Chapter 9
“Justice, honey, I don’t want you getting caught up with Jordy or Debbie,” her father’s gravelly voice came through the phone. “I’m pissed enough for both of us, but it’s taken care of.”
Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.
She had called her dad once she was on the road.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I specifically told him not to bother you in the hospital. Not during recovery. Not for the first few days at home. I made that crystal clear.” She nearly growled the last words, fury curling hot and wild in her gut.
When Tina had called to warn her that she’d had to ask dad’s visitors to leave when she heard loud voices, Justice knew exactly who had come. Her dad’s deadbeat brother, Jordy, and his equally loathsome wife, Debbie.
The tires churned on the pavement as she sped toward the hospital, the landscape blurring past her windows. The beauty of the late afternoon couldn’t cool the fire burning in her chest. Of all the days… Jordy and Debbie had to choose today to stir up their usual self-serving drama.
She hadn’t even had time to process everything from the funeral. Not the bittersweet memories. Not the ache of seeing Charlie’s casket lowered into the earth. And certainly not the man who’d nearly unraveled her with nothing more than a look and a soft-spoken “I’m glad I get to see you again.”
Tyler Marconi. She hadn’t recognized him at first. The man from the hospital’s presence had been quiet grief, his voice rough with sorrow, his strength barely holding him upright. She hadn’t connected him to the photos she’d seen scattered throughout Charlie and Cecile’s home over the years.
In those framed snapshots, he’d been younger, his hair longer, his beard fuller, always in uniform, a distant figure standing shoulder to shoulder with other soldiers. Sometimes in sand-colored camo, and sometimes beneath jungle leaves.
But this Tyler—grieving, grounded, utterly compelling—had blindsided her. And now that she knew who he was, knew that the man she’d comforted in that sterile hospital room was Charlie’s grandson, the connection felt even deeper. Almost fated. And now she was driving away from him. Again.
The ache in her chest twisted into something sharper than anger. She had believed their moment in the hospital would be just a moment. Fleeting. Unrepeatable. Two strangers clinging to each other for the briefest heartbeat of comfort before drifting back into their own lives.
But then he’d been there, standing by Charlie’s casket. Speaking with warmth, strength, and sorrow. And when their eyes had met, something had passed between them again. Something she didn’t want to pretend hadn’t happened.
And still, she’d had to leave. By the time she pulled into the hospital parking lot, her jaw was set and her hands still shook from a mixture of fury and regret.
She marched down the hallway, giving a tight, polite smile to the nurses behind the front desk, silently praying they couldn’t read the storm behind her eyes. Her heels clicked like gunshots on the tile floor, echoing her pulse.
When she stepped into her father’s room, the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding released in a rush. He looked good. Really good.
Her dad sat upright, propped against a mound of pillows, a tangle of IV tubing still draped beside him, but his color was strong and his eyes alert.
“Dammit,” he muttered when he saw her, his gaze flicking to her funeral clothes. “Seeing you dressed like that just reminded me of Charlie’s funeral. I’m sorry, Justice. I shouldn’t have called. Wasn’t thinking straight.”
“It’s fine, Dad,” she said, crossing to the bed and sitting beside him. She laid a hand on his wrist, reassured by the steady beat beneath her fingers. “The service was this morning at the cemetery. It was beautiful. And I went to the Legion Hall after to help with the food.”
His sharp eyes narrowed as they took her in. “You look flushed. You sure you’re okay?”
She let out a sigh, pushing a few wisps of hair behind her ears. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice betrayed the simmer still burning inside. “Just mad at Jordy and Debbie, that’s all.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “I shouldn’t have pulled you away from the reception.”
“Dad,” she murmured, turning to face him fully. “We don’t keep secrets from each other when it’s important. Tell me what happened.”
He huffed a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “They came in here all bluster and false piety. Praising God, I’m still breathing like they hadn’t spent the last years pretending I didn’t exist unless they wanted something.”
