Fairytale Not Required (20 page)

Jason shook his head. It didn't ring true, not at all. There had to be more. He hadn't seen his parents in too damn long for them to simply show up unannounced after six years to see Noah. "What's the truth, Dad?"

Mack glanced over at his wife, and then back at Jason. He laughed softly. "You're still a stubborn cuss, aren't you?"

"Dad." Jason needed to find out their agenda. The last two times they'd visited, the purpose had been to undermine his marriage and try to get Jason to walk out on Kate and move back to Minnesota. It was all done out of love, in their opinion, but it had cut deep into Jason's ability to trust them.

Mack picked up a pizza cutter and examined it. "Nice choice, son. You did good."

Jason couldn't help the slight swell of pride at his father's words. His parents hadn't been proud of him much during his life, and he was well aware of it. Jason had chosen not to sacrifice his desires just to make them happy, so he'd chosen med school and New York instead of staying in town and making pizza. He was used to living without their approval, but to have his dad beaming with satisfaction over what Jason was doing felt surprisingly good. When he'd graduated from med school and decided to stay in New York, they'd thought he was selling out for money when he should have moved back to Minnesota to hang up a shingle in their small town. Not a moment of pride. Just insult. "But what's up with the visit?"

Mack finally met his gaze. "Jason, you walked away from the family thirteen years ago. You rejected every value that we'd raised you and your sisters to believe in and went off with that woman who had no values at all."

Jason ground his jaw, unwilling to listen to the lectures that had created the rift between them. "Dad, let it go. I'm in Maine, now. I quit my job. You should be happy about that. All the other crap is in the past."

"Yeah, it is." Mack eyed him. "It's been breaking your mother's heart, watching you and Noah suffer for so long, but we didn't know how to reach out to you. You seemed so far away and disconnected. We felt like we didn't know you anymore."

Jason narrowed his eyes, already resenting the guilt trip. "So, why now? What changed?"

"When you emailed us three weeks ago that you had a new address because you were moving to Maine to open a pizza store..." Mack shrugged. "It seemed to us like you were finally on a good path, and we wanted to help. Opening a pizza store is tough, and you have to get it right."

Jason blinked in surprise at his father's confession. "You came out here to help me with the store?" Not to give him grief for his choice, or to tell him to move back to Minnesota and do pizza there?

"Yeah." Pride gleamed in Mack's eyes. "You finally came into the family business, Jason. Do you know how happy that makes me? I brought all my recipes. Every damn one of them. They're yours."

Jason stared at his father. "You did?" He still remembered the day his father had quit his job as an appliance salesman to open a pizza store using old family recipes. His parents had stopped being around the house after that, spending every hour at the store, so Jason and his sisters had grown up at Mack's, behind the counters, in the kitchen and socializing with everyone who came into the store. By the time Jason was in high school, Mack's Pizza was
the
place to hang out in town. He and his sisters were substantially elevated in status because they were members of the inner circle at Mack's.

Today, his parents had seven stores in Munson and the surrounding towns, and had even managed to get their pizzas into the frozen food section of three local grocery store chains. It had been hard work, but there was no doubt that their pizzas were a cut above their competition.

His parents had never let anyone, even the kids in the family, know the specific ingredients of the crusts, the sauces and the cheese blends. His parents would always mix things up after hours, and then the workers simply assembled.

Mack and Henrietta had kept the recipes a secret even from their family because they didn't want their kids to be put in the uncomfortable position of being pressured to turn them over to someone who might want them.

And now..."You brought the actual recipes? For me?" Jason still couldn't believe it. It was a gift. Having Mack's pizza in his store would be a sure-fire winner.

"Damn right I did." Mack grinned. "Your mom and I talked about it, and we like the idea of our pizza making it all the way to the east coast."

Jason was stunned by the offer. The recipes were the financial basis of the chain. The implications were enormous if he used them.

"So, yeah, a Mack's Pizza starting in Maine," his dad said, beaming. "It's good shit."

