One minute with the man had crushed what little optimism I’d held before. Jack Buchanan – retired or not – was clearly still every last ounce the same bitter, malignant bastard as before.

I’d spent the entire drive here gathering up every scrap of hatred I had towards this man and shoving it down, far down, locking it in a gristled old cage in the back of my head, then locking the thing up tight and swallowing the key.

For her sake, I’d told myself over and over. Do it for her. Do it for Connor.

One look at Jack and his crushing scowl, his stern face betraying total disappointment, and I’d felt the cage rattle.

The hatred wanted out.

It wanted to punch his face in.

Instead of giving into it, I reached deep inside and tightened those thick, leather restraints, all the while forcing a smile for him.

I will not let him drive her away from me again.

“…Fine,” he’d finally muttered.

I could see his open contempt for me, drawn in every wrinkle on his face. Clear as day, the cogs were spinning in his head. I literally watched him decide whether or not he would slam the door in his own daughter’s face.

Human decency won in the end.

“Dinner’s ready in the kitchen…” He grunted, turning on his cane to wander into the house.

I kept my eyes on his back, tilting my head to the side. It was hard to say if I felt irritated or relieved, but I whispered into her ear.

“Well, I think that went pretty well…”

She looked at me with a face more venomous than some of the snakes I’d seen in the desert, and I almost laughed out loud.

We followed Jack towards the kitchen.

I quietly nodded to her, gazing around as we crossed the house.

“This place is almost ridiculously clean.”

“Ex-military,” Sarah reminded me. “Dad was taught to be regimental about spotlessness, or have you forgotten all my chores from when I was growing up?” She lowered her voice further: “I sincerely doubt you’re going to find a speck of dust in this entire house.”

I went silent, observing the truth behind her words. Hell, maybe he’s onto something. I should teach my Dragons a thing or two about keeping up with cleaning and maintenance…

He might have been a crotchety bastard, but her father had good taste. Everywhere I turned, I could see quality hardwood flooring in a crisp, burnt orange tone. The visually striking walls were textured with pale gray ledger tiles, with the odd accent wall. The furniture was all dark wood, clearly crafted with care and sitting on classic desert rugs to protect the floors.

Somehow it all tied together.

I thought back to Ma and her odd shifts at the local hardware superstore when I was a kid, and silently thanked her for giving me a surprising appreciation for this kind of stuff.

Of particular notice to me was one wall in the hallway at the end of the den. It connected from the main living area to the kitchen, and on one side there was a bathroom door and a flight of stairs leading up.

The opposite wall, however, held a collage of pictures. At a glance, there must have been at least a dozen separate frames here: many were the vertical style, containing three to five photos apiece, while a couple were large frames featuring ten to twenty pictures in a scattered array. Very few of the frames seemed to be dedicated to a single large photograph.

Something about this collection of their past called out to me but, unfortunately, we weren’t stopping for a walk down memory lane.

Jack drew us over to the kitchen. Besides the cookware on the countertop, it was just as clean and goddamn spotless as the rest of the house.

Like so many other houses around here, the spacious kitchen doubled as a dining room. Jack pointed gruffly to his cookware on the counter before fixing himself a plate of food.

“I’ll get it for you, sweetheart,” I told Sarah as I pulled her chair out for her.

After the long drive, I knew that she’d love to sit on her feet somewhere that wasn’t rattling her tired, aching body.

“She’s a grown ass woman,” Jack grunted, digging out a handful of serving spoons. He started ripping aluminum foil off of the dishes. “She can certainly serve her damn self.”

Sarah paused halfway into sitting, pulling herself back up to a standing position. With a weak smile, she shrugged.

“Thanks, babe. But I can get it myself.”

I could see how tired she was.

“Are you sure?”

Jack growled; his back was still turned to us. “Funny how you think my daughter can’t do something simple like feed herself, with all that junk you’ve put into her head…”

I swallowed a sigh.

Just get through dinner, I told myself.

But I couldn’t have been prepared for how disastrous Jack was willing to make an easy, simple thing like a goddamn meal…

* * *

For his faults, Jack surprisingly proved himself to be no slouch over a hot stovetop.

After spending what had probably been his entire afternoon slinging pots and pans, it was plain to see that the spirit of the feast was ruined. Yet the food itself was actually pretty damn good, especially since he’d cooked Sarah’s favorite: lamb lasagna. Alongside that was a heaping bowl of mozzarella caprese salad, a stack of four-cheese garlic flatbreads with some sort of homemade marinara, and a pan of roasted, spiced asparagus stalks.

Sarah’s father sat across from us, grumpily scooping grub into his mouth. I felt a small boot kick into my ankle, and swallowed my chunk of lasagna as I turned to him.

“This food is fantastic, sir,” I offered as a gesture of respect, maybe even borderline peace. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

Jack grunted. “The army.”

I was impressed. “They teach you to cook like this in the army?”

“Of course not,” he growled, sticking another forkful of food into his mouth. “They teach you to work a thankless fourteen-hour shift in a hot kitchen, serving thankless brats who think you control the menus.”

“I see,” I lied, painfully trying to keep the conversation going… somewhere. “Did you go to a school for this? Take classes somewhere?”

He grumbled. “Yeah, I took classes.”

Thankfully, Sarah came to my rescue. “You know, I never knew that you went to school for cooking, Dad. Where’d you go?”

Jack pointed his knife towards a nearby stack of shelves, half-filled with cookbooks.

“There.”

