Page 92 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

I’d worked with my lawyer to restructure Uncle Walt’s loan rather than erase it, without bankrupting the Lockharts. My ownership was a real, legal investment. My attorney had underlined that three times in the contract, as if to convince even me that I belonged in this equation. I had a proper stake, a portfolio, and an official voice in ranch decisions, including my events division. If I wanted to, I could host a line-dancing competition, and no one could legally stop me. Not that Dean would, he’d basically promised me the world to stay.

I was three bites into a peanut butter and banana sandwich when the doorbell rang. I wiped my fingers on a tea towel and braced for Girl Scouts or a package delivery, but instead, Tanner stood on the porch. He looked, for the first time in years, like someone who’d actually rehearsed what he was about to say.

His eyes flicked toward the living room, where Maverick now playing the virtual reality video game Dean bought him, before his gaze came back to me with a kind of somber clarity I didn’t know he possessed.

“Can we talk?” he asked, and it sounded like an apology before the conversation even started.

My first instinct was to roll my eyes, make a snarky comment, or ask what he wanted before agreeing, but I pushed those impulses down and stepped aside and let him in. He hovered near the door, arms crossed, making himself small. His aftershave still smelled like the cologne sampler from the airport duty-free.

I walked back into the kitchen and he followed.

“I got your text,” he began, clearing his throat. “About you guys staying.”

The one I sent a week ago?

Cool.

I waited for him to continue, feeling the exhaustion clump, heavy and gray, at the base of my neck.

He let a breath out, then ran both hands through his hair. “I, um, look, Felicity. I know I’ve been… unreliable. Selfish, even. But none of that means I love Maverick less. I never wanted to be the guy who leaves. I just—” He trailed off, and for the first time, I noticed the lines of worry at the corners of his mouth, the slight bend in his shoulders.

I felt my defenses give, just a little. “I know you love him, Tanner. But loving him and being a dad aren’t always the same thing. You can’t just show up when you remember or when it’s convenient.”

He nodded, silent. Maverick’s laughter drifted in from the next room, pure, high, untarnished by the politics of adulthood.

“I’ve never kept him from you,” I continued, “but from now on, there are rules. Schedules. Boundaries. If you miss a pickup, you explain it to him, not me. There are no more grand gestures. No more showing up in the dead of night with a new toy to fix what you broke. You want to be in his life, you have to show up all the time. Even when it’s boring, even when it’s hard.”

He nodded again. I didn’t know if he’d heard me or not, but I’d learned that sometimes the saying was the point, not necessarily the outcome.

I expected him to get defensive, to rage or blame, but instead, he just looked tired, defeated, a man whose best story had already aired and now must make do with reruns. “Is this because of Dean?” he asked, quiet. “Is he—are you⁠—”

“No. You being a good father has nothing to do with Dean.” I shook my head but didn’t look away. “Dean isn’t replacing anyone. He’s becoming something entirely his own. Maverick loves him and he’s reliable.”

Tanner nodded. “Can I have him this weekend? Saturday?”

“Yes. Be here at ten.” I knew the only way he could prove himself is if he got the chance to. This was just about giving him the chance to.

His phone vibrated and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this call. I’m interviewing with a construction company.”

“Good luck,” I told him, and meant it.

He let himself out, and I watched from my window until his car became just another distant glint between the mailboxes. I wasn’t going to get my hopes up that this would be a turning point. I was just going to take one day at a time. From this moment on Tanner had a fresh slate. I hoped, for Maverick’s sake, that he would make the most of it.

I finished my sandwich, and got Mav ready for bed. After I read him his story, and tucked him, I headed back to the front room to wait for Dean. He’d gone with Dawson to Portland to pick up two retired racehorses. Selma had a soft spot for any animals and people who needed a place to heal, to grow. I was lucky enough to be one of those who she wrapped her angel wings around.

He wasn’t due back for another hour, so I curled up on the couch with my laptop and attempted to get some work done.

Attempted being the operative word.

Fifteen minutes later, the faint scrape of metal against wood came from the front porch.

I frowned, set my laptop aside, and glanced through the window.

Of course.

Dean was standing on my porch with a screwdriver in one hand, his tool bag at his feet, doing something to the light fixture beside the front door.

Every night he came over, he found something else to fix.