She could picture Jordy’s sanctimonious voice and Debbie’s crocodile tears perfectly. The performance. The manipulation. Her stomach turned. Her mother had always called them “users in church clothes.” Justice leaned back slightly, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “Of course they did.”
“Anyway,” Jack muttered, “he wanted to know if I’d made a decision about giving him a loan.”
Justice blinked, stunned. “A loan? Good grief, Dad! I suppose they’ve already burned through the last of the inheritance, haven’t they?”
Jack snorted, his expression twisted with equal parts disgust and amusement. “It’s a good thing I have every legal document tucked away in that lockbox. Jordy has the memory of a fruit fly when it comes to money he’s already blown.”
He leaned his head back against the pillow and let out a sigh that sounded like it came from his soul. “Then Debbie jumped in, all high and mighty, whining about how it wasn’t fair that I got the business. Said I need to think about the whole family and stop being so damn selfish.”
Justice’s blood boiled so fast it was a wonder the IV pole didn’t rattle from the heat radiating off her.
She shot to her feet, the scrape of the chair loud and sharp against the floor. Pacing to the window, she crossed her arms tightly, trying to breathe her way through the red-hot fury roaring through her chest.
She counted to ten. Then twenty. Didn’t help. Spinning back around, she marched to her father’s bedside, sat down again with purpose, and reached for his hand. She folded her fingers around his, holding on as if to anchor them both.
“You don’t worry about them,” she said, her voice low, controlled, full of steel. “I’ll take care of it. I am taking care of it.”
But her father, ever the protector, shook his head. “Justice, it’s my job as your dad to protect you—”
“Bullshit.” She interrupted, eyes blazing. “I’m thirty-two years old, co-owner of the family business, and right now…” She leaned in slightly, eyes locked on his. “I’m in charge.”
For a beat, there was silence. Then Jack burst out laughing, deep and full of pride.
“I know I’m not much help at the moment,” he said between chuckles, “but I’m getting stronger every day.
You heard the doctor. Full recovery. I just don’t want you running yourself ragged dealing with their crap on top of everything else. You’re already doing so damn much.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she asserted. “I have it all under control. And I can definitely handle your deadbeat brother and his boozy wife.”
At that, their eyes met, and they both laughed. It wasn’t the first time they’d found mirth in the midst of a storm. That was how their family had survived the worst moments… by sharing grit and humor.
Once the laughter faded, Jack looked down at their joined hands and sighed. “I’m sorry as hell I missed Charlie’s funeral.”
Justice leaned her head against his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re not just sorry you missed my apple pie?”
Jack grinned. “I’ve never been more grateful to Cecile Marconi than the day she taught you that recipe. Your mama always had magic in the kitchen, but there was something about that pie. It was like you brought heaven into the house.”
Justice smiled, the memory bittersweet. “She didn’t have any daughters or granddaughters to pass it on to,” she said softly, “so she told me she wanted the recipe to live on.”
They fell into a quiet hush, the kind that only years of closeness could make comfortable. Outside the hospital window, the light had begun to shift, the gold of late afternoon giving way to the warm amber glow of early evening.
Then, almost hesitantly, she said, “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but… Charlie’s grandson made it in time. He got to see him before he passed.”
Jack’s eyes lit with genuine joy. “Hot damn, that’s good news.” He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in memory. “I remember talking to Tyler a few years ago, when he visited. Quiet man. Sharp, too. I think that was around the time Cecile died.”
Justice gave a soft sigh, thinking back. “Yes, and I had the flu that week. I couldn’t go to her funeral.”
“That’s right,” he murmured. “I’d forgotten about that.”
They sat in another pocket of silence, but her thoughts had drifted elsewhere. To Tyler. To the heat that had sparked low in her belly when their eyes had met across the dessert table. To the soft rasp of his voice when he said, “I’m glad I get to see you again.”
He was taller than she’d expected. Strong, but not in the overbearing way that screamed insecurity.
