Feisty Red (Three Chicks Brewery #2) - Stacey Kennedy Page 0,42

can see you’re looking for peace, Sullivan, and to find that, you need to put in the work. You need to face things you don’t want to face. And ask hard questions.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What questions?”

“Why did you run from a woman you obviously loved? Why has it taken you seven years to come home?” She hesitated like she knew those questions were like knives to Sullivan’s gut. “Go back to the place where you hit a dead end and your life forked in a new direction. See what you find there.”

Sullivan looked back out the window, watching the leaves flickering on the branches. He knew exactly where he needed to go to find that fork in his life. The one place he hadn’t been since he was twenty-one years old.

Home.

The gloomy, rainy morning had come and gone, and Clara had finished up lunch and put her dirty dishes in the dishwasher when there was a knock at the door. With Amelia busy in the brewery, Clara hurried to answer, expecting a delivery. However, when she opened the door, she found Sullivan, looking…different. There was a stillness about him that she’d never seen before as rain battered the ground. “Is everything okay?” she asked, opening the door wider.

He gave a small nod. “I know you’re working, but could you take some time away and come with me somewhere?”

She glanced at her watch. 12:32. “I’ve got an hour or so before I’ve got a meeting scheduled with our lawyer to finalize the contracts.”

“I’ll get you back before it starts,” he promised.

Lost in the tense set of his eyes, she recognized that dark pain. “Should I be worried?”

“No, I’m all right,” he said, twining his warm fingers with hers, holding strong. “Truly. I just want you with me.”

Her heart flipped, overexposing all the soft spots to him, and she went with him without further thought. Curious, but letting him think through whatever was on his mind, she stayed silent next to him on the drive as the windshield wipers worked to clear the sheet of rain off the windshield. Until she realized he was heading to the one place she thought he’d never go: his childhood home. The light blue two-story house with the simple perennial gardens. “Have you been by here yet?” she asked, wondering why he’d come here.

He shook his head, put the truck in park, and turned it off, emotion filling his eyes.

The street was quiet, save for one man walking his dog down the other side of the road with an umbrella and a rain jacket on the dog. For Clara, Good memories lived on this street, and she assumed for Sullivan too, until those memories faded into all the bad ones.

A beat passed. “Did you talk to your dad after you left?” she asked, breaking the silence, needing to hear his thoughts.

“No,” he said, with no hint of remorse in his voice. “When I left, I left him behind.” He studied the house, running a hand through his hair. “I’m surprised the house is still standing. I figured someone would have knocked it down and rebuilt it.”

“Well…it’s still standing because your dad left it to me.” Sullivan’s head whirled so fast toward Clara, she laughed softly. “You never knew?”

“No. Never,” he stated, shaking his head slowly. “But I also never returned the lawyer’s phone calls or letters when he contacted me. I had my agent, Marco, tell him to donate whatever money my father had to a cancer charity. I signed the necessary documents, and that was that.” He paused, his eyes searching hers. “Why would he leave you—”

She could see the exact moment when he realized why, and she nodded. “It’s complicated. He knew Mason was yours, but I’m not sure that’s the only reason he left me the house.”

“Did you tell him?”

She let out a long breath, leaning her head back against the headrest before answering. “After that day I confronted him, I didn’t see your dad for a while.” She looked out at the house she’d had painted last year by some students looking for work. She’d had a kid down the road cut the grass, and she tended to the gardens when she could. But the house had remained empty because Clara had no idea what to do with it. “But after a while, I heard he’d lost a lot of weight and was doing really bad, so I brought him food once a week and left it on the porch.”

When she