CHAPTER 2
ROOK
Even though I’m surrounded by people, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone. Today marks the loss of the last of my blood family, at least the family that was worth a damn. Now, all I have left is a father who never cared about me or my family’s land.
I’m so glad I had my grandparents because I have no idea who I would be right now if not for them. I was devastated when my grandmother passed away; I can still feel her loss. It made it very real that I would be right where I am now but knowing it then doesn’t make today any easier.
Everything in me wants to run away from this moment. Being here makes it real. Being here means my grandpa is never coming back. I won’t have the opportunity to prove to him that shifting to a cannabis grow, with a focus on boutique strains and concentrates, is the right path for our family’s farm.
He was skeptical from the moment I brought him my idea. It’s not like I can completely blame him either. I came to him straight out of college with a big idea, a degree in Agricultural Economics, and just enough knowledge of horticulture to be cocky.
After barely settling back into the house after graduation, I went to Grandpa. I was practically vibrating with excitement. He could tell something was on my mind and he smirked at me while leaning back in his chair on the porch, the one he had sat in for decades.
“I can see you practically overflowing with ideas,” he said while rubbing his jaw with his calloused hand.
It was those hands that showed me how the farm worked, how to nurture the land and crops, and how to fix the things needing to be fixed.
My grandparents didn’t have to open their home to me; but they did, and then they gave me more than a roof over my head.
They gave me a purpose as they showed me the connection I have to the land.
My belly was filled with nerves as I lowered myself into the chair next to him, the one my grandmother occupied before her passing. The only regret I had with going off to college was missing out on time with my grandmother. But I also know how proud of me she was.
“I think we have an opportunity here,” I told him, choosing my words carefully. “I know how hard things have been, and you’ve experienced the highs and lows of traditional farming.”
Grandpa let out a wheezing laugh. “You say traditional farming like there’s another way.”
His words made me pause, not because I expected a different reaction from him, but because I wasn’t sure how to approach what I wanted to propose.
“There are other ways,” I gently pointed out. “I’m interested in trying a hydroponic grow set-up.”
He blinked at me a few times before a grin split his face. “Next you’re going to tell me you want to grow that wacky tobacco since it’s legal now.”
Even though he expected me to laugh or tell him I would never bring up growing cannabis, I couldn’t. Because that was exactly the plan I came home from college with. I knew it was going to be a hard sell.
Still, I wasn’t expecting his flippant dismissal. It was na?ve of me.
As the quiet stretched between us, he leaned toward me, his eyes narrowing while studying my face. “Well, shit,” he huffed out and sat back while making a motion with his hand for me to continue.
That’s when my ideas spilled out of me like a broken faucet. I have no idea, even now, years later, if I made any sense during our first conversation. I’m fairly sure it was a stream of consciousness free-for-all.
I ended with, “I want to curate a business, from the product to the clients. The goal would be to create something smaller and work with local dispensaries but do it the right way and have an artisan feel. We wouldn’t need to use a large part of the land at first. Still, there will be plenty of room for growth. ”
He looked at me for a long time, and my stomach sank with every breath he took without saying anything. When he finally started talking, I already knew what was going to come out of his mouth.
“I don’t think this is the right time to start something like that. Is it really what we want the Sherman name to be associated with?”
His words were a rejection, but I could feel the way he was trying to soften it.
“I’m not giving up on this,” I told him fiercely.
Because I was convinced it was the right move for us. I had seen the ups and downs of operating the farm, Grandpa had seen even more. It was all he knew and I was aware that he was set in his ways, some of that had to do with not changing anything Grandma touched or was part of.
That’s how deep their love was.
I certainly wasn’t going to push him that day. He listened and he didn’t laugh me off the porch. It might have been a small win, but I was going to count it regardless.
After moving home, it took us time to find our rhythm again, this time with the loss of grandma between us. But we managed it.
And I kept talking to him about my plans. I presented him with data and a business plan. More than once.
It took a long time, but he finally relented and allowed me a small piece of land for what he thought would be more of an experiment than the path into the farm’s future. That’s when I threw myself into making my plan into a reality.
Thankfully, it’s been working. I was able to show him that taking a chance on me was worth something. At least, I hope it’s how he felt.
Things were working and I was bringing in business. I was growing.
Which is why, hopefully, he was proud of me. It would have been nice to hear, but I didn’t get those words from him.
“Rook,” a sweet voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I blink my eyes open.
When did I even close them?
I glance around and realize I’m still here. Still at the gravesite. Where Grandpa has been laid to rest right next to the love of his life. At least they’re together now.
My eyes focus on the woman in front of me, the one gently touching my arm and looking up at me with concern.
Meadow Benson.
She’s been a breath of fresh air since the moment she came into my life.
As she was opening Green Mountain High with her best friends, she was on a mission to find a grower who could provide exactly what she wants and needs for her baked goods.
My little grow was a perfect fit for her, and her business was ideal for me.
Meadow doesn’t need a large quantity of product and is far more interested in quality and the right strains to go with her ever changing menu. She’s an amazing client and working with her has given me hope for my business; hope that I can make my vision into a reality.
At least, I had hope. Now? I’m not so sure.
