Home to Stay (Southern Boys Book 2)

by Harper Cassidy

  Copyright 2020

  By Harper Cassidy

  All Rights Reserved

  To S.

  1

  On the day he left, Chet Barnaby had never intended to set foot in Rubyville, South Carolina ever again. Fifteen long years had passed, but taking the "Rubyville Highway" exit off the interstate put a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he'd gratefully left behind when he moved to Nashville, and he was not pleased to experience it again. Leaving his hometown was the best thing he'd ever done for himself, and visiting the location of his miserable childhood and adolescence felt like a giant step backwards.

  There were, of course, people who would tell him that his real unhappiness stemmed from the death of his father—whose estate lawyer was the cause for this unwanted trip—but those people had never met the real Walker Barnaby.

  As an alleged pillar of the community who went to church every single Sunday and donated to the tithing plate with regularity, Walker Barnaby's public persona was well-regarded among the elite of Rubyville. Of course his apparent generosity didn't stop at the church. He also sponsored food and clothing drives for the needy and helped build a rec center for underprivileged youth.

  What the churchgoers and the less fortunate never saw was what a mean drunk the old bastard was. They never saw what a shitty husband he was outside of the public eye—until the death of his wife, anyway—or what a hateful father. Those personality traits didn't stop existing when he was sober, they just got ten times worse when he wasn't.

  Chet shook off the recollections as they tried to take center stage in his mind. He had done his best, for the last decade at least, not to think about the man who had sired him. He sure as hell didn't want to start again now.

  Hadn't he paid for therapy so that he wouldn't need to?

  The highway took him past the old high school. After his childhood home, it was his least favorite place in Rubyville. Even church had been better, and for a life-long atheist like him, that was saying something. At least Reverend Donner had been kind—even his sermons against homosexuality took more of a "now, now, children," slap on the wrist approach than the standard fire and brimstone that tended to be popular in small southern towns. Home was the worst, but high school had been a close second. Unpleasant memories threatened to surface once more as he turned onto Main Street, but he pushed them away.

  His GPS warned him of the imminence of his arrival at his destination. Looking ahead, he saw the sign for the law firm. Thankfully, there were a couple of slanted spaces right out front and no parking meters—not that he'd really expected them—so he easily swung his compact car into a spot and killed the engine, not worrying about keeping the heater going. It was February and cold as hell, but his adrenaline fed his body temperature. He didn't want to be here and he didn't want to be talking to a lawyer about his dead father. He wanted to be home, in bed, with a glass of wine and either a TV show to binge, or a new hook-up to enjoy. He honestly didn't care which anymore.

  Sighing, he pushed open the door and got out of the car, shrugging into his leather jacket. It was well-lined and cut the chill down to a minimum, for which he was grateful, as the wind was icy. He didn't bother with his gloves or scarf, since he was only a few feet from the door, but his ears and fingers were painfully cold by the time he stepped inside and heard the little chimes above the door.

  No one was behind the desk when he walked in, but he heard a female voice call out from the next room that she would be right with him. He considered taking a seat, but the small fireplace next to the door was too inviting to pass up. He warmed his hands in front of the grate, enjoying the tingle as feeling returned to them.

  "Is it already bad outside? I heard it was supposed to drop twenty degrees by nightfall," the same woman said from behind him, then made a "brr" sound and shook herself as he turned around.

  She was a white-haired robust woman in her late fifties with fewer lines in her soft brown face than her hair would seem to require. The sign on her desk identified her as "Lauren McCall."

  "It is bad already, yes." Chet smiled at her in spite of his mood and stuck out a hand for her to shake. "Hi, Lauren—or do you prefer Ms. McCall? I'm Chet Barnaby. I'm here to see Mr. Gallagher."

  She grinned at him and waved him off as she shook his hand. "Oh, just Lauren is fine. Now, which Gallagher did you want? Junior or Senior?"

  "Oh. Um. Senior, I think?" Chet said, already dreading walking back out to his car in the icy wind.

