Chapter 52

Smashing down a solidly built, internal brick wall with a mallet seemed to be the thing to do. Nathan stripped bare from the chest up, started. He’d chiseled the necessary bits previously, had left the rest of the task waiting for him.

Scraps bit at him, made him wince. The parts that didn’t budge, he pounded extra hard.

Uncle was a demented jerk. If by chance he got the crazy heist done, that would be big news. There was nothing tying Nathan to it, except the old fool’s word.

And…Jack’s Bay liked him now. They finally liked him, thought of him as a worthy man.

Most important, he’d restored the memory of his dad and his mom. Despite the horrific tragedy, people were talking about his parents with respect again. That once upon a time, maybe, though they hadn’t been heroic, they’d been normal, at least. Decent.

Yes, mental illness had warped his dad’s mind and had him doing the horrible thing, but that wasn’t the full story. There had been love once. The real thing. Lots of it. And like all real love, it told a story of decisions made. Good ones, self-sacrificing ones, many of them.

Choosing love.

His parents had chosen it, for many years, lived it. And now that was restored.

Did he really want to smash that all to hell now?

No. He did not.

And last night, making love to Amy. Not the act so much, but the utter belonging.

Did he really want to risk losing that? He knew her family wasn’t thrilled she was seeing him.

Did he really want to put her in the position where there’d be more grist for the mill? Where all that might disappear, into the ether, be just another damn memory?

He was so sick of the memories. All of them, the grief and loss. The very personal cost to him, in all of them.

And if he confessed what his fool relative was wanting to do…

It would all be over, once again. All of it.

Nausea swirled in his gut as he kept pitching at that wall. Thoughts assailed him, grew harsh.

And then Ryker started barking crazily in the hallway.

He dropped the hammer. “Boy?” Ran to his dog, just as someone was wiggling the back door, jimmying it.

Nathan stood behind it and braced himself. Ready to deal with whomever came through that door. He was protecting his dog, Amy’s dream, and himself too—in that order.

The lock clicked and the door opened slowly. There, in front of him, was a man about his age. Caught in an illegal act of entering, his mouth dropped open.

“Nathan! It’s you! Man, am I glad to see you!”

The face, the voice, all worked together to jog him into recognition. “Wes? What are you doing here?”

The boy who’d tormented him mercilessly as a kid.

Wes wiped his face as the tension eased in it. “I thought someone was in here messing with Amy’s place again.”

“Well, call the cops next time, bro! What if I’d really been someone criminal?”

“I know. Stupid.” Wes moved forward suddenly, grasped Nathan’s hand. “But hey. It’s so good to have you back!”

And Nathan, tough ex-SEAL that he was, let him shake it, wordlessly. Shellshock. It didn’t just come from shells.

“I heard you were back, something about a dog too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I overheard a group of women at a town thing the other day. They were saying how great it was you’re back, wishing Adam and Noah and Scarlett were too. How they missed your mom and dad being around, wishing…” His face flushed red.

Nathan stared at him, suddenly caught in the middle of something the man obviously hadn’t wanted to say.

“Well, that they’d been more help. Your family was so cool, until…well, you know. Aww, hell, Nathan. That shit, depression, mental illness, hurts a lot of people. But no one forgets how things were, before. Your parents were good, your family was solid. One of the best. And Jack’s Bay is catching up with the times. Thank goodness.”

He didn’t know what to say. “Uh, thanks. That means a lot.”

Wes grinned, relieved. “Awesome. Well, listen, I’ve got to run.” He stopped, one foot out the door. “To think I thought you were a crook. Ha. Catch you later, man!”

And he was gone, leaving Nathan blinking, but with something warm spreading in his chest.

But of course, Ryker needed attention. “Coming.”

Out of the crate, the little dog scrambled into his lap, licked his face. And he realized—the dog was quite a bit of a bigger handful than he’d been, just a few short weeks ago.

“You’re turning into a damn fine dog, you know, little one?” He held the pup close suddenly, buried his face in the soft bronze fur.

Ryker squirmed. “Hold on, boy. Just a bit more to do, okay?” He quickly wiggled him into the crate, grabbed the hammer, stalked over to the wall he’d been pounding on, and stared at it, the rubble around it.

It was partially down. A mess. And yeah, it all had to come down before anything new could be built.

Out with the old, in with the new.

And sometimes, old things came to life again. Were reanimated.

That was the best discovery of all.

He laid the hammer down. And knew what he had to do.

He gave Ryker food, and a couple of huge, blistering hugs. Then crated him again. “Not taking any chances.” He patted Ryker through the cage, reached his fingers in to touch his dog, as Ryker whined for him. “No chances with you, Buddy. Not anymore.”

He rose, glanced at his watch. “You need your shot in two and a half hours. I’m going to drive out to the cabin, deal with this. Then I’ll be back. Count on it.”

And with one last glance at the dog he’d realized had adopted him just as much as he’d adopted it, he left to meet a crazy old man in the woods.