Page 13 of Wishes on Wildflowers
Pops snorted. “Lotta good that’ll do you.”
Nathan managed a laugh as he paced in front of the living room window. “Actually, ithasdone me a lot of good. You might try it sometime.”
“That’ll be the day.”
And one Nathan should be praying for. He glanced over to the table across the room. Jasmine watched him. He turned his back on her. Those feelings of awareness needed to disappear, and now. Old habits died hard, apparently. “Look, how about I drop by some evening soon. You still at the old home place?”
“Yeah. South Elm. Remember how to find it?” Sarcasm dripped from Pops’s voice.
“Pretty sure I do. I’ll let you know when.”
“Makenna don’t mind cooking for you, she said.”
“Maybe sometime.” Nathan clicked the call off before Pops could apply any more pressure. He slid his phone into his pocket and ran both hands through his hair as he stared out the window. He’d known he’d have to face his father if he moved back, but he’d still had an unshakable sense that returning to Bridgeview was the right thing to do. Was he really strong enough to deal with everything? With seeing Pops? With being around Jasmine? He advocated all his clients have solid, well-thought-out business plans, but he’d driven north on a wing and a prayer.
Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose and strolled back to the table. “Sorry about that. Did you come to any conclusions?”
Three pairs of brown eyes under dark hair looked back at him. Only one pair mattered, which was not the direction he was supposed to go. He focused on Peter. The brains of the outfit.
Peter stared back. “Everything okay?”
“Just my father finally heard I’d returned. About business—”
“He drinks a lot, your dad.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he does. Nothing new.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nathan shrugged. “It’s a fact of life. Thinking about Pops helps keep me dry.”
Basil chuckled. “I bet. Feel sorry for that youngest brother of yours, though.”
Nathan’s eyebrows rose.
“Jason. His mother died a few years back. Didn’t you know?”
He wracked his mind. Jason was from marriage number three, wasn’t he? Marsha’s kid. Nathan had done his best to block all this. Alcohol had helped until it hadn’t anymore. More memories he needed to block. Jesus was a better way to cope. And Jesus was all about love and second chances, not about wishing on dandelion fluff.
“If I knew, I forgot.” Safe enough, and true. “How old is he now, anyway? Ten? Eleven?”
Jasmine crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Fourteen.”
Nathan stared back. “Can’t be. How would you know?”
“He’s in the same class as my cousin Landon. Uncle Al and Aunt Winnie’s kid.”
“Oh.” Nathan remembered being fourteen. That was about the time he’d gone off the deep end with drinking, partying, and girls. Jasmine’s influence had held him in check for a few years, but he’d gone back to his old lifestyle when he’d landed in California.
No more. But did that new resolve give him any obligation toward his half-brother?
“He’s running with a rough crowd, Landon said.”
Yeah, maybe he did have some responsibility. Pops sure wasn’t likely to give the teen any guidance, and what could Makenna do with someone else’s son, even if she wanted to?
Nathan grimaced. Like he knew how to keep a kid out of trouble. He had no experience. “Must be nice to be a Santoro and not have all this mess in your family.” Man, he hadn’t meant to spit that out loud.
Basil let out a sardonic laugh. “Being Santoro isn’t all that perfect.”
