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She nods. It’s not that big a town. I know she knows my mother, Marybell, died two years ago. Everyone knows.
There’s that familiar flash of warmth in her eyes before she shakes it off with a shrug. “Well thanks, but…Beau should be here soon. That’s really all the comforting I need…”
I nod. “Well…let me know if you need anything.”
“I don’t,” she snaps. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything or anyone.” She glances over my shoulder and huffs out a breath. “There he is. You should go.”
I don’t bother turning. I offer another nod and walk away. It was a mistake talking to her.
One I’ll never make again.
1
Present
“Don’t you have practice or somethin’?” Dad asks as he tops off my mug. Something the owner of the Hideaway Springs Inn shouldn’t be doing. Like he’s using the refill as a subtle opportunity to ask why I’m hanging around the lobby bar of the Inn. Instead of heading back to my condo in Denver the minute our family meeting was over.
He pours leisurely, almost deliberately so. Like honey out of a jar.
He only bought this establishment a few years back with the noble intention of helping the previous owner out of a bind when the IRS came to collect. At least that’s how it started.
The motivation behind keeping the ancient inn open and revamping it with a lobby bar and coffee lounge came after town officials threatened to shut it down.
After the scandal with Robert Woods’ fraudulent business transactions and then the tragic death of him and his wife, the town became vigilant in avoiding anything that could tarnish its reputation in the media.
The only hotel—if you could call it that—in town being permanently shut down would adversely affect our small community. With there being no hotel for ten miles, our town would get fewer visits from tourists and out-of-town family members. And have zero emergency accommodations for local residents. Or worse—the chance that a bigger fish would make a home here. Which, while better for our economy, would lead to more buildings, traffic, pollution and social tension within our small community.
Besides, Dad’s a lifer in Hideaway Springs. After spending twenty years as a professional boxer, he needs something to keep him busy.
“Don’t you have someone else who does that around here?” I deadpan, glancing at the pitcher of coffee.
He glances back at Bethany, one of two waitresses he has on staff. “Yeah, well, with that fresh bruise on the side of your eye and the scowl you’ve had on since you walked in, you’re a little less than approachable today.”
I flex my jaw and glance at the innocent waitress. “Last week you complained that I was scaring off the customers, now it’s the staff? And if you didn’t want me here, then don’t call me in for a family meeting that has nothing to do with me.”
“Helping your older brother plan his son’s birthday party has everything to do with all of us, now snap out of it.”
I lean back in my booth with a sigh—debating on telling him I’ve decided to hire someone to take care of Elliot’s place.
And then sell it.
Without sounding like a coward. A coward who still won’t admit that his little brother’s death is on his head. A tragedy I could have prevented.
Had I not been so damned desperate for Elliot to be his own person. And leave me to be mine.
Dad turns and scans the small crowd, checking if all his patrons are alright for the time being, then takes a seat across from me. His tone suddenly shifting.
“Hey, I could have gone another way with that.” He chuckles lightheartedly. “Could have said she’s too intimidated to talk to Chase Reeves, the Dallas Kings’ team captain and the guy on this month’s cover of Sports Illustrated.”
“Last month’s.” But the correction doesn’t come from me. It’s from my brother Noah—the second oldest Reeves brother, who just strolled in like he owns the place. Okay, so maybe he owns part of it, but he had his own reasons for rooting himself in this town. Unlike Dad, I don’t meddle in other people’s business.
Same way I wish people wouldn’t meddle in mine.
Dad rolls his eyes. “I was making a point.”
“A point about what?” Noah pries. The attorney in him always asking questions he has no business asking.
“She’s just busy, Dad, leave her alone,” I say, ending the whole Bethany is too intimidated by me B.S.