He had the kind of build that spoke of power and control, of a life forged through discipline.
His hair was cropped close at the sides, slightly longer on top, and his short beard only sharpened his already angular jaw.
But it was his eyes that stayed with her. That odd, smoky hazel-gray that didn’t quite settle into a single color. Eyes that held pain, and depth, and curiosity. Eyes that had searched her face like they remembered something their mind hadn’t caught up to yet.
And he wants to see me again. A smile tugged at her lips, growing as her mind drifted further into the memory of him.
Her father’s voice cut through the reverie, warm and teasing. “What’s that smile for, girl?”
Justice blinked at her father’s question, her chin jerking back slightly. “Oh, I was just… thinking about…” She was instantly aware of the warmth creeping up her neck.
Jack studied her, all too aware, and a knowing grin spread across his face. “I remember thinking Tyler was a handsome devil when I met him a few years back. Looks like I’m not the only one who noticed.”
She shot him a narrow-eyed glare, the kind she’d perfected since she was fifteen, but it bounced right off him. He chuckled, pleased with himself.
“We just talked for a minute. That’s all,” she muttered.
“Mm-hmm. Well, if he’s moving in, you’ll be next-door neighbors.” Jack’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Seems like fate might be handing you something, honey.”
She looked away, heart tugging unexpectedly. “I don’t know what he’s going to do. He might sell. Leave town.”
She didn’t mean to sound so disappointed, but the thought of Tyler turning around and selling the property to the sleazy developer who would raze Charlie’s legacy and toss up some sterile condos for vacation rentals twisted her stomach into knots.
But it was his decision. His grief. His choice. Her voice softened. “If you’re okay for now, Dad, I think I’ll head home. I’ll inform the nurses that Jordy and Debbie are no longer on the visiting list. Permanently.”
Jack huffed, though his affection showed through. “I can take care of myself, sweetheart.”
“I know you can. But I can take care of you, too.” She leaned forward, gripping his hand. “And when it’s time to take out the trash, I’ll do it.”
They shared a grin, and she leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His skin felt warmer than it had in days, less sallow, more alive, and it sent a quiet wave of gratitude through her chest.
Outside, the sky was deepening into that magical space between dusk and nightfall, the air soft against her face as she stepped out of the building.
This time, the drive home didn’t feel weighted.
Her body no longer sagged with tension. Instead, something light and electric danced beneath her skin, moving through her veins like tiny sparks.
The thought of Tyler being just next door had her smiling before she realized it.
Once home, she showered quickly, letting the hot water wash away the lingering hospital smells and emotional weight. She dressed in soft yoga pants and a worn sweatshirt, tied her damp hair into a low bun, and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
She had baked two apple pies and taken one to the reception. The other sat on the counter, still untouched.
Her dad would be on a restricted diet once he came home. This second pie would just sit there, tempting them both. She wrapped it carefully, covering the golden, buttery crust with foil and pressing the edges smooth.
But as she turned toward the window, her steps slowed.
Light glowed warmly from the windows of Charlie’s old house.
Well, now it was Tyler’s. Her heart skipped.
She hadn’t expected him to stay there tonight.
But he was. Alone, probably. Processing the ache of goodbye.
Surrounded by his grandfather’s things as a deep silence settled over every room like dust.
She clutched the pie to her chest and walked toward the back door. “It’s just pie,” she told herself. A kind gesture. A neighborly offering.
But she wasn’t fooling herself. She wanted to see him, even if only for a moment. Even if he was still in his dress blues or had already changed into jeans and was exhausted. She wanted to see those eyes again… wanted to feel that quiet gravity between them and know she hadn’t imagined it.
She hesitated at the threshold, hand resting on the knob, nerves prickling at the base of her neck.
He buried his grandfather today. He might not want company.
He might need time. But her gaze drifted back to the house, to the steady amber light glowing behind the curtain, and something in her heart whispered louder than reason. Maybe… just maybe… he needs a hug.