Home to Stay (Southern Boys Book 2)

by Harper Cassidy

  "She was set up, Mark! And you know it! Why would she risk stealing all that money in the first place, let alone put it in such an obvious hiding place on a day when—"

  "She was a drunk, Pete!" someone else shouted.

  Barbs started flying back and forth between those who were pro-Edna and those who were against. Chet watched it for a moment like a tennis match, but he finally stuck his fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle to stop the shouting. The room went quiet.

  "First of all, was Edna my father's assistant? The one who was let go before he died?" Chet asked Pete.

  "Yeah, that's her," Pete grumbled.

  "I am unaware of the circumstances surrounding her dismissal. Care to enlighten me?"

  Chet knew he was using unnecessarily posh language, but he felt that Pete would respect him less if he tried to dumb down his speech. Having something to mock Chet about—particularly if Pete actually had come around and started accepting Chet—would allow Pete to save face if he was no longer ridiculing the new boss for incompetence. He could make fun of his corporate-speak instead.

  "Your dad got wind that some money was missing. Somebody told him it was Edna. He walked into her office to find her pulling stacks of cash out of her filing cabinet."

  Chet frowned. "And what did she say?"

  "She told me that she'd just opened the drawer to look for a file and found the money there."

  Roles seemed to have been reversed today, as someone down the table muttered, "Looking for a fifth of whiskey in a file, maybe."

  Pete's expression was stormy. "Did any of y'all ever actually see her drinkin'? 'Cause I sure as hell never did. That's a rumor that got started right before all that shit with the money went down. Somebody set that woman up, and I don't know why nobody cares about that. Any of y'all could be next. Except who the hell ever did it in the first place."

  Chet didn't know why, but he wasn't inclined to dismiss Pete's story as a conspiracy theory. There was a ring of truth to his questions about the whole situation. Chet didn't trust how things had happened either. Perhaps because his father had been in the thick of it.

  "All right. Let's all take a breath and not get into a brawl here. Pete, I will look into it, all right? But if I find things went down just as they appeared, you will drop it, understood?"

  Pete gave a terse nod.

  "All right, as I was saying, once I have an assistant, I'll have them set up a meeting to talk about raises and performance bonuses and all of that. Any last questions before we close this up for the day?"

  "How long on that tractor?" Elaine asked.

  "I've got a lot of emails coming. It's going to take me a minute to sort it all out. I'll answer each proposal in the order it's received. I'll do my best to get through them all in the next couple of weeks and get everyone their answers and/or money as soon as possible." He stood, waiting for them all to do the same. "Thanks again, everybody. Pete, you wanna take what's left of the sandwiches to your people, since they all worked through the meeting?"

  Pete looked surprised. "Uh, sure." He frowned. "Thanks."

  "Just leave me another piece of that cake, would you?"

  As Chet watched them walk out, his head was spinning. The meeting had gone well, but could he really do this? He guessed he had a year to find out.

  14

  Nick was in a foul mood after the mediation with the man he was representing in a divorce case. Neither Nick's client nor his soon-to-be ex-spouse could maintain civility for longer than about twelve seconds. Neither of them would compromise and neither of them were fighting over anything important. It was tedious, set Nick's teeth on edge, and left him with a pounding headache.

  All he wanted was a stiff drink and hot shower and bed, but since it was early afternoon and he still had another meeting to get to, those things were a long way off yet. Instead, he decided to stop off in the drug store for some headache medicine and a canned coffee before heading to his next stop. He wasn't in Rubyville today, which meant he could just rush in anonymously and grab his items and go, without having to chat with whoever was behind the counter—probably Stella or Florence—like he would have at Harris Drug on Main Street.

  Or so he thought.

  "Sam? Hey, Tyler, look who it is! It's Mayhew!"

  Recognizing the voice, even after so long, Nick turned toward the end of the aisle where the voice had come from with a sense of dread pooling in his stomach. It was Reagan and Tyler, the two people who had most influenced him toward becoming the bullying asshole he'd been in high school. He pasted on a smile.

  "Hey, guys. Long time. It's Nick Gallagher now, though. Gave up being Sam when I went to college. Took my dad's last name too." He flicked a look between them. "So, you two are still friends, huh? You live around here or just visiting?"

  Tyler flung an arm around Reagan, giving him an indecipherable look before saying, "Yup, still friends. We're just visiting. How about you? I thought you were up in Raleigh or something."

  "Oh, no. I'm back in Rubyville. Partner at my dad's law firm."

  "Wow, exciting stuff! Congrats, I guess."

  "Thanks," Nick said, anxiously trying to find a way to escape.

  On instinct, he checked his watch and knew he really had to get back—after he got his headache medicine.

