Chapter 167

Lucas

The wood pile was bigger than I'd expected. Jack stood in the barn doorway watching me, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"Need these moved to the house before dinner," he said. "Storm's coming in tonight."

I knew a test when I saw one. The expensive parka I'd worn from California suddenly felt ridiculous—too new, too pristine. But I'd spent the last two years learning that some things mattered more than comfort, and earning Jack Harrison's respect was definitely one of them.

"Yes sir," I said, stripping off the parka. "Where do you want them stacked?"

Something flickered in his expression—maybe approval, maybe just acknowledgment that I wasn't completely useless. "South side of the house. Under the overhang."

He walked away without another word, leaving me alone with approximately two cords of firewood and the growing certainty that this was going to hurt.

It did. Within twenty minutes my shoulders were burning, fingers going numb despite the work gloves Jack had wordlessly tossed at me. I fell into a rhythm: bend, grip, lift, carry, stack. Repeat. No shortcuts available. Just work.

I was halfway through when Jack reappeared with two thermoses. He handed me one without comment—black coffee, strong enough to wake the dead. We stood in silence, and I realized this was another test. Whether I'd complain, make excuses, prove myself too soft.

"Barn roof needs patching," Jack said finally. "You know anything about roofing?"

"No sir. But I can learn. If you've got materials, I can help tomorrow."

Jack studied me over his thermos, and I forced myself not to look away. Finally he nodded.

"Finish the wood. Then come inside. Katie's making dinner."

By the time I carried the last armload to the house, my entire body ached, hands blistered despite the gloves. But I felt good. Like I'd earned something real instead of just having it handed to me.

Inside, Katie looked up from the stove and smiled. "You survived."

"Barely." I collapsed into a chair. "Your grandfather is trying to kill me."

"He's testing you," Katie corrected. "There's a difference."

Jack appeared, eyeing the stacked wood through the window with what might have been approval. "You'll sleep tonight," he said.

Dinner was simple but perfect—roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans Katie had canned last summer. We ate in comfortable silence, then Jack spoke.

"Katie tells me you've been going to therapy."

I froze. "Yes sir. Three times a week for the past two years. Working on control issues. PTSD. Learning to be better."

"Good. Man who can't admit he's got problems is a man who can't fix them." He paused. "But trying isn't the same as succeeding. My granddaughter's been through enough. She doesn't need someone who's going to fall apart on her, or try to cage her because he's scared."

"I understand that, sir. And I know I screwed up before—"

"Screwed up is putting it mildly," Jack interrupted, but his tone wasn't cruel. Just honest. "You tracked her. Manipulated her. Used money and power to control her when you got scared. That's not love, son. That's possession."

The words hit hard because they were true. "You're right. It was possession. And it was wrong. But I'm not that person anymore, sir. Or I'm trying not to be. Katie deserves someone who trusts her, respects her, gives her space to be herself."

Jack was silent for a long moment. Finally he said, "After dinner, you and I are going to have a talk. Private."

Twenty minutes later, Jack led me to his study and poured two glasses of whiskey.

"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving," he said. "Day after, there's a gathering at the Veterans' Lodge. Fifteen men I served with, men I'd trust with my life. They watched Katie grow up, helped raise her when her mother died and her father abandoned her. They have a say in who gets to be part of her life permanently."

My stomach tightened. "What are you asking, sir?"

"I'm asking if you're willing to stand in front of them and make your case. Public. No hiding behind money or lawyers. Just you, telling them why you think you're good enough for her. If you can convince them, you'll have my blessing."

"And if I can't?"

"Then you better hope Katie's willing to fight for you. Because I won't."

It should have terrified me. Maybe it did, a little. But mostly I felt determined. Katie was worth it.

"I'll be there," I said. "What time?"

"Three o'clock. Don't be late." Jack raised his glass. "And Winston? Don't try to impress them. Just tell them the truth. That's all they'll respect."

---

Later that night, I lay in the guest room trying to figure out what the hell I was going to say. Around midnight, there was a soft knock on my door. Katie stood there in flannel pajamas and one of my old hoodies.

"Can't sleep?" she asked.

"Not really. You?"

"Jack's snoring is rattling the walls." She smiled. "Can I come in?"

She settled on the bed while I leaned against the desk. For a moment neither of us spoke, then Katie pulled out a photograph—old, edges worn.

"This is my mom," she said softly.

The woman in it was young, standing in front of the farmhouse . She had Katie's eyes, and she was smiling with such love it made my chest ache.

"She was beautiful," I said.

"She was strong." Katie's voice was steady but emotional. "She left my father when she realized what he was, came back here pregnant and alone, raised me with Jack's help until she couldn't anymore."

I turned the photo over and found writing on the back: Real courage is moving forward even when you're terrified.

"She wrote that the day she decided to leave my father," Katie explained. "I'm giving it to you now because tomorrow you're going to be scared. You're going to stand in front of warriors who've seen things you can't imagine, and you're going to feel inadequate. But you're going to do it anyway, because you love me. That's courage, Lucas. Real courage."

My throat felt tight. I sat beside her. "Thank you. For trusting me with this."

"Thank you for trying. For changing. For being willing to stand up there tomorrow."

"You're worth everything, Katie. Everything and more."

When Katie finally left, I propped the photo against the lamp where I could see it. A reminder of what I was really fighting for tomorrow.

---

Katie

I found Jack in the kitchen early the next morning, staring out at the fields.

"Couldn't sleep either?" I said.

"Sleep's overrated." He took a drink. "You worried about tomorrow?"

"A little. You're going to eviscerate him, aren't you?"

"That depends on him. If he's serious—if he's really changed—then no. But if he's still that boy who tried to control you? Then yeah."

"He has changed, Jack. I wouldn't have brought him here if he hadn't."

"Believing isn't the same as knowing, Katie-girl. I need to know he's not going to hurt you again. That he understands what it means to stand beside you instead of over you."

"Then test him. Tomorrow at the Lodge. Ask him the hard questions. But Jack—give him a fair chance. Please."

Jack studied me. "You love him."

"Yeah. I do. Even though it scares the hell out of me."

"Love should scare you. Means it matters." He paused. "Your mother loved your father like that once. Before she realized what he really was."

The comparison stung because I'd thought it myself. "Lucas isn't my father. He's nothing like William."

"No, he's not. But he's got his own demons. The question isn't whether he loves you. The question is whether he loves you enough to let you be free."

"I think he does. I think he's learning."

"Then tomorrow will prove it."