Jason's smile faded. "Mack's Pizza? You want my store to be a Mack's Pizza?" He'd already ordered the sign for it. Luc's Pizza, in honor of his son.

"Damn right. We can't have Mack's recipes in a store that doesn't have the same name." Mack turned away and walked over to the freezer. He pulled open the door and walked inside. "We're going to have to order some new ingredients," he said. "You won't believe what's in my sauces."

Jason leaned against the counter, and suddenly all his old emotions came back. He remembered why he'd left town at age seventeen and never gone back. His parents wanted him to be like them, to follow the path they wanted for him, no matter whether it was right for him or not. "Dad. I'm naming it after Luc."

There was no sound from the freezer for a moment, and then Mack reappeared. The wrinkles on his face seemed deeper than they had been a moment before, and there was deep regret in his eyes. "Naming the store after your son won't change the fact he's dead, Jason," he said quietly.

Jason stiffened. "I know that—"

Mack held up his hand to cut Jason off. "Living in the past makes it impossible for the future to give you life," he added.

Jason's eyes narrowed. "You want me to forget my son?"

"Shit no. But I want you to start living again. You've been destroying yourself for over a decade, Jason. After all that crap, you've given yourself a chance. Take it."

"I am. That's why I dragged Noah up here—"

"You dragged all your baggage up here too," Mack said. "I can see it in your eyes. You're tired, you're exhausted, and you're going to break if you don't cut yourself some slack. Name the place Mack's. Make some money. You were a fool when you married Kate. Don't keep living that same life."

Anger rolled through Jason, and he shook his head. He had failed Kate and Lucas, and the answer wasn't to kick up his heels and gallivant through life just because their death had freed him to move to Maine. "I appreciate you coming out here," he said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice, "and you are welcome to stay as long as you want. But I'm naming the store after my son, and I'll use my own recipes."

He didn't miss the flash of pain on his father's face, but he steeled himself to it as he turned away. He needed space. He needed to get away. "I'm going to get coffee," he said to his mother as he passed her table. "Do you want anything?"

Henrietta looked up, and her face fell when she saw his expression. She looked between him and Mack, and she sighed. "Oh, Jason. We're just trying to help."

"By telling me to forget Luc?" he bit out. "Is that what you think I'm supposed to do?"

Noah looked up. "Luc? Who's Luc?"

Jason felt like his heart had just been stabbed. Noah didn't remember his own brother? "Lucas," he said, barely able to keep the anguish out of his voice. "I was talking about Lucas. Your brother."

"Oh, right." Noah shrugged carelessly. "Why'd you call him Luc?"

"Because that was his nickname," Jason said, as gently as he could, fighting not to explode at his son. It wasn't Noah's fault that he didn't remember his brother, but
hell
, it was devastating to be around three people who weren't trying to hold the memory of his son in their hearts. "You used to call him Luc because you couldn't say his full name when he was born."

"Oh." Noah frowned, and looked down at his book again, dismissing Jason and the discussion. "Grandma, what's this word?"

She put her hand around the back of Noah's chair and looked at Jason. "Your heart can take only so much before it breaks," she said softly. "You have to let go, Jason. You have to let yourself heal."

"I'm fine. I just need a pizza shop." Jason turned away, his fists clenched as he headed toward the door, guilt pouring through him. How could his parents tell him to forget his son? How could his father insult Kate? Wasn't her death enough to satisfy him?

His emotions burning, Jason strode toward the door and then his heart jumped when it opened. For a split second, his mind flashed back to that moment the first day he'd arrived, when Astrid had flounced into his store. Suddenly, he was consumed with the need to see her. To connect with her. To bury himself in the respite that she offered—

The door flew open, and a large man filled the doorway. His shoulders were as wide as the door, his dark brown hair ragged, and his tee shirt had sawdust on it. A half-grown beard darkened his jaw, and his bright blue eyes were flashing with fury.