  "Well, listen, it was cool seeing you guys.” He did his best to maintain eye contact through the lie. “But I really need to grab some Tylenol and get back to the courthouse."

  "Well, hey!" Reagan said excitedly. "We're in town for another few days. We should get together for drinks or dinner or something."

  "Oh," Nick said, his stomach dropping since he didn't have a ready excuse. "Yeah, that sounds good. Um, call me and we'll figure something out." He started to walk away, hoping they wouldn't call him on his rude exit.

  "Dude, hold up! Sa—uh, Nick, was it? We need your number to call you," Reagan said, sounding slightly annoyed.

  Nick shook his head, and gave a wry smile, as if he was being forgetful. "Right, sorry. Just figured you'd know to call my dad's law firm. Only one of two in Rubyville, so it isn't hard to find. Gotta go, sorry!" he called over his shoulder.

  He felt nauseated as he hurried away, but this time, neither of them stopped him from going. He quickly found his headache medicine and then headed back to the front in search of canned coffee and a register. Before he got there, he saw a refrigerator section off to the side, so he went there in search of caffeine. He found coffees near the end of the section, close to the end of the next aisle.

  He opened the door and reached in, but he was distracted by Reagan's voice, stage whispering from a few feet away. He looked around but couldn't see either of them. He grabbed his coffee and stood where he was, debating what to do.

  "I seriously cannot believe you," Reagan said, obviously angry with Tyler. "I didn't come out of the closet for you to shove me back in at the drop of a hat, Ty! What the hell do you care what Sam Mayhew thinks after all this time? You acted like a posturing idiot and he couldn’t get away from us fast enough.”

  Nick was stunned and torn between what he knew was the right thing and standing there and continuing to listen in. He found himself unable to walk away before he heard more, even though he knew walking away was the better choice. He stepped a little closer.

  "In case you've forgotten, we were all homophobic little shits, Reagan! Just because we figured ourselves out and got together doesn't mean Sam or Nick or whoever he is now has evolved past all that shit. Sure, he's a lawyer, but that just means if he wants to beat the shit out of one of us, he knows how to get away with it!"

  Now Nick was really stunned. Tyler and Reagan were not only gay, but a couple? His brain refused to compute the information. It was too sensational. He supposed they might think the same thing when they learned about him.

  Nick could practically hear Reagan's eye roll. "Do you hear yourself? You're being so melodramatic. This isn't a Hallmark movie of the week. There aren't nefarious villains ar
ound every corner. He's not a dumb jock waiting to play 'smear the queer' anymore, and neither are we."

  "You don't know that!" Tyler hissed.

  “I told you, Amber said he came out—”

  Nick quickly made a decision and stepped around the corner. "For the record, I was never a dumb jock who wanted to smear anyone, but yes, I have come out. Call my dad's office and we'll get together, okay?

  Without waiting for a response, he walked up to the register and checked out. This had been one hell of a day and it was only part way done. Nick's head was spinning as he drove to his next meeting. How he was supposed to process this new information, he wasn't sure. Reagan and Tyler were villains, in his head. Not to blame for his own choices, but certainly to blame for forcing his hand when it came to those choices. They hadn't made him say the awful things he'd said to Chet, but they certainly had made it obvious that they'd make his life hell if he showed any sign that he wasn't straight—or that he wouldn't fall into their line.

  And now they were a couple. Scared of his reaction. It was unexpected, obviously, but more than that, it shook him. How easily they'd all fought for the wrong side out of plain and simple fear. He did his best to shove out the guilt. He couldn't change who he'd been. All he could hope to do was be a better person in the present and in the future.

  Still, it tugged at him. For the first time since college, he wondered if therapy might be a good idea.

  15

  Chet walked into Gallagher Law a few minutes before his scheduled appointment. Lauren was on the phone, but they exchanged warm smiles and little waves and he took a seat to wait until she was finished. Whoever was on the other end of the phone, however, was blowing past all her attempts to end the call. She repeatedly said she'd have Mr. Gallagher call them, but each time, the caller felt the need to impart further information. Finally, she told them she had someone coming in and had to go, hanging up before allowing them to interrupt again.

  "I am so sorry—Chet, was it?" she asked.

  "Good memory! I'm terrible with names."

  "Well, I've gotten better at it, let me tell you. This job sort of forces it on you. Mr. Gallagher will be right out." She smiled and started to return to her work, but then stopped and looked back at him. "Oh, it's senior this time, by the way, in case nobody told you."

  "Oh. They didn't. Thank you."

  Chet was a little relieved. He felt he'd been spending too much time with Gallagher these past few days and he wasn't comfortable with how charming he was finding young Nick. Still, he was a bit nervous to meet Nicholas Senior, since he expected that he was much more by the book and probably actually had liked Chet's father, which would be a severe impediment to Chet liking him. He did his best to put on the emotional armor he used for more difficult clients as he waited for Nicholas Senior to show.