  "All right. Let me just double check his calendar and then I'll let him know you're here." Lauren tapped at her keyboard and clicked her mouse a few times, then frowned. "Oh. It looks like he canceled his appointments for the day...." Her frown deepened and she typed more.

  "He didn't notify me of a cancellation. I drove all the way from Nashville for this," Chet said, keeping his voice calm. He was getting very annoyed with Gallagher, but had no desire to take it out on Lauren.

  A door opened from a hallway to the left, and a sexy and vaguely familiar looking brunet strode out. He smiled at Lauren first, then noticed Chet and extended his hand.

  "Hi. Chet Barnaby? Nicholas Gallagher. You were supposed to meet with my father, but he had an emergency with another client and asked me to step in. I hope you don't mind. He didn't want you to have to reschedule your trip."

  "Well, I wish he'd told me," Lauren chided.

  "I'm sorry, Lar. Mr. Wilkins got cold feet," Nicholas said.

  Lauren rolled her eyes. "Oh. No wonder. I'm surprised he managed to reschedule this one, if Wilkins is in an uproar." She smiled at Chet. "I’m sorry for worrying you. Normally, they keep me in the loop." She winked at him. "And I do appreciate you not taking it out on me, incidentally. Most people do."

  "I'm not perfect, but I do try not to take it out on people when it isn't their fault," Chet said, smiling.

  "Thanks, Lauren. Sorry again. Mr. Barnaby, if you'll follow me," Gallagher Junior said.

  "Chet. Please." The less associated with his father Chet felt, the better.

  Gallagher nodded and led him to an office behind the door he'd originally come out of, which Chet presumed must belong to Gallagher senior. His adrenaline was even higher now, first from the misunderstanding over the appointment and now because the appointment had finally arrived. He concentrated on taking slow deep breaths to try and calm his racing heart.

  "So, I don't know how much my dad disclosed to you in his letter or on the phone—" Gallagher said as he took a seat behind the large desk and motioned for Chet to sit in one of the oversized chairs in front of it.

  "Not much. He just said there were 'matters related to Walker Barnaby's estate' that he needed to discuss with me in person," Chet said.

  "Ah." Gallagher reached for a large binder and pulled it toward him, flipping it open. "Well, the fact of the matter is, you're here for the reading of the will."

  Chet stared at him in silence for a moment. "I thought only people named in the will needed to be present for the reading?"

  "That is generally the case, yes." Gallagher raised an eyebrow. "You didn't expect to be named, then?"

  Chet couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped. "I haven't seen or spoken to my father since my eighteenth birthday. So, no. I didn't expect to be named in his will."

  "Then I suspect you're going to be even more surprised when I read it to you. May I?" Gallagher asked, gesturing at the paper in front of him.

  "If it's why I'm here, go ahead."

  Gallagher started to read and Chet's jaw gradually moved further and further down toward his chest. According to what Gallagher was reading, Walker had left him everything—which was no small collection of properties, moni
es and heirlooms—with the sole stipulation being he had to run the family farm for one year. He would have access to inherited funds during that time, but if he did not run the place for the full three hundred and sixty-five days—on the premises for a minimum of twenty-one days per month—he would have to return the money and the entire estate would be donated. If, on the other hand, Chet managed the property for one full year, it would then be his to do with as he wished, including selling it, and all money and items would belong to him, free and clear.

  "What the hell do I know about running a farm?" Chet asked at the end of the reading.

  He wanted to walk away, deny his father's dying wish outright. But there was no satisfaction in it, given that his father was dead and would be unable to suffer from having his nose rubbed in Chet's refusal. Not to mention, the amount of money was more than he'd ever suspected his father could have amassed. He made a decent living as a consultant, but with the kind of money at stake, he could either expand his business beyond his wildest dreams—or take an early retirement and pay someone to run his business while he collected a monthly dividend on top of his inheritance money.

  "I know this is a big decision. It's stipulated that you have thirty days from the date of the reading in order to make your choice. The year starts whenever you decide to take over. Or the estate will be donated, the day after you decline. You may have use of the house, until you decide. Jerry Planchett will take care of the day to day on the farm until you make your decision, so that's not anything you need to deal with just yet, either."

