Page 4 of The Secrets We Built Together

I looked at my brother and shrugged. I had no idea what I was doing. Staying in Willowbrook might not even be the best idea. I was falling back on old habits and letting the people around me dictate my course in life. It was a cycle I needed to break, even if my brothers were only acting with the best of intentions.

"It looks as good as anywhere," I said, looking across the patch of land in front of me.

The early spring sun warmed my face as I surveyed the field. Around us, the ranch was waking up from winter's grip. I could see ranch hands in the distance, looking over a nearby fence in need of repair. The smell of Spring hung in the air, rich and full of promise, and the ranch was working at full speed to get ready for the launch of the rehabilitation centre.

It was just a field to me. Or at least that's all it was in my eyes. Booker probably knew more than me.

Who was I kidding? Of course he did.

Booker was as much a part of this place as the dirt we were standing on. I'd run as fast and as far as I could get. The city had never really felt like home, but then neither had the house where I'd grown up. It had that effect when your mother was an abusive narcissist.

Booker sighed and I knew he'd realized that he’d have to explain why he'd offered up this pasture. I'd been shocked when he suggested it. Trace still owned his house in town and I'd been considering making him an offer for it. But there was a benefit to building at the ranch and being so close to where I'd be on call to. Helping Booker with the rehab centre at the ranch felt like the first decision I’d ever really made for myself and it was possibly the only one I’d been confident of. We were going to do a lot of good here, for the people and the animals, and I needed that atonement.

"There's already power running to the barn so it won't be any trouble to run it out to here. Same with the water supply. We should still fit you up with a generator as well though just in case," Booker explained.

I nodded, shoving my hands in my pockets as I did, automatically noting the slight tremor in my right hand. One year sober, but my body still remembered.

"Or, you could just stay in the cottage if you're not feeling it," Booker said slowly.

"Sorry. It's not that I'm not grateful, I'm just wondering if I'm biting off more than I can chew here," I told him honestly.

"I can see why you'd be worried about that. Just think it over, there's no pressure. And if you change your mind about investing in the expansion, that's okay too. I'm not going to..."

"Don't do that," I snapped.

Booker immediately stopped talking. He stared at me patiently, and I gritted my teeth as I tried to shove the frustration back down inside me.

This was what everyone did around me now. I could hardly blame them. I was only just coming out of the epic spiral I'd been on. Everything I'd been building in the city was gone. My medical practice, my reputation, and... well shit, that's pretty much all I'd had.

The thing was, ever since I'd come back to Willowbrook and told my family what had happened, they'd been walking on eggshells around me.

Who could blame them?

I was the alcoholic failure. None of them knew how to treat me, so they'd reverted to that place of sympathizing looks and constantly offering me a way to back out of anything I'd agreed to. They looked at me like I was a bomb waiting to go off. That one single misstep would ruin everything and send me on a spiral there'd be no getting out of.

But the worst part, the part I hated to admit to myself, was that I didn’t know if they were wrong. Maybe Iwasa bomb on the brink of explosion.

I didn't trust myself, how could I expect my family to trust me?

I was frozen. Unsure of every decision and afraid of the consequences of making the wrong choice as my alcoholism stood over me like the demon I'd never escape.

"I'm sorry." I winced as the apology came out of my mouth. All I did nowadays was apologize for myself. "I just... don't treat me like... hell, I don't even know."

Booker's hand rubbed across the stubble on his chin and then he grinned. "So what you're saying is that I'm allowed to be a dick to you."

I laughed. It was impossible not to. Trust Booker to know the solution to the problem.

"Well, you know, maybe try and be slightly nice to me. I am a delicate flower now after all."

"Nah, you're right. Time for the kid gloves to come off."

Booker slapped me on the back of the shoulder and then we headed back to his truck. I really needed to get my ridiculous sports car traded in for one of these. Willowbrook is where my future lay and it was time I embraced it rather than constantly looking for what could go wrong. I couldn’t keep driving one of the ranch trucks forever.

"Speaking of gloves coming off," Booker said as we approached his truck, "Jasper stopped by yesterday."

I tensed, immediately categorizing the physical response: tightened trapezius muscles, elevated pulse, mild stress response. I hadn’t missed that Booker had started calling him Jasper and not father anymore.

"Let me guess—he doubled down on the offer to bankroll the whole rehabilitation center expansion."

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