Jason stopped immediately, his adrenaline igniting instantly at the challenge in his visitor's hostile stance. "Can I help you?" He gestured to his mom to take Noah out the back. He had no clue who this guy was, but the man had come looking for a fight, and Jason didn't want his parents or son involved.

"I'm Harlan Shea," he said with a snarl.

This was his real estate agent? He looked more like a wild animal ready to attack. Jason gave the man a polite smile. "Thanks for stopping by. I have a couple questions—"

"You fucking bastard." Harlan's fists bunched, and his body vibrated with tension.

Jason instinctively moved into a defensive position, fire racing through him. "What's your problem, Harlan?"

"You knocked up my sister, you bastard."

Jason felt his jaw drop as his mom gasped. "What?" How in hell's name had Harlan found out about that already? But even before he'd finished the thought, Jason knew the answer. It was a small town. That's what had happened.

"Oh, so you don't remember?" Harlan advanced across the wood floor, anger dripping from every pore of his body. "Astrid Monroe, remember? The woman you set up in your carriage house so she'd be there for you to use whenever you wanted."

"Shit," Jason held up his hands, trying to calm the irate man. "It's not like that—"

"You stupid bastard." Harlan fisted his hand and swung.

Jason saw it coming, and for a split second, he considered defending himself...but was he really going to punch Astrid's brother for the mere fact he was being protective of her? He
was
a bastard. In more ways than Harlan even knew.

So, he dropped his hands and let the behemoth make contact.

* * *

Astrid leaned back on her new couch, surveying her newly furnished apartment. Her friends had stayed all day helping her, and every box was unpacked. Pictures were hung. The new dishes were put away.

It turned out that Judith had an extra couch in her basement, so she'd recruited Griffin to go get it. He'd come back with not only the couch, but a table and four chairs that had been in the back room at Wright's. Clare had added a bookcase from her garage and Emma had contributed a carpet.

And now, Astrid had a place to live that looked pretty damn close to a real home. It looked like it belonged to someone who was going to stay for a long while, and she loved it. She really did. Which, of course, meant that her friends were in trouble, because that wasn't supposed to happen. At the same time, she couldn't stop the swell of warmth that spread through her at the thought of the people who had spent the day making sure she had a home.

She smiled and clasped her hands behind her head, her feet propped up on one of the floor pillows that Emma had brought her. The afternoon sun was stretching across the rose and light yellow carpet, making it feel even cozier.

Her orchid was sitting on the corner of her worktable, basking in the sun's rays, breathing in air that wasn't tainted with the smell of gasoline. All that was left was to organize her work station. The apothecary cabinet she used for beads was in place against the wall, and she had her new lamp set up.

But as Astrid looked at the place where creative genius was supposed to take place, a weight began to settle in her belly. It didn't matter how many hours she spent with her friends, or how organized her home was, or even how beautiful. The most idyllic setting in the world couldn't change the reality of her life, including the fact that her business was failing.

And the fact that she was pregnant with Jason's child. She couldn't afford to be creatively-drained now. She had a child to support… oh, God. How was she going to manage this? With a groan, she leaned her head back against the wall. What was she going to do? She—

A loud knock sounded on the door, and Astrid sat up, her breath catching. Was it Jason? "Who's there?"

"Harlan." He sounded tired, and Astrid hurried to let him in, surprised by his visit. In the two years that she'd lived in Birch Crossing, Harlan had stopped by her house maybe a total of five times. Why today?

When she opened the door, he was leaning against the doorframe, his arm propped above his head. He looked gaunt and worried. No, not worried. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, and the demons were haunting him.

She didn't know her brother well, but she'd never seen that expression on his face before. It scared her. "What's wrong?"

Harlan shook his head in a silent refusal to answer her question. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, sure." Tentatively, Astrid stepped back and admitted him. She'd forgotten how huge he was, how he filled the room with his massive size. He was solid muscle, so strong that his jacket bunched over his shoulders, barely able to contain him. "Can I get you something?"

"Water." He walked across the room and sank down on the couch. He braced his forearms across his thighs and bent forward, resting his forehead in his palms.