  Chet continued to sit there for a moment, feeling the unreality of it all washing over him. He'd never wanted to come back to Rubyville, and now he was being told that he could have more money than he could make on his own in a decade, if he'd just stay here for a year. He'd hated Rubyville so much, but his father was gone. High school couldn't hurt him anymore, right? It was surely far enough into the twenty-first century now that he could be openly gay in a small town, right? Maybe that was wishful thinking.

  "Listen, I can see you're a little bit... stunned. I'm due to take a break after this. Can I buy you lunch? I feel like it's the least I can do, after springing this news on you."

  Chet looked up at Gallagher, having nearly forgotten he was there. "Um. Sure. I should probably eat something soon."

  Ten minutes later and no less confused, Chet found himself seated in the corner booth of a restaurant that hadn't existed the last time he'd been in town. He tried to ignore how attractive Gallagher was, especially since he still couldn't place his face. He didn't want to ask if they knew each other. Since Gallagher hadn't brought it up, it might be best to leave it in the past.

  The waitress took their drink orders—bourbon on the rocks for both—and promised to return soon to find out what they wanted to eat. Chet flipped through the menu without taking in a single thing. He sighed and tried again, doing his best to concentrate. He finally saw a steak and decided he'd indulge in some red meat for a change. He set the menu aside and sipped his drink.

  "So, I'm guessing you don't remember me," Gallagher said after a moment. When Chet didn't answer, he continued, "I mean, it's been a while, and I didn't go by my dad's name then, so I'm not really surprised."

  "Oh. No, I don't think I do. You seem vaguely familiar, but my childhood was overall not very pleasant and I've tried to put my past here behind me." Chet rarely minced words these days. Growing up so stifled had led him to chafe at the least bit of polite lying, so he didn't unless he had to for business.

  Gallagher nodded and sipped his drink again. "Well, I can certainly understand that. Um, I know you didn't ask, but in school, I went by my middle name and my mother's maiden name. So you'd have known me as Sam Mayhew."

  As much as Chet hated lying and being fake, there were situations where both were necessary. This was one of those times. Sam Mayhew was a large part of the reason his high school experience had been hell, but he was damned if he was going to give him the satisfaction of letting that show. So Chet put on his best mildly confused face and feigned innocence.

  "Hm, doesn't ring a bell. Were you in a different year than me, maybe? What made you change your name?" Chet couldn't tell if Gallagher/Sam's face was confused or relieved at his apparent lack of memory.

  "Um, no, same year. I changed it when I went to law school. Dad's name opened a lot of doors that Mom's didn't," he said with a sheepish smile and a shrug.

  "Was she upset? Your mom?" Chet was amazed by his ability to keep calm, as his insides were roiling, but he had to hold up the illusion that he didn't remember Sam, also known as his primary tormentor in high school.

  "At first, but she understood. She wasn't thrilled I was following in his footsteps—they got divorced when I was pretty young—so the name thing was just a part of that. She wants what's best for me, though, so she got onboard pretty quickly."

  "That's good," Chet said for lack of any other response.

  He was trying his best not to be bitter that the man who had bullied him relentlessly throughout his senior year of high school had two apparently supportive, successful parents while he himself had a dead mother he'd lost when he’d needed her most and a dead father he couldn't stand. Life wasn't fair and he'd known that for a very long time, but that didn't mean sometimes he didn't long for there to be a little more justice.

  The waitress came and saved them from further conversation for a couple of minutes, since Gallagher had a few questions about the menu. Chet watched him surreptitiously, angry with his traitorous body for still finding Gallagher remotely attractive. Chet did his best to focus on the slight crook in Gallagher's nose and other less-than-perfect elements of his face, but there weren't many. It wasn’t fair. Men who did ugly things should have ugly faces. Sadly, life was rarely so simple.

  Chet suddenly wondered if Gallagher went by Nick now or if there were people who still called him Sam. Maybe Nick was only for the law firm. He hadn't known many people who had changed their names, but the couple that he did know had always had a handful of people who still called them by their old name.