  "Well, thank you again, Greg, for coming in. We'll get this mess sorted out in no time, I'm sure. You tell your wife hello for me, won't you?"

  The booming voice started speaking just half a second before the door to Nicholas Senior's office opened and a harried-looking man in jeans and plaid shirt came out, followed by a much more distinguished man in a tailored suit. He had his son's deep blue eyes—and a silvering version of his dark brown hair—but otherwise the resemblance to Nick Junior was slight. Greg shook Nicholas's hand and hurried past Lauren with a wave before leaving the building.

  "Hello, there. I’m Nicholas Gallagher," he said, extending his hand. "And I suspect that you are Chet Barnaby, is that right?"

  "I am, yes. Nice to meet you. I was expecting your son, but you two seem to like to mix it up and confuse me," Chet said with a teasing smile.

  Nicholas chuckled. "Yes, and I do apologize. I had to send Nick on some other business today and, as I failed to greet you myself the last time, I thought I'd just take this meeting in his stead today. Hope that's all right."

  "It is. Of course it is. It's nice to finally meet you. Galla—er, Nick—has told me good things."

  "Well, now you're too kind. And you can call him Gallagher. Lots of people do. I've always been Nicholas—or nowadays 'Senior' sometimes," he said with a wink. "So, this isn't anything formal. No paperwork to sign or anything. Would you like to make it a lunch meeting? My treat, of course. I'd like to get to know Walker Barnaby's son, see if you live up to the picture I've painted in my head."

  "If you're basing who I am off my father's stories, I sincerely doubt I will, but I'm happy to have lunch," Chet said, hearing the slight edge of steel in his voice but unable to dial it back.

  "Lauren, you go on and put that thing to voicemail. I don't have any appointments for a couple of hours, so there shouldn't be anything that won't keep until after you've caught up on your other work," Nicholas said, then turned to Chet again as he shrugged into a pea coat he pulled from the coat rack by the door. "Blasted phone has rung nonstop all morning. Woman has hardly had a chance to catch her breath." He pointed back at her as he opened the door. "And don't you go skipping lunch, either."

  Chet was pretty sure the temperature had dropped at least five degrees while he was inside the office. Certainly the wind had a sharper bite than when he'd walked inside. He tightened his jacket around himself and pulled his scarf and hat from his pockets, putting them on.

  "Older I get the worse this damn cold is on my bones, I swear," Nicholas said.

  Despite his misgivings, he found himself liking Nicholas. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was his apparent real concern for his receptionist. Maybe it was his comforting southern drawl. Either way, Chet hoped their relationship wasn't about to turn contentious. When they reached the diner, Nicholas held the door open for him and he walked through it. A waitress greeted Nicholas by name—not at all surprising in a town like Rubyville—and told them to sit where they liked. Like his son, Nicholas chose a corner booth for them, away from the other patrons.

  When they were settled into their seats, Nicholas shocked Chet by saying, "Politeness dictates that I should tell you how sorry I am about your father's death, but we both know Walker Barnaby was a cold son of a bitch and there's probably nobody happier to see the end of him than you."

  Chet gaped, and Nicholas laughed, shaking sugar packets. The waitress brought them each a water with a lime wedge and a fresh cup of coffee even though they'd ordered neither. Chet assumed Nicholas always got that when he came in because no one else seemed to have the water and only one or two people had coffee.

  "I'll have my usual, but he's probably gonna need a minute, June," Nicholas said to the waitress.

  "Actually, I'll just have whatever he's having," Chet said, not really in the mood for anything in particular. He smiled at June and handed off his menu. "Thank you."

  Nicholas gave him an assessing look. "You really are nothing like Walker at all." He leaned forward with a grin. "That's a compliment. And I'm sorry if I scandalized you with my lack of condolences—"

  "Not at all, Mr. Gallagher—"

  "Nicholas. Please."

  "All right then, Nicholas. I found it a refreshing change of pace. When I was growing up, I watched people fawn all over my father, treating him like the benevolent angel he most definitely was not. It was tedious at best. Downright hurtful at worst. Because his charitable works and generosity did not make its way into his home."

  "Son, having been the man's lawyer for over two decades, I can assure you I am aware of what kind of person he really was." Nicholas fiddled with his napkin, finally unfolding it and placing it in his lap. "You father spoke of you often. He'd tell stories and expect me to take his side. All the supposedly ungrateful things you'd done. All the ways he felt you'd failed him as a son." Nicholas frowned. "I don't mean to hurt you further, Chet, forgive me if I'm being too blunt now."

  Chet shook his head. "You're not. I know very well how my father felt about me. I was never expecting a posthumous reconciliation. