Pain shone in Daddy’s glistening eyes when he turned Lucky’s way. “What I did, there’s no excuse for, no matter what reason I thought I had. But if you can’t forgive me, hate me all you need to, but please don’t hold my stupidity against the rest of the family.”
“You mean that? You’re really sorry?” And all these years Lucky’d simmered in self-hate for having deserved his shunning.
“I’ve never been sorrier.”
“Look—”
Daddy held up a hand. “I know I’ll never be able to say or do anything to make it up to you, but if you’ll let me, I’ll try.”
For years Lucky had clung to guilt for Victor’s death, and the certainty he’d lost his parents by his own actions. “I’m a stubborn ass myself, but there’s a man out in the kitchen with Mama who’d have a few choice words for me if I said no.”
“Then he must be a good man too.”
“None better.” For a one-time consummate liar, the truth fell so easily from Lucky’s tongue these days. But Daddy? Sorry? “You have no idea how bad your turning your back hurt me. Especially when I had no idea what all you blamed me for. I thought it was because I got arrested and I deserved to lose my family.”
Daddy shook his shaggy head. “I’m learning. I’m getting a dose of my own medicine. It don’t taste none too good.”
Outside a goat cried out. When Lucky lived here, he’d be making sure the critter hadn’t gotten its fool head stuck in a fence.
Weathered skin and recovering health aged Clarence Lucklighter, his arms permanently browned by countless hours spent working in the sun. “You should know that when the doctor told me I didn’t have long if I couldn’t get a transplant, a part of me wanted to call it quits. I’m glad I didn’t. Even if you never speak to me again, and I’d understand if you didn’t, it’s good to see you again, son.”
Son. A sliver of ice chipped off Lucky’s innards. “It’s weird being back.”
Dad scrutinized Lucky long enough to make Lucky squirm. “I’m glad to have you back. Even if…”
Even if he had to lose Bristol. Lucky kept his mouth shut.
“And all this time I was convinced you’d sent Daytona drugs when he’d just gotten out of rehab.”
“I didn’t, and I wouldn’t.” How could his own family believe he’d supply his brother’s habit for even a moment?
“Seems you’ve done well for yourself.” Nice to hear pride in the man’s voice. No matter what happened between them over the years, the little boy in Lucky still wanted his father’s approval.
But the grown man in him, the one who no longer crawled, needed to punch the crap out of something in a boxing ring. “I have.” With Bo and Walter’s help.
The skin around his father’s eyes crinkled. “You do understand I’ll have to give this man of yours hell, see if he’s good enough for my boy, right? It’s the Lucklighter way.”
Maybe now, but where was this protectiveness when Charlotte married the undisputed prince of assholes? Dad could have saved her a lot of beatings and a cross country move to escape. Victor came to her rescue, not their father.
Bo was a better man than Lucky could have dreamed of, no matter what Dad thought.
“Bo’s a good man. The best. Take that as a given. Besides, he won’t give you a chance to not like him.” He’d have Daddy Lucklighter eating out of his hand in no time. Mama probably already was. Stress from the last twenty-four hours pressed down. Lucky needed sleep, and didn’t want to consider his father’s words until more of his brain worked.
Daddy flapped a hand. “Now, go on and get out of here. I’m sure the rest of the family wants time with you.”
Lucky stood. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Probably best I don’t. They’re not very happy with me right now, and I don’t want to meet your man if I’m never going to get to see him again. Maybe later, under better circumstances.” Dad rose and gripped Lucky in a hug. “I love you, son. I want you to know I never stopped loving you, though I know I had a piss poor way of showing it.” He gave a final squeeze and let go.
“I know, Daddy. I know.” Saying the words right now seemed shallow, a kneejerk response to Dad’s own declaration. Not that he didn’t, but… His thoughts churned, making too little sense at the moment. An anchor. He needed his anchor. Lucky stood at the door, watching the man who’d once been his hero—might still be his hero—shuffle to the window and gaze outside. He might be down, but not out. Lucklighter stubbornness came in handy at times.
Lucky followed voices into the kitchen, rich with the scents of bacon and fresh baked biscuits. May Bo forgive him for the food sins of the next ten minutes.
Dallas and Bo stood by the sink. They stopped talking when Lucky walked in. Dallas opened and closed his mouth a few times. Nothing emerged.
Words needed saying, but maybe not today. “Well, lookie here,” Lucky said. “If it ain’t Little Dover Lucklighter, all growed up.”
“Don’t call me that.” Dallas’s grin called his gruff tone a lie.
