Page 108 of Someone to Tempt
“Maybe having roots doesn’t suit me.” How do I explain that it doesn’t suit me if I can’t have a home with him?
“Go home to Austin, Jake. I hope you find the life you’re looking for. You deserve happiness. Whether you’re there or here, I hope your grandfather puts you in charge of the foundation. I know you’ll honor his legacy.”
Before he can say anything more, I turn and stride away. We’ve made so many mistakes with each other, but a part of me knows giving up on him—on us—might be the one I regret the most.
39
JAKE
Standingat the edge of the summer camp’s lake, I hear the car pull up the long drive. Gravel crunches under slow-moving tires, a sharp contrast to the hush of the surrounding pines. I don’t turn around. There’s only one person in the world who could have found me here.
My grandfather insisted we share locations when I first returned to Skylark, as if I was a teenager who needed monitoring.
To be honest, I didn’t mind. After so many years on my own in the mostly solitary life of a writer, there were moments—particularly during grueling deadlines—when I wondered if anyone would notice if I disappeared completely.
Isn’t that what I’ve done in a lot of ways? Disappeared into the books? Into the role of Spencer Charles, reclusive author. Only crawling out from my self-imposed exile when absolutely necessary. Sure, I’ve started doing more with the foundation in Austin recently, but that had more to do with appeasing my long-term guilt over losing Mike and appropriating the career that should have been his than some philanthropic fire burning inside me.
But it’s not really his. This life is mine. My unwillingness to claim it might have cost me not only the career I love, but also the woman I love—a woman I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving. As stupid as I was at seventeen, falling for Iris remains one of my smartest moves.
I pick up another smooth stone, test the weight in my hand, and run my thumb over the flat top. The surface is warm from the day’s sun, but the air around me has cooled as dusk approaches. With a flick of my wrist, I send the stone skipping across the water. One, two, three hops before it sinks below the surface.
“I taught you well,” Grandpa says in his gravelly voice as he comes to stand next to me. “But you’re releasing too soon.”
I hand him the rock I’m holding in my other hand. “Show me how it’s done, Obi-Wan.”
He chuckles but takes the stone. I watch his fist curl around it, testing the weight the way he taught Mikey and me to do when we were kids. He shifts his feet on the uneven shoreline, then, with more grace than I’d expect, he pulls back his arm, and in one fluid motion sends the stone flying. Five skips across the water, nearly making it to the lake’s center, before it sinks.
“The old man still has it,” I say with a slow clap.
“The dancing has limbered me up. It’s good for the old joints—lubricates them.”
I huff out a devilish laugh. “You know, the find my phone app goes both ways,” I tell him, wiggling my brows. “I’ve noticed your location at Gloria Johnson’s house several times in the past few weeks. Looks like your joints aren’t the only thing being lubricated.”
My grandfather shakes his head. “You need to mind your own business and show more respect to your elders.”
“All respect,” I clarify. “Glad those dance lessons paid off.”
He scowls, but a smile plays at the corner of his mouth.
“Gilbert Byrne still has the rizz.” I’m enjoying myself now. “The old man has moves.”
“Enough.” He holds up a hand. “Do you want to hear my go-to move?”
“Absolutely not,” I answer.
“Listen anyway.” He puffs up his chest. “My best move is getting out of my own way. I don’t let the past predict my future.”
I pick up another rock and hurl it toward the water, not surprised when it lands with a plop instead of skimming the surface. “I’ll take your word that it works.”
“I didn’t come up here to skip stones, Jakey. We need to talk.” He draws in a deep breath and turns to survey the property that has been in our family for years. “This is the first time I’ve come up here since that summer you were here.”
The wind picks up slightly, rustling through the tall grass further up the shoreline. A hawk swoops overhead but doesn’t dive toward the water.
“Why haven’t you sold the camp? I’m sure there are people who’d want to make something of it.”
He shakes his head. “I couldn’t force myself to come up here or let it go. This place reminds me of your brother. Of the two of you and happier times. I didn’t mean to stay away. In my mind, I told myself I was going to tear down the old structures and build something new. Maybe a retreat center, or...”
He bends down, picks up a rock, and holds it out to me. “Someplace where kids who need help could go and actually get it. Not like that hellhole your father owned in North Carolina.”
