Jack couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that his dad had got drunk and missed the scholarship ceremony. They’d been talking about it for weeks. Granted, every time he spoke with his dad he’d seemed more and more distant, but he’d chalked that up to grief.

Luanne yawned from the passenger seat. He hated that he’d have to deal with his dad with her as an audience, but setting her up in a hotel and sorting her issues would take time. Time he didn’t want to take. He had to make sure his dad was alright. “I’m sorry you have to witness this thing between me and my dad.”

She waved away his concern. “Please. You’ve met my father, right? Besides, I’m exhausted. If you point me toward the nearest bedroom, I’ll take my problems there, so you can have some privacy with your dad.”

He chuckled. He’d had the privilege of meeting Marcus Price at a BBQ at Scarlett and Gavin’s house. The man was a boa constrictor waiting to tighten his coils while smiling to your face. “Yeah. Okay, thanks. I honestly don’t know what’s happened to him. He doesn’t drink, other than a couple of beers during a ballgame or something. What I mean is, he’s not a drunk.”

“I get it. This was probably really hard for him and he, I don’t know, needed some help to get through it and drank too much.”

“Maybe. It’s just…”

“What?”

“It’s just that when I spoke with him earlier he seemed so angry. My dad’s probably the nicest guy in the world. I’ve rarely heard him raise his voice. But he was ranting about my mother and me when we were on the phone.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know. It was all so slurred and convoluted.”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay when we get there. The ceremony probably brought up some sad memories for him.”

“I hope you’re right.” Jack turned into the driveway. He cringed at the thought of her seeing the tiny yellow house he grew up in. He’d tried multiple times to get his parents into a nicer place, but they’d both refused. Seeing the house today was jarring. Since his mom’s death his father had let the place go. It really did look like the Averys were from the other side of the tracks.

He turned the car off. “Well, here we are, home, sweet home.” Bitterness curled around every word.

“This is where you grew up?”

“Yep. Surprised?”

“A little.”

“I wasn’t lying about my mom and her drive to see me educated. I knew from an early age that you had a better chance of escaping this…” he waved his hand in the direction of the house, “with a framed diploma on the wall. I worked hard, graduated, went to college and never looked back. But it didn’t always look so run-down. My dad hasn’t kept it up.”

“I’m sort of sorry I called you a pretentious ass.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I am a pretentious ass, but it’s a learned behavior, not something I grew up with.”

They exited the car and made their way up the rickety steps to the house. Through the door he could see all the lights were on, except the one in the living room.

He slid his key into the lock and opened the door. He pointed to a door down the hall. “You can use my bedroom. I’ll sleep on the day bed on the back porch. The bathroom is next to it. It should be clean, I have someone come and clean the house twice a month. Rummage around for anything else you might need. The kitchen is straight ahead.”

“I can’t take your room. I’ll sleep on the back porch, or the sofa.”

“It’s fine. You’ll have more privacy in my room.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Jack. I really don’t know how to repay you.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Pig,” she said, without heat. “Since I’m already racking up a bill, do you think I could borrow your phone? I need to try and get in touch with Scarlett.”

“Sure.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. “Five missed calls from Gavin’s phone. You’re in trouble Ms. Price.”

“I never heard it ring.”

He checked the toggle on the side of the phone. “I turned it off for the wedding. I guess I never turned it back on.”

“I better call her. She’s probably got the Highway Patrol looking for me.” A tap of her finger and the phone came alive. “Thanks for letting me use it.”

“No problem. Ignore the porn. It’s research for work. I promise.”

She chuckled and gave him a wave over her shoulder as she made her way down the hall. “Good night, Jack.”

“Good night.” He followed her movements and almost forgot about the trouble he had brewing with his father. Almost. “Dad?”

“Who dat?”

He followed his father’s Cajun greeting into the small living room and flipped on a small table lamp, casting the room in a golden hue. His dad sat sprawled on the sofa with a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.

“What’s up, Dad?” What the hell was going on? He’d never seen his dad like this.

“Nuttin’.”

“Something is obviously going on or you wouldn’t be sitting here in the dark, drunk as a skunk, and smelling like you haven’t showered in a couple of days.”

“Mind your own damn business.” Spittle followed the statement from his father’s lips.

Jack stepped back like he’d been punched in the gut. His father never spoke to him in this manner. He strode over to take the bottle from his dad’s hand. “Give me that. It’s not doing you any favors.”

The drunken man wrestled for the bottle but lost. “Just get da hell out of here. You’re not my son.”

“What? Dad, are you sick? You’re talking crazy.”

The house phone rang on the small table next to the sofa scaring the shit out of Jack. He lifted the receiver. “Hello.”

“Jack, it’s Rosemary. How’s your dad?”

“He’s drunk and talking out of his head, but I think he’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Okay, if you need anything let me know.”

“I will.” He returned the phone to its stand.

“Stop talkin’ about me like I’m not here, boy. Show me some respect, goddammit, is that any way to talk about your father?” He stared at the paper in his hand, then crumpled it in his fist. “Not your father…” he mumbled, and then began to cry.

Panic flooded Jack’s veins. Something bad was going on with his dad. He knelt beside the sofa so he was eye level with his father. “Dad, tell me what’s wrong. It’s alright, you can tell me.”

The elder Avery shook the fist with the paper in Jack’s face. “This is what’s wrong. This is the end of my life. Your mother lied to us, Jack.” He got nose to nose with his son. “She lied,” he growled. The words sounded like they were being dragged over broken glass.

Jack restrained his dad and took the sheet of paper from his curled fingers. “What is this?” It was a letter addressed to his mother.

“Go on, read it. Every last thing was a bald-faced lie.”

Robin,

My name is Kyle Harris. I’m Mitch Rawlings’ partner. I know it’s been years since you and Mitch have spoken and there has been a great deal of water under the bridge, so this letter probably comes as a shock to you.

I’m writing to inform you that Mitch is very ill, life-threateningly ill. He’s very brave, but the illness is taking its toll on him.

Robin, I know I am overstepping my bounds, but I love Mitch and I can’t stand to see him in pain. I think it is time that Jack finally finds out who his real father is. Mitch is a good man and I would hate to think he would die without ever getting to know his son, or his son knowing him.

I realize I am only a bystander in this drama, and I can’t even image how difficult it was for you to find out your fiancé was gay, but times are different now. I know I’m asking a lot, and I understand if you want no part in this…

It went on, but Jack never saw the rest. The room swayed and his legs went out from under him. He landed with a thud next to his father. The air trapped in his lungs finally escaped. “What the hell, Dad?”

All his dad could do was cry. Jack knew how he felt. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swig. Tears pressed against his own eyes, fire clogged his throat, and his world took a sharp left turn into what-the-fuckville. “It can’t be true. She wouldn’t have lied to us like that. She just wouldn’t have.”

His father nudged a box with his foot. “It’s true, Jack. The proof is in this box. She kept the letters that went back and forth between them. You aren’t my son. Your real father is a gay syrup farmer in Vermont.” He staggered to his feet.

“Dad.”

His father stared down at him like he’d never seen him before. An imaginary fist gripped Jack’s throat. “I don’t care what this letter says.” He kicked the box of correspondence off the table. “Or what those letters say. You’re my dad. We’ll figure this out together.”

“No. We won’t. I’m sorry, Jack, but every time I look at you all I see is her betrayal. I think it would be best if you weren’t here in the morning. I need to deal with this by myself.”

Then the man Jack had worshipped his whole life walked out of the room.