer-at-a-sports-bar kind of guy.”
Rick shrugs, not listening, eyes glued to a waitress bending over to collect empty glasses.
“Anyway,” he says, “I wanted to go over the contract with you.”
“This laundry services clause?” I ask, flipping open the papers. “It’s a disaster. They’re charging double the market rate—and there’s no termination clause. That’s predatory.”
Before he can speak, I keep going.
“And why is Holly the only one liable for operational losses? This clause protects you and Mandy but throws her under the bus if anything goes sideways.”
Silence.
“Oh—and I see Yarrows owns the laundry service. You know who that is?”
Rick goes pale. He didn’t expect me to know that.
“Look, Sam,” he says, shifting his tone, “you’re the one who wanted in.
You said you wanted to get into the development game, right?
These are the deals you make. You want access?
You cut people in. That’s how I made a name for myself in two years—by connecting with the right people.
People who expect things from me. Just like I’ll expect things from you for bringing you into the big leagues. ”
What the hell have I stepped into?
“You didn’t bring me into anything,” I say flatly. “I’m the one who fronted the money. Holly’s the one holding the risk. And according to this contract, which we are not signing, you’ve done nothing but cash in.”
I stand to leave, but Rick grabs my arm. “You’re making a big mistake. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“You’re right, I didn’t,” I grit out, shaking him off. “But I do now.”
I pause at the door, turning back one last time.
“Oh, and if I ever catch you talking to my wife again?” I step closer, my voice low. “I don’t care how many deals you’ve made. I’ll bury your reputation so deep even your ‘friends’ won’t be able to dig you out.”
I walk out of there knowing it isn't over. Rick isn’t going down without a fight. I know what I need to do. As much as I dread the conversation with my father, it’s long overdue.
Driving to my parents’ house makes me feel ten years old again, desperate for my dad’s approval.
He was always busy working. The only time we really spent together was on the baseball field.
He treated that part of fatherhood seriously—showing up to toss a ball around—but I’m not sure he ever got the memo about unconditional love.
I know he cares, in his way. But growing up, if I wasn’t accomplishing something important, I didn’t feel good enough.
He was just as against me taking over Grandad’s contracting business as my mom was. She turned her nose up at blue-collar work, and Dad—while slightly more tactful—asked, “What are you going to do with it? How will you make it bigger? Better than it already is?”
Not bad advice, I guess. But why did just making a good living have to be some kind of failure?
He already knows about the situation with Rick’s contract. What he doesn’t know is how that mess bled into my marriage. I didn’t want to lay another failure at his feet. And having your wife move out is classified as a failure of epic proportions.
I let myself in through the front door and head straight to his study. I knock, then open the door. He’s seated behind his monstrosity of a mahogany desk, reading glasses perched low on his nose. He glances up and gives a single nod.
“Samuel. Good to see you. What brings you by?”
I take a seat across from him, the air thick with discomfort. I feel like I’m in the principal’s office again.
“Dad, I messed up. I need to make sure Rick is removed from the salon property completely.”
He leans back and laces his fingers over his chest. “Good. Rick has no legal claim. He drew up those contracts himself, which was a joke. Without your signatures, they’re meaningless.
Holly’s name is on the LLC and the lease.
You’ve got documentation of your work and investment. If you want Rick out, he’s out.”
I blink. “That’s … really it? I didn’t just destroy Holly’s and my financial future by getting in bed with that guy?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’ve dealt with men like him my whole career. Parasites. They latch onto early-stage deals and try to wedge themselves in. You caught on early; that’s what matters.”
Relief rushes through me. “Jesus. Okay. That’s a start. Now if only fixing my marriage were this easy.”
Dad narrows his eyes. “What happened with your marriage?”
I shift uncomfortably in the chair. This isn’t a conversation I ever expected to have with him.
“I gave the money to Holly without talking to Becca first.”
He says nothing for a moment. “Did Becca contribute to that account?”
I nod, already wincing at where this is going. “Yeah. She put in a lot, creating systems to ensure we put in more. We didn’t have a prenup, but she drew up a postnup after I made the investment.”
That gets his attention. His eyes widen. “Smart girl.”
I stare at him. “Wait, what? You’re not going to say something about how it was my money?”
He sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
“Samuel, your mother and I had a very different kind of marriage than you and Becca. God knows I love her, but I carried the entire financial load. Your mother grew up used to a certain kind of lifestyle, and I worked myself to the bone to make sure she never had to change that.”
He exhales slowly, his gaze drifting past me.
“I had her father breathing down my neck and always judging. Always watching. I didn’t want to give him any excuse to think I wasn’t good enough for his daughter.”
I nod, slowly taking it in. I was never close to my mom’s parents. They showed up for birthdays and Christmas, but that was about it. I never thought about the pressure my dad must’ve felt back then.
When my appendix burst last year, and I was out of commission for two weeks, Becca had the bills covered without blinking.