I nodded. “Self-taught, huh?”

Jack grunted his response into another bite of the meal. His haggard, angry old eyes were locked onto me as he chewed.

This was getting awkward, fast.

“I notice you’re not wearing leathers,” he grumbled with a stern, withering glare. “You still with that club of yours?”

Sarah squeezed my hand under the table.

“Yes,” I replied. “The Devil’s Dragons.”

He bitterly pulled his gaze away.

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of trouble those bastards were causing me while they were active around here,” Jack replied coolly. He slid his icy stare back to me. “Oh wait, yes you would. You were there for some of it, weren’t you…?”

I stiffened in my seat.

“Yes, at the end.”

“Funny… I never knew how you got away.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dad, please,” Sarah butted in, clearly trying to defuse the situation. “Maybe not at dinner? We’ve had a long ride up.”

Jack’s eyes slid to her.

She shrunk slightly in her chair.

“Asked you a question, boy,” he told me as he watched her. His simmering gaze returned to me. “How did you get away that day?”

“Broke a window, climbed out.”

“Did you try to make my daughter run away with you?” He smiled sadistically, although there was nothing smiling in his eyes. “Answer me.”

“I did.”

He nodded. “Of course you did.”

We sat in quiet, awkward silence as we ate. Thankfully, I wasn’t far from finishing, and Sarah kept her spare hand supportively on my thigh.

“Didn’t work out for you, did it?”

I lifted my gaze from my bite. “Hmm?”

Jack was distinctly watching me, his leathery hands clasped together with an elbow on either side of his plate.

“Asking Sarah to run away with you from her big, bad Dad…” he grunted, studying me for a reaction. “Didn’t quite pan out for you, did it?”

“No,” I replied coolly. “Guess not.”

“Huh,” he commented to himself.

We returned to quietly eating. I didn’t envy Sarah’s difficult position with her front-row seat to this shit-show, but I also wasn’t sympathetic.

After all, she was the reason we were even–

“Guess you just weren’t that important to her then, after all,” Jack suddenly added.

I pushed back from the table.

Sarah looked up at me in panic.

Meanwhile, Jack merely smiled to himself.

“Thanks for dinner, Jack.” I snatched my plate off the table and dropped it off in the sink, then walked from the room before I tugged him out that chair and beat the snot out of that stupid, smug face of his.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” I heard him call out after me in clear mocking. “No room for dessert…?”

I ignored him.

Instead, I made my way outside to my bike, eager to put some distance between us. Deciding it was time to take our things inside, I grabbed the duffel bag I had carefully strapped onto the back.

I wanted to cool off before having to go back inside, so I briefly checked it for road wear.

We didn’t know how long we were going to be here, so we’d packed ourselves four full changes of clothes, some toiletries, and anything else of dire importance. For anything more, I expected that we could either pick up some extra supplies in town, or make use of his washer and dryer.

The idea of walking back into that house was revolting to me, so I spent another brief moment calming myself down.

I’d been a goddamn fool to let him get to me.

Less than an hour in the presence of goddamn Jack Buchanan, and he’d not only already searched for my weakness, but he'd found it…

All I could do now was steel myself.

Clearly, this is going to be an uphill battle…

As I finally walked back to the front door, it popped open. I stopped mid-step, expecting to see Jack. Thank God, it was Sarah instead.

“Oh good, you’re getting our things…”

“Feel like I’m doing this backwards,” I replied. “I should be strapping this bag back onto the bike and getting us out of here…”

Sarah looked conflicted.

“Dad’s letting us have my old bedroom, just like old times…”

When my gaze only hardened, she avoided it. It was clear to me that she was fully unwilling to take me up on my unspoken offer, although I knew that I couldn’t be that surprised.

“Hunter, you don’t have to deal with him any more tonight,” Sarah attempted to reassure me, seeing the stern look on my face. “I’ve convinced Dad that he should just go ahead and take an early night, maybe get some rest…”

“Good,” I muttered, walking past her.

“Do you remember where it is?”

“Where what is?”

“My bedroom.”

I scoffed brusquely. “I haven’t forgotten. I had to sneak into this place often, remember?” I continued in the direction of the stairs, on the other side of the den. “Just like old times…”

Thankfully, I didn’t see Jack upstairs. I made my way towards her bedroom, spotting the open doorway before I accidentally mixed up the doors and walked right back into him again.

My body was riddled with tension as I set the bag on the bed. I glanced around the room, taking in all the details. It hadn’t changed much since I’d been here last, so long ago.

Jack had obviously preserved it for her.

The door shut behind me.

I felt a presence at my back, and Sarah’s arms enveloped me. I stiffened at her touch, but she was nipping at my earlobe. I knew that there was no point in being mad at her – the real enemy here was that miserable bastard down the hall,.

If I still knew Jack, he was going to be mighty determined to make us remember that….

“Hunter…” Sarah murmured against my ear. “I know he’s a real pain in the ass, but it’s obvious that you’re trying.” I loved how her breath lightly trailed over the lobe, sexily slipping the words into my head. Already, she was calming me down, and I felt the tightness in my chest relaxing.

“Just hang in there, babe,” she whispered in my ear. “Don’t let him get to you. I’ll help keep you distracted. But for now, let me thank you for all your patience so far…”

Before I could ask what she meant, I felt her lips press on the side of my throat, beneath my jaw. As Sarah slowly, hungrily kissed away all of my tension, I felt my cock starting to stiffen in my jeans.

A dark, powerful smile crossed my face…