Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“Then give it to Logan.”
“Logan’s a child. I can’t predict the final outcome, but I can guarantee he won’t be the one to take over Hawthorne Fishery.” He coughed and withdrew the silk handkerchief from his pocket to cover his mouth.
Men like his father didn’t wear illness well.
Magnus was a man of small stature with astounding presence. His bearing carried specific gravity, and despite Greyson towering over him by at least a foot, he never underestimated the damage a man like Magnus Hawthorne the Third could inflict.
He’d been such an overbearing presence in their lives that imagining a world without him was difficult. They knew this moment approached, and they’d all had time to prepare. But it still didn’t feel real.
Greyson thought reality might set in when the treatment started, but his dad walked in and out of those appointments like ordinary business meetings. And when his skin showed bruises that refused to heal, Greyson somehow overlooked those symptoms as well. Even when his dad’s bones protruded through his clothes, he pretended not to notice a difference. It was how his father wanted it. No emotion. No fuss.
His father tucked the silk handkerchief away and shook his head. “I can only imagine what kind of fools your brothers are making of themselves right now.”
Greyson didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about any of this—not his father’s inevitable demise or the selling off of their family’s company, and certainly not Wren.
Of course, she’d been the first thought for all of them. But she would never go for that sort of arrangement. Wren embodied emotion and wouldn’t settle for anything short of love. She deserved the absolute best. None of them were good enough for her.
Soren was as deep as a puddle and far too self-involved. Logan stayed too oppositional. And Greyson... Well, he just never wanted to disappoint her.
Wren needed a talker, someone who loved all that spiritual nonsense she practiced down at the retreat. She had so many remarkable talents. She needed someone who would listen to her and not try to change her. Someone with above-average emotional intelligence who would spend every day making her happy.
He frowned as he considered the qualities of a decent man for Wren. As much as the idea sickened him, he’d prefer his youngest brother over Soren. There was just something less threatening about Logan.
“You know, it could actually be Logan.” Saying the words out loud turned his stomach. But Logan always shared a special bond with Wren. Of the three of them, his youngest brother was by far the most sensitive. She deserved sensitivity.
A gruff laugh left his father’s throat. “The day that boy sees anything through is the day I start believing in Santa Claus.”
His father had a point. But if Logan or Soren truly wanted this badly enough, they could make it happen. Wren wasn’t the only single female in town.
“Our name’s worth something, Dad. They could go on any dating app and find a wife in a matter of weeks. The clause only states that we have to get married before the holidays. It says nothing about love.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “Marriage is a contract. Only a fool would enter one with a stranger.”
“You’re sort of forcing our hands.”
“Am I? Or am I validating that none of you are ready to take on this responsibility?” He shook his head. “Three sons, and not a single one of you—”
“Stop.” Greyson held up a hand. “You invited us here, pretending it was for Thanksgiving when it was only one more way to express your disappointment. We get it. We got it when we were teenagers. You can stop hammering us with all your grievances.”
“And why do you think I grieve, Greyson? Boys are supposed to grow up into men. The three of you are now in your twenties and thirties and still acting like boys.”
As if it had only started in their teens.
“Just because we’re not making a living according to your expectations doesn’t mean we’re not living respectable adult lives.”
Magnus waved away his words. He appeared tired, as if dressing after breakfast and having one short meeting with his sons had worn him out. He probably stayed too prideful to rest as long as others remained at the house.
Greyson withdrew the keys to his truck. “Do you need anything before I take off?”
“I need you to do the right thing, Greyson. One of you has to step up to the plate, or everything I’ve worked for—the sum of my existence—will all be for naught.”
Crossing the room, he dropped a hand on his father’s narrow shoulder and gently squeezed. “We can’t control everything, Dad. The day you accept that, things will become easier.”
“I’m running out of days,” he grumbled, shouldering him off. “For once, you could do as I ask instead of doing what you damn well please.”