Every single one. She didn't even flinch, didn't even mention it until I was back on my feet.
I never had to worry—and I never once stopped to ask myself what it cost her to make sure of that.
I had someone quietly carrying a weight I never bothered to look down and see.
“I’m not saying I regret our life,” Dad continues, “but it would’ve been nice to have someone share the load, you know? I was always afraid that if I stopped pushing, stopped reaching—we’d lose everything. That it would all be gone.”
He looks me straight in the eye. And in that moment, I see it—the regret, the apology he doesn’t quite know how to put into words. Not for the first time, I realize how good I have it. I’ve got a partner. Not just a wife, but someone who hustled with me.
And I went and trampled all over that like her contribution didn’t matter.
We sit in silence for a beat, absorbing everything that was said—and what wasn’t.
Dad clears his throat. “Son, I know I don’t say it often, but … I’m proud of you.”
My throat tightens. “What? How? I screwed up my marriage. I let Rick into a deal he didn’t belong in. I didn’t accomplish even half of what you or Grandad did.”
He chuckles, low and self-deprecating. “Samuel, if I could go back and do it all again, I’d change a lot.
But you? You’ve grown your business, married a woman who doesn’t need you—but chooses you.
You’ve been a good brother. And most importantly, you’ve become a good man.
” He gives me a long look. “To be able to admit you’re wrong and ask for help?
I wasn’t capable of that at your age. You’re already ahead of me. ”
I swallow hard, locking down the emotion stinging my eyes. “Thanks, Dad. I mean it.”
He nods, clearing his throat, clearly as uncomfortable with all this emotion as I am. Then, mercifully, he changes the subject. “So … what are you going to do to win your wife back?”
I laugh at the absurdity of my father's question. “I’m working on it.”
Dad nods in approval. “Good. Well, I’m not sure if this is good relationship advice, but in business, you can’t keep doing what you have always done to get new results.”
Holy shit, my dad just gave me relationship advice.
I nod in understanding as I leave, closing the door behind me. As it shuts, I hear my mother say, “Samuel, is that you, dear?” I close my eyes and sigh. I think I’m about tapped out on parental conversation for the day.
“Hi, Mom, I was just heading out,” I say, hoping she will get the hint.
“Oh, so soon, Mandy is coming over for dinner tonight, you should join us! Apparently, Holly has some questions for her about the salon.”
I eye her warily. I never thought about it before, but this is not the first time she has pushed Mandy and me to be in the same room without Becca.
It has always been subtle, but now I am wondering what else I have been missing.
With Dad’s advice fresh in my mind, I decide to do something different. I push for a reason.
“Mom, why are you inviting me to have dinner with another woman, without my wife?”
My mom looks shocked at my unabashed question. “Oh, Mandy isn’t just some other woman; she is practically family.”
“Mom, Mandy isn’t the type of person we should be welcoming into our house with open arms.”
“Samuel, what are you talking about? Mandy has been there for Holly since the high school accident; they’ve been best friends ever since. Her parents always invite us to their country club galas and invite us to their table to dine.”
"Sure, she was there for Holly after the accident.
" I pause, something I have never said out loud sitting heavy on my tongue.
I had always pushed this thought down, too uncomfortable, too inconvenient.
"The accident she caused, Mom. Did nobody ever question why her father was on the scene before the sheriff?
And that the sheriff has had a club membership ever since? "
“She was a child. Of course, she called her dad first! But still, even though she was captain of the cheerleading squad and had many responsibilities, she still visited Holly weekly and ensured she had a spot on the squad when she healed.”
The fact that my mom is holding someone’s high school days, over a decade later, as proof of being a good person today is beyond me.
“Mom, why do you always seem to favor Mandy over Becca? Becca is an intelligent, beautiful, kind woman who is incredibly hardworking. She has always treated you kindly, and she is the best wife I could ever ask for. She built a life with me. Not for me, with me. Why would you want me with someone not like her?”
Mom tilts her head to the side, like she has truly never thought about it before. “Honey, it isn’t that I don’t want you happy, or that there is anything wrong with Becca. She’s just … different than us.”
My blood starts to boil. “Yeah, she is. She knows how to build something without using people to do it.” I seethe.
Mom lets out a shocked gasp, but I continue. “Or do you think it’s because she comes from a low-income, blue-collar family? Did you forget that Dad comes from a blue-collar family?”
She stills at that. “Yes … I know. But he truly made something of himself and got out of that position.”
I can’t believe her. “Mom, you do realize I work a blue-collar job, right? And just because Holly works at an elite salon doesn’t mean her job isn’t blue-collar, either. Like it or not, lady, you’re the outsider here.”
And with that parting shot, I walk out the door. I don’t know where to begin unpacking the conversation I just had with both my parents. My phone buzzes.
Becca. I stare at the screen for a second before opening it.
Becca
Don’t get excited… but we’re going to need to talk soon.