Chapter Thirty-Three

Beck held on to the float with one hand and Baby Back’s leash with the other. The marching band played while the float crept through the small downtown. He let go every once in a while to wave, calling out to friends and acquaintances he’d made during his time in Holiday. This must be how his grandfather had felt when he’d ridden in the parade every year.

Fresh feelings of loss bubbled up, threatening to turn what should have been the sweet buzz of success into a bittersweet moment of nostalgia. How he wished he’d had the chance to meet Sully. It had taken him a while, but he’d come to see his grandfather in the legacy he’d left behind…in the Rose, in the people of Holiday, in himself. Finally, the float came to a stop at the end of the route, the newly renovated park on the edge of town.

Beck handed Baby Back’s leash over to Shep. “Can you take care of this for me?”

“You got someplace to be?” Shep asked as he wrapped the lead around his hand.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Darby leaned out the window of the truck. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I’ve got a few things to take care of. Tell Charlie I’ll find her in a bit, okay?” He broke into a jog. The first step of his plan was complete, but he needed to see the rest through.

Darby shook her head. “You’d better not be running away.”

He waved her off. No more tricks. No more lies. No more trying to be someone he didn’t want to be. He couldn’t wait to get started. But first, he needed to take care of something. Something that looked a lot like his dad arriving in a caravan of three ridiculously out-of-place, giant, black SUVs.

Beck walked toward his father as he exited the first vehicle. “You’re too late, Dad.”

His father tilted his sunglasses down and peered over the rims, an amused smirk on his lips. “Excuse me?”

“I said you’re too late. It’s done.”

Holiday huffed on the lenses of his glasses and pulled a handkerchief from his front suit pocket. “I forgot how damn dirty this place gets. The dust alone will make you insane.”

“There’s nothing for you here. No reason for you to be here or get involved. Why don’t you head back to New York?”

“I made you a good offer on that rattrap. It’s not too late to change your mind. I can’t believe you’re going to turn me down and give up the chance to have a piece of the pie, Son.”

“I don’t want a piece of your pie.” Hell, he didn’t even want to sit at the same table as his father anymore. To think that once that had been the sum of his life’s aspirations—to impress his dad and earn a spot on the management team.

“I don’t think you mean that. What about your buddy J.T.? The two of you seemed to be in cahoots. Are you going to walk away from him? Turn your back on a friend?”

That stung. Beck was prepared to take responsibility for trashing his own career. But the thought of causing J.T.’s future to implode nagged at him. “This is all on me. J.T. shouldn’t be punished for one of my decisions.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. The boy shows initiative. I think I’ll put him in charge of that hotel project in the Village when I get back.”

Three months ago, that project had been Beck’s. The threat of his dad ripping it away would have had him begging for another chance. But not anymore. He’d seen the kind of corruption and inflated self-worth his dad’s aspirations had caused.

“Good. He’ll do a great job for you.” For a split second, Beck considered how it might feel to spit at his dad’s feet. He wanted to sully those sassy, shiny Italian loafers.

“What about you, Son? You’ve lost everything. Kind of screwed yourself over now, haven’t you?”

He’d never get it. Wasn’t worth the breath it would take to try to explain things to him. “Yep. That’s me. Self-screwing. All fucked up. I think I’m going to hang out here for a bit. See if I can find a place to crash until I figure out what I want to do next.”

Holiday slid his sunglasses back in place and pocketed the handkerchief. “I’ve got to say, I’m disappointed in you. You’re just like him, you know.”

“Who?”

“Your grandfather. He was a damn fool. Could have made something out of himself, but he wouldn’t leave this hellhole. Enjoy his legacy. It’s all you’ve got left.”

Beck could have let his father go with that. Let him have the final word like he always had. But this might be the last time he’d share air with the man. He had to know the truth.

“That’s why you left, isn’t it? You couldn’t stand not being the most important Holiday in town. So you took the key to Sully’s safety deposit box and cashed in all those savings bonds he had. You built your business on your father’s back. The sad thing is, he would have forgiven you for that. But you couldn’t let it go, could you? You’ve spent your whole life trying to prove to everyone that Beckett Sullivan Holiday Jr. isn’t the piece of shit his father always knew he was.”

Holiday spun around to face him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But I do, Dad. Sully sent both of us letters. Letters you marked ‘Return to sender.’ He begged you to come home. Said he’d forgive you for stealing the money. He wanted his family back. But you were too proud, weren’t you?”

“He was never a father to me. He loved that damn bar more than he ever cared about his own son. You can’t imagine what that feels like.”

Beck wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of that statement. “I read the letters, Dad. You were jealous of the legacy he was building. The legacy he wanted to leave for you.”

“We’re through here. I’ve got better things to do than listen to you spout off about things you know nothing about.”

“You ever want a real relationship with me, one not based on what I can add to your bottom line or how well I can kiss your ass, you’ll know where to find me.”

His dad didn’t look back. He climbed into the waiting dust-covered SUV. Beck watched until the vehicle became a speck on the horizon, waiting for some sort of emotion to hit him. Nothing.

A few long seconds passed before Dwight shuffled over. “Wow. And I thought my old man was an asshole.”

Beck shook his head and let out a defeated laugh. “Yeah. At least that’s something my dad will always be best at.”

“Hey, man to man, I’m sorry about earlier. I promise I was only doing what I thought would help Charlie. If you wanna kick the shit outta me—”

Beck clapped a hand on Dwight’s shoulder and turned him toward the tractor. “Forget about it. That’s what family does—look out for each other. Now…want to drive me over to the Rose? I’ve got a Texas-sized apology to make, and I’m going to need some help.”