Chapter 104
Logan
I’m inside the lobby of the five-star Florida hotel Gigi’s father set us all up at, and I’m so freaking miserable I can barely stand to be around myself.
When my father asks to talk to me, I try to push him off. But he’s insistent and leads me outside for a stroll around the massive hotel grounds.
We wander underneath so many palm trees I forget I’m not used to seeing them. After our third circumference around the same plush green lawn, my dad breaks the silence.
“You’ve been testy.”
I know it can’t be good if my dad’s noticed my mood.
“I’m just nervous,” I lie. “You know, about the big day.”
“Son.” Daddy stops in the middle of the path and blocks me from continuing. “You may be able to lie to Gigi and her entire crew of relatives. But you can’t lie to me. Your mother’s noticed, too. Now stop shutting down and tell me what in the hell is going on with you.”
What’s going on with me is that Macey’s face has been in my head ever since I walked away from her at Brick’s. I’ve barely slept, and when I have, I’ve dreamed about her. The reality of being married to a woman who isn’t her—even if it’s not real—is shattering me.
I look at my father’s gruff but familiar face, and I finally crack.
When I’m done telling him the truth, Dad takes a long breath.
“This is some heavy burden you’ve been carrying around,” he says.
I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to help Macey. That’s all.”
“That’s noble,” he says. “And it’s courageous. Ingenious. Very cowboy. But also like a cowboy, it’s stupid.”
I jerk my head up and glare at him. “I can’t believe I told you, of all people, the truth. You’ve always been such an ass to me.”
“About that,” Daddy says.
We end up talking about stuff I never thought he’d bring up. The drinking, the hitting, the way he criticized me for painting—attacked me really—all of it.
We walk in circles around the hotel and the Florida palm trees as he tries to explain he only wanted the ranch for me because the family business is all he has to give to his kids.
I tell him that he can’t shove it down my throat like that because then it’s not a gift; it’s a prison sentence. He nods like he gets it.
“If I can’t give you the ranch,” he says, “let me help you with this pickle you’re in. Your heart’s so invested that you can’t think straight. However, I think between the two of us cowboys, we can come up with a darned good solution.”
Another hour later, we have a plan. Breathing freely for the first time in weeks, I tell him I’ll run it by Gigi after she returns from her hen party, and then I return to my room.
While I wait, I check my email.
What’s sitting in my inbox nearly sends me on a flight back to Darcy right then.
Macey Henwood’s first novel.
Fully finished.
And what’s inside it tells me more than I was expecting.
It’s not just a straight or even a flush.
It’s the full fucking house.