Page 5 of Just My Luck

A silent stare was my only response.

Royal laughed, unfazed by my brooding. “Figured. Where are you headed?”

My jaw ticced. My plan was still in its infancy, and I wasn’t ready to share it with anyone, since it likely wouldn’t go anywhere. “Out.”

“Whatever.” Royal rolled his eyes. “Syl texted about a dinner on the farm tonight. MJ is off work, so she’ll be there too. You in?”

A dinner at my sister’s house meant playing nice with her husband, Duke Sullivan. He probably wouldn’t be too happy if he knew I’d helped source the glitter that was stuffed into the air vents of his truck. While Sylvie made us all promise we’d get along for her and little Gus, it didn’t mean we couldn’t have a little fun fucking with them.

Still, seeing my little sister as a mom did something to my chest. August was adorable, even if he was half-Sullivan.

“Yeah, I’m in,” I said.

Royal grinned. “Good. And text her back. She worries about you.”

Shoulders slumped, I nodded and headed in the direction of the bank.

The Outtatowner bank was on the far east end of town and a long fucking walk. Sure, I could have driven, but getting behind the wheel was still a challenge, even after all this time. Instead, I took the mild weather as an opportunity for a long walk to think.

The lobby of the bank was drab and soulless. The familiar scent of coffee clung to the air, and the hushed shuffle of paperwork greeted me, creating an odd mix of anticipation. It was a risk even going to the bank for fear someone would casually bring up my presence to my father.

Still, something needed to change.

“Mr. King?” a polite receptionist called into the tiny waiting area.

I unfolded myself from the too-small wooden chair and watched as her eyes went wide and she craned her neck to meet my stare.

“Um,” she stammered. “Right this way.”

Like a dog with his head hung low, I followed her to the glass wall of offices in the back corner of the bank. The receptionist opened the door and gestured inside. “Mr. Lowell, your two thirty is here.”

The office was filled with heavy oak furniture and framed diplomas. Stephen Lowell stood from behind his desk and extended his hand. “Mr. King.”

I gripped his hand and shook. “Abel, please.”

With a nod, Mr. Lowell sat behind his desk and eased back in his chair. “What can I do for you, Abel?”

As I settled into the chair, my hands involuntarily tightened on the armrests. “I’m seeking a business loan.” The truth tightened in my throat, but I forced the words. “I am looking to buy out my father’s share in the brewery.”

Mr. Lowell’s eyebrows raised slightly. He nodded, tapping his fingers on the desk as his lips pursed. “Buying out a business is a significant endeavor.”

I nodded, well aware after hours and hours of time spent researching.

Mr. Lowell cleared his throat and tapped a few keys on his keyboard. “Let’s go over some details.”

Hope swirled within me as the conversation progressed. He asked some general questions and then shifted to information regarding the business. When he requested profit and loss statements, I produced a slim folder with information I had been prepared to present. The possibility of realizing my dream felt tangible, and my mind wandered to the future.

“So, Mr. King—Abel,” he corrected. “I’ve gone through the financial history of the brewery, and everything seems in order. In fact, it’s quite impressive what you’ve done in its infancy.”

I nodded, his veiled compliment making my shirt feel too small.

“However”—Mr. Lowell pulled his glasses from his nose and folded his hands over his desk—“we do have to consider other factors.”

I leaned forward, eager for the final confirmation as doubt and fear swirled in my brain. “What factors?”

You know damn well what factors.

Mr. Lowell hesitated, and an icy chill ran down my spine. “Your criminal record, Mr. King.”

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