Page 85 of Peaks and Promises

“Are you saying you want to tell him about our apartment?”

“Yes. And I’ll see if I can get him to let out some of his aggression. Without hitting anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“What are fake stepdads for?”

She smiled, but there was something else in her eyes. Sadness.

Was it sadness for her son? Or because I wasn’t the man she’d thought I was?

We headed back to the house, and once inside, I showed her where I’d found the cast-iron pan so she could put it away. We chatted a little as we finished cleaning up, and it seemed like we were okay.

But that openness I’d seen, that possibility of a yes… It was gone. I’d shaken her trust. Maybe not a lot. But enough.

CHAPTER 19

Reese

While I waited for my mom to bring Nate home, I wandered out into my dad’s shop. Felt like I should give Summer some space.

The emotional whiplash of the previous hour was getting to me. From almost kissing Summer to the stark reminder of why I couldn’t, and the look in her eyes when I’d told her the truth… It was a lot.

I took slow steps through Dad’s workspace, gazing at the neatly organized tools. It would have been easy to fixate on the bad memories. Especially the ones that had led me away, down the dark road I’d traveled. But that wasn’t the entire story.

There were good memories, too. Building things with my dad and brothers. Learning to drive in a nail or turn a wrench. Looking back, my dad had the patience of a saint. He’d never chased us away. Never hesitated to let us help, even when that must have meant more work for him.

Not that things had been perfect. He was human, and so were we. But living with my own mistakes put things in perspective. He’d been a good father.

A lightweight axe hanging from a hook caught my eye. As a kid, I’d looked on it with irritation. In the Haven household, fighting with your siblings often got you relegated to wood-chopping detail.

At the time, it had felt like a punishment. I’d swung that axe, seething with anger, many times. But I’d come to realize, Dad hadn’t set us to work because he needed kindling. He’d given us an outlet—a way to take out our anger on something other than our brothers.

Most of the time, it had worked. I still remembered the way the fight would drain out of me, and I’d go back inside acting like a much more reasonable kid.

I grabbed the axe from the hook and found a larger one for myself. I wasn’t going to make Nate chop kindling. But maybe letting him take out his anger on a stump or fallen log would help.

After finding two pairs of safety glasses, I left both axes leaning against the side of the shop and went inside to see if Nate was home yet. I found him in his bedroom, sprawled out on the top bunk.

“Hey, chief. Wanna take a walk with me?”

“Sure. Where are we going?”

“Just outside.”

He banged his knee against the ladder as he climbed down. Other than a muffled grunt, he didn’t complain. I didn’t say anything. Just waited while he put on his shoes.

It was the weirdest thing. He wasn’t mine, but he reminded me so much of myself at his age. Big, awkward, and lacking body awareness.

He followed me through the kitchen and out the back door. Even late in the day, the dry air was warm, and the gravel on the path crunched beneath our feet as we made our way toward the workshop.

I picked up the axes and handed the smaller one to Nate.

He held it in a loose grip, like he wasn’t sure if he should have it. “What’s this for?”

“Most of the time, chopping firewood. But you need to learn to swing it first. We’ll hike out into the woods a bit and find something to hit.”

His mouth turned up in a smile as he tightened his hold on the handle. “Cool.”