Meadow is gorgeous, kind, funny, and out of my fucking league.
It’s a shame that she came into my life the way she did and when she did. As much as I’ve thought about asking her out, I wasn’t sure about blurring the line between professional and personal. The business has needed all my focus, and I couldn’t let anything, or anyone, get in the way of that.
Even if I desperately wanted Meadow. Even if it was difficult to concentrate every time I’m around her.
Now she’s standing in front of me at my grandfather’s funeral. My shoulders slump as the weight of it all feels like it becomes even heavier.
I miss my grandpa. Even though he was ornery. Even though he held me to standards that felt too lofty sometimes. Even though he wasn’t sure about my business plan and the dreams I have for the farm.
I miss him.
Meadow studies my face, her blue eyes taking me in with far too much concern. I want to sink into the way she’s looking at me, but I can’t. The temptation is almost too much.
“I’m so sorry about your grandfather,” her voice soothes some of the jagged edges of my emotions. I wish I could lean into the feeling.
“Thank you,” my voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “Thank you for coming. You certainly didn’t have to.”
Her blue eyes soften with empathy. It pierces my chest in a way I don’t like. My hand goes to where the ache lives and I rub my chest as if it’ll help. I’m sure it won’t.
“Yes,” she insists gently, “I did.”
Silence stretches between us. I have no idea how to fill it. From the look on Meadow’s face, she doesn’t either.
I clench my hands at my sides because I want to reach for her. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I want the comfort I have no doubt she could provide. I’m craving it, but it would be totally inappropriate for me to take it. Of course, that’s if she was even willing to offer it.
Fuck, I miss Grandpa.
Grief flares in my chest and my knees weaken. I hate that I need to stand tall, to accept the condolences of everyone who has shown up to help lay him to rest. Part of me wants to crawl in that hole right along with him.
What the fuck am I going to do now?
How can I live up to the lessons he taught me?
Will I be able to take our family farm and make it into something more?
Meadow reaches for me and places her hand on my forearm. The contact burns through my skin and I focus back on her, her touch pulling me out of the darkness of my spiraling mind. Again.
“If you need anything, please call me, Rook,” she murmurs.
I’ve been given these words over and over again today, but this is the first time I believe them. If only I could take her up on it; I won’t.
“Thank you, Meadow,” my voice is rough as I push the words past my lips.
She rises up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek.
The contact is brief, but it stuns me and leaves me stymied for a moment.
Before I even realize what just happened, Meadow has slipped away.
I don’t even try to tear my eyes away from her retreating form, swallowing down my desire to call out after her.
I don’t want her to leave. But she’s gone.
When I turn around and take a few deep breaths, I try to stuff down the emotions attempting to overtake me. Instead of finding a moment of peace as I wallow in the grief that keeps hitting me in waves, my eyes lock on my father.
My fucking father.
The same man who dropped me on my grandparent’s doorstep and only showed back up when it was convenient for him, or there was something to gain. I’m not even sure how he knows about Grandpa’s death. He certainly didn’t show up when we laid his mother to rest.
But he’s here now.
I’m frozen in place as I watch him. He looks around with begrudging pride on his face. When he sees me looking at him, he flashes me a smarmy as fuck smile.
While he’s making his way toward me, I picture slugging him when he’s close enough. I don’t.
But it’s not easy to hold myself back.
When he’s close enough that I won’t cause too much of a scene, I hiss, “What are you doing here?”
He tries to look innocent, but I know better. “I’m just here to pay my respects,” he tries to explain.
The problem is that I learned a long time ago that if my father’s mouth is moving then he’s telling lies. It was a lesson learned the hard way; one I’ve never forgotten.
“I don’t believe you,” I snarl the words. “You only care about yourself. You sure as fuck never cared about your parents.”
I want to say more, to remind him that he never showed up when we buried Grandma. But I don’t want to show him that much emotion. It would only fuel him and his bullshit.
“You never know,” he smirks, “I might be back for my birthright.”
My words are filled with shock, “Your birthright?” My lip curls up in disgust. “You don’t care about the farm.
You only care about you.” When I glance around, I notice some people glancing our way.
The last thing I want to do is shine the spotlight on this deadbeat.
My voice is hard, “You shouldn’t be here. ”
Without caring whether he has something to say, I turn and walk away. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the rest of this day, but I refuse to give my father any more attention.
Not today.
Not ever.
Just as I’m about to reach my truck, I’m stopped by a man in a suit with a look of compassion on his face. “I’m sorry to bother you, Rook,” he says while offering me his hand, “I’m Mr. Holden, your grandfather’s attorney.”
I swallow hard and try to keep my shit together. Just a few more minutes. Then I can fall apart.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Holden. Thank you for coming,” I say the words robotically.
“I’d like you to come down to my office in the next few days.” He slips me his card, and I look down at it, a lump forming in my throat. “Please call my office and we’ll set up a time that is good for you.”
“Okay,” I whisper the word, hating this whole situation.
I have no idea what Grandpa’s lawyer needs to speak to me about. A pit forms in my gut, and I have a feeling it won’t be anything good.
Fuck.
Grandpa, I miss you so fucking much.