Anna DeStefano - The Prodigal's Return

A part of him hated Nathan for making him care this much again. Another, desperate part needed to see the old man so badly it made no sense. Nothing good could come from letting himself be sucked back into this place. He’d bet his restored ’65 Mustang GT Fastback on it—one of the few luxuries he’d indulged in since regaining control of his trust fund.

Neal winced.

He’d been so certain staying away the last three years was the right thing. Most of him still was. But what if…

Damn.

There was no room in his world for what-ifs. He’d finally accepted his mistakes and he’d moved on. He’d been determined that as much good as possible would come from Bobby’s death, his prison sentence and the lives both had shattered. What-if wasn’t going to make that happen. But second thoughts had hounded him the entire drive over.

Medical what-ifs—all likely candidates for a man his father’s age—that Doc Harden hadn’t confirmed nor denied. What the cranky old doctor had said repeatedly was that Neal should get his black-sheep self home and ask his father what was going on in person.

Neal shoved the transmission into Reverse. Gripping the steering wheel, he fantasized about banking into a steep turn and barreling back to Atlanta and the people he actually could help. Then with a curse, he yanked the gearshift back to Neutral and set the hand brake.

Nathan had refused any but the most basic medical intervention for whatever ailed him. Maybe Neal could talk his father into doing more, the doctor had suggested.

Maybe.

The one useless thing Neal despised more than what-if.

His life was about cold, hard reality. No more destructive emotions. No grand gestures. No time for wishing things were different or looking back to what had been. Now maybe had brought him to a screeching halt on the outskirts of town, unable to keep going for more reasons than just Nathan.

“Jennifer Gardner.”

There. He’d said her name, and it hadn’t hurt a bit.

She’d no doubt moved away years ago. Gotten on with a life that could never have included him. She’d have missed him. Mourned for him. But she’d have moved on by now. And that’s what he’d wanted for her, why he’d refused to answer the letters she’d written to him in prison. Thirty of them in all. Precious ties to the beautiful girl he’d once loved. Letters still kept in the back of his bedroom closet.

Unopened.

Unread.

Impossible to throw away.

With the discipline that came from years of practice, he refused to let her face materialize in his mind. But as always, the perfection of her crystal-clear laugh haunted him.

What if she was still in Rivermist…

With a curse, he revved the idling Ford engine, hating the rush of helplessness that came with the sound. Only a coward would turn back now, but that’s exactly what his instincts told him to do.

Run.

Run just one more time, and leave these people in peace.

Flipping his hometown’s welcome sign the bird, he revved the motor again. But he stayed put, same as before. Not able to move forward or head back. The man he’d become didn’t run. He fought until he found a way to get through whatever was facing him.

So why did the reality of finally being back here have him spinning his wheels and going absolutely nowhere?

FACING THE CAIN kitchen door and the layer of rust covering its outer screen, Jenn mentally counted backward to her last tetanus shot. A ridiculous excuse for stalling, but now that she was here, she needed time. Just a moment to shut out Traci’s bombshell at lunch and refocus on the next Hallmark moment of her day.

The rickety front door had been locked and no one had answered the bell. So she’d snaked around back through the overgrown yard she’d once turned cartwheels in, and the reality of the run-down place, of all that had been left broken for too long, hit home.

Broken.

What a way to describe the chasm yawning between her and this man she’d once loved like a father. The Cain and Gardner families had shared holidays, birthdays and summer barbecues. Winter ski trips. She and Neal had run with the church youth group while their parents chaperoned—a euphemism for keeping the youngsters out of trouble while the adults acted like kids themselves. Their families had been inseparable, intertwining, planning for a shared future, right up until that night. That awful night.

A blast of wind tugged at her coat and her second thoughts. This wasn’t about what they’d had, or what they no longer meant to each other. This was about helping Nathan Cain now. Spending a few minutes letting him know someone still cared. Just a few minutes. Was that too much to ask?

She pulled back the screen and knocked. After the fifth knock, her dread at seeing Nathan again gave way to concern. She tried to peer through the curtains covering the center window. But there was nothing to see but dust and shadows. Then, from out of nowhere, one of the shadows moved toward her.

She screamed, her bags dropping in a heap on top of her foot.

“Ouch!” She leaned on the door and massaged her foot through her tennis shoe.

Okay! She got it. She wasn’t welcome here.

Then the lock clicked and the door jerked away. Her balance shifted forward. Squealing, she tipped into a mountain that smelled of stale beer and way too little personal hygiene.

“Damn it,” Nathan Cain grumbled as she righted herself.

He was dressed in the same filthy, torn jeans as the other night. No shirt, no socks, nothing to combat the morning temperatures. His blond, gray-streaked hair stuck out in more directions than should be possible in a three-dimensional world. And his brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, were swollen and bloodshot. One of his grimy hands lifted to block the afternoon sun.

He still wasn’t exactly sober.

“What the hell are you doin’ here at the crack of dawn?” groused the man who’d once led Jenn’s junior-high Sunday school class. “I’ve got a good mind to—”

“I—It’s one o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Cain.” The stench of him made it difficult to speak. “I—I—”

“I, what?” He gave her a vague perusal, then a twisted smile. “Well, if it isn’t little miss Jennifer Gardner. Thought I’d seen the last of you when you sprinted out of here weeks ago.”

“I—I wanted to bring a few things over….” She bent to gather the scattered groceries. “I mean, when I dropped you off, the—the kitchen, it looked so…”

Repulsive?

She stooped and reached for a box of macaroni and cheese. Nathan’s hand made it there first. Hers recoiled before she could stop herself.

He crouched beside her and handed her the box.

“What business is it of yours what my kitchen looks like?” he asked in little more than a whisper, as if talking in a normal tone hurt.

“I—I just want to help.” She stood and put the distance she needed between them, a bag of store-bought guilt hanging from each hand. “Just trying to help a friend.”

“Friend?” He straightened, too, his knees cracking, his balance wavering, until all six foot three of him loomed over her. He half collapsed against the door-frame and crossed his arms over his chest. “What gave you the idea I needed help?”

He looked so much like his son even in his rundown state, Jenn caught herself staring.

“I almost ran over you the other night, Mr. Cain. And you didn’t— You don’t look well.”

“Well, isn’t that neighborly of you to notice.” His stare reinforced his sarcasm.

Then an odd sort of confusion slipped through his antagonism. He inched backward into the house, his motions unnaturally slow. Gone was the grace and coordination of the man who’d once given the teenagers in town a run for their money on the basketball court.