  "So, what do you do for work, Chet? You live in Nashville, you said?" Gallagher asked when the waitress had gone.

  "Nashville, yeah. I work at a consulting firm."

  "Oh, yeah? What sort of consulting?"

  "Image consulting." Chet waited for Gallagher's demeanor to change, for that old derisive sneer to show up, but it didn't. "Do you know what that is?"

  "Well, I'm guessing you help talent become star material by teaching them how to dress. I'm sure it's a lot more complicated than that, but I'm assuming that's the very basics of it, right?"

  "More or less, yeah. We don't turn genuine into fake, if that's what you're thinking. We just take what's there and we... polish it." Chet shrugged and sipped his bourbon, enjoying the burn.

  "No, I get it. Diamonds have to be cut to shine, right?" He made a face, though he was half-smiling. "I could've used your services when I went to law school, that's for sure."

  "High school didn't teach you to be dignified enough for the hallowed halls of law?" Chet smirked.

  "Something like that. I was... not in with the best crowd in school. Not the most intellectual bunch. I never let it interfere with my schoolwork, or anything, but I picked up some bad habits. I was pretty... well, I acted like a dumb redneck. Of which I am neither. Everything was a joke. Everything was dumbed down... you'll be surprised to learn that law school—students and professors alike—frown on loud jock humor and cocky bullshit."

  "Unless it's a tactic in the courtroom, I'm sure." Chet did not want to admit that he was finding Gallagher charming and sympathetic. "I'm pretty sure loud and brash play pretty well in closing arguments."

  Nick pointed at Chet and then finished his drink. "You got me there. But yeah. I coulda used some help. As it was, I had to grow up pretty damn quick." Nick looked lost for a moment, but then he looked at Chet again, smiling wryly. "Throwing Dad's name around probably helped a lot more
than I'd like to admit."

  Chet refused to let himself feel sorry for the person who'd made his life hell in high school, but it was getting harder to hate him. He no longer seemed like the same shitty person he'd once been. Gallagher asked more about Chet's work and they traded stories until the waitress brought their food. Chet was loathe to admit it, but he was enjoying himself.

  "So do you still go by Sam or is it Nick now?" Chet asked when the waitress was gone again.

  "Yeah, it's just Nick. Or Gallagher. Never Sam, though. At home I was always Nick, anyway. I was only Sam at school because there were two other Nicks when I started kindergarten, and it stuck because, well, you know Rubyville." He laughed.

  "Oh, man. Nick Shroeder and Nick Weatherman," Chet said without thinking.

  "So you do remember some things."

  Shit.

  "Oh. Yeah. I mean, they sat right in front of me during, like, three of my classes, so." Chet shrugged.

  "Our lockers were right next to each other for three years. Look, I know I wasn't always the nicest to you—"

  Chet couldn't hold back anymore, and he leaned forward and dropped his voice to say, "Try you were a complete asshole to me for all of high school. Do you really wanna talk about it? Because I don't. I've spent a long time trying to put the past behind me and I'd just as soon not dredge it up. I'm willing to allow that you've grown up and hopefully aren't the bullying shithead you were then, but I don't want to reminisce about the past, thanks just the same."

  Gallagher looked shocked by Chet's sudden outburst, but he didn't deny the charges laid against him. He dropped his gaze and stared down at his plate, then started cutting a bite from his steak.

  Without looking up, he said, "You're right. Let's just enjoy our meal."

  For a few tense minutes, they ate in awkward silence. Then Gallagher finally sighed and dropped his shoulders. He seemed to square himself up, then he looked up at Chet again. His face was open and there was pain and regret there.

  "I'm sorry." He set his silverware aside. "I know my apology has been a long time coming. I should have reached out to you before now, but I felt like it was better to leave you alone and let you get on with your life." Gallagher sighed. "But you're here now. And it's only right that I tell you how sorry I am for everything I did to you. I could tell you that I had my reasons, but we'd both know they were just excuses. You're one hundred percent right. I was a complete asshole. I let my own fear turn me into somebody I never wanted to be and I can't even imagine the hell I put you through."