Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
He chuckles. Low and easy like I haven’t heard for years.
That’s when I know the person I’m dealing with may look like Alec Pruitt, but I don’t know him.
“You know, some days I blamed you for putting me in this damn chair,” he whispers, shifting to sit up straighter. “When I had the attack, I was under the gun with that big orchard deal. Your mother told you it pushed me over the edge—and it certainly didn’t help. But it wasn’t what I was looking at in my office when I had a fit and they found me on the floor.”
I swallow thickly, waiting.
He sighs. “I was reading about you. That model blowing her stack when you blew her off—the tabloids ripped you to pieces. And you just carried on posting about dog food.”
“Okay,” I snap. “What’s your point? We know what happened. Are you blaming me for your heart attack now?”
My veins feel like they’re clogged with lead, this paralyzing mix of hot anger and disbelief. Just when I think he can’t shit on me any harder, he proves me wrong.
“I’m blaming myself for panicking over you, Brady. When that thing with the model came down, I thought you’d never change. I didn’t see it in you.” He pauses, staring out at the calm water again. “Then you walked into the biggest bear trap of your life. Instead of flailing, you rose to the occasion. I don’t say this often, but . . . I’m proud of you.”
Holy fuck.
I stand there, gutted, as he smiles at me warmly. I swear there are tears in his eyes as he looks at me.
“You’ll continue making us proud, and maybe you’ll give an old man a chance to move past his pride,” he says roughly. “I don’t just mean with Lena, with your projects, with everything. I have to get past the things I never told you. I had a dog when I was a boy. A big white Lab named Klaus. He was my best friend for eleven years.”
A dog? I have to pinch myself to make sure this is real.
Only there’s no mistaking the warble in his voice, the way his eyes glaze over with a bittersweet smile. His breath rattles.
“I was a jackass to deny you the same joy when you were little, the kind every kid should have. When that dog died, it broke me. I stuffed up my grief, my fear that another animal might remind me of the one I lost. I was selfish as hell, and I’m sorry.”
“Dad, shit. You’re welcome to meet Queenie anytime. The black Lab we’ve taken in.” I have to fucking cough to keep my throat from sticking. “I think she’d like you.”
I’ve never seen the old man cry, and he doesn’t today, but he comes dangerously, dangerously close.
Without another word running through us like knives, he extends a hand.
And my father gives me the lightest handshake of his entire life, free from fifty metric tons of emotional baggage.
By the time I leave him, I’ve met the man I didn’t know he could be, and I hope like hell to see him stick around.
The next few weeks are a rush like one long flight of top-shelf whiskey.
Somehow, while I was busy trying to unfuck everyone’s lives, my lab worked a miracle with the latest formula and a little help from Wendy’s farm.
The food checks all the boxes for nutrition and costs, and it dominated three similar legacy pet food brands in taste trials.
Now, the secret’s out. Every day there’s a new influencer, partner, or brand beating down my door to help launch Brady Belly in several different flavors.
It’s like I found Aladdin’s cave and a genie to turn the biggest shit show of my life into a granted wish. Before, I never believed it when they said “there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
But without Lena and the scandal, I never would’ve tasted this success.
Even so, it’s a relief to finally have a chance to breathe. And there’s nothing else I need besides my woman, a tent, and our dog.
So much for fostering Queenie. About a week after we got back together, we formally adopted her and had her chip changed over to our names.
No regrets.
No worries that we’re moving too fast.
Not when life has never felt easier.
Today, the gorgeous landscape of Mount Rainier National Park sprawls out around us. The ancient lakes up here are a realism painting come to life, so clear you can see straight through them.
It’s a clear September day as the golden sun beats down on our heads, giving me the calmest vibe I’ve felt since—hell, ever.
With Queenie’s head resting on her shoulder, Lena tips her head back and smiles. “Feels great to leave it all behind, doesn’t it?”
“Seattle? Yeah.”
“Anywhere with nosy people armed with cameras. But I haven’t seen a single hiker here pull out their phone.”