Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
I never went back to college. Never went back to Sawyers Bend. Never spoke to my father, or any of them, again. I wrote Prentice one final letter months after it was over, telling him to go to hell. I doubt he cared.
I’d made my own way. If I had nothing else, I had the knowledge that I could do it again if I had to. I was stuck here for five years if I wanted my inheritance. Well, by now, it was more like four and a quarter years. A little over four years stuck here with my family, stalling my career for the uncertain promise of a payoff. It was possible there was money in the trust my father had left me. That might be enough for me to open my own place, on my own terms, without investors.
Maybe.
But then again, maybe there was nothing.
Maybe Harvey and Griffen were having a good laugh at the rest of us playing good little boys and girls to get our payday when there was nothing for us to inherit. Knowing my father, I’d give good odds the trusts were empty. That would be just like him, to get us to spend five years dancing to his tune for the promise of a payout that didn’t exist.
I didn’t want to think Griffen was in on it. I wanted to believe he was the Griffen I remembered. But even if he was still that Griffen, it didn’t mean our father hadn’t been playing him right along with us.
I sat back on my heels, holding a Lego Batman I’d built when I was not much older than Nicky. Savannah was giving Nicky the childhood I never had. No one would ever throw her kid away. She’d die first. So would Miss Martha. Savannah didn’t have the wealth I’d grown up with, but she was giving Nicky something worth far more than money. Love. After my mother died, love was in short supply at Heartstone Manor.
I had to ask myself, why was I here? I survived the last decade with ruthless pragmatism, working my ass off to learn and to keep a roof over my head, putting in long hours doing whatever I was told in whatever kitchen would hire me. I never made a bad bet because I always bet on myself, so why was I here?
Why was I giving up five years of my life? Five years I could spend building my resume and making connections that would serve my goal of opening my own place. That path was probably a hell of a lot better than hanging around here hoping Prentice had left me enough cash to make my dream come true. If I were being honest, the idea of using his money to fund my restaurant made me a little sick.
Which brought me back to the question that lingered in the back of my mind, haunting me. Why was I still here?
I set the Lego Batman aside and pulled out a green plastic army man. Once there’d been over a hundred. Now I had only a handful. I loved playing with these when I was a kid, setting them up on a carpet with Tenn, having mock battles for hours. There’d been a tank that went with the set, not much bigger than the army men, but we thought it was the coolest. We fought over it all the time. Whoever ended up with the tank always won the war.
Maybe that was my answer. Maybe this was my last chance to see if there was anything here for me. For better or worse, this was my home. These strangers were my family. Maybe it was worth five years to see what we could make of that.
I didn’t know if I could forgive Ford for the part he played in my kidnapping. Back then, he’d been so tight with our father. I couldn’t believe he didn’t know. But Royal and Hope? They could have gone either way. The rest of them had been too young for me to think they’d been involved.
Griffen hadn’t even been here. And my father never told my sisters anything. Didn’t they deserve a chance?
I couldn’t decide, which was pretty much what the last few months of sulking had been about. Now that I was back in the kitchens, grounded in a place that felt like mine, I was starting to wonder if I was sticking around for more than the money.
I set the army man aside and dug deeper in the trunk, my fingers sliding around a translucent red yo-yo, scuffed on the edges. I’d been a master with this yo-yo when I was ten. It was probably too big for Nicky’s hand, but I could teach him how to use it.
At that thought, I gave a startled look at the small pile of treasures I’d accumulated. The Lego Batman, the army men, the yo-yo. A Rubik’s Cube. A Chinese finger trap I used to torture my younger sisters. Was I really going to give these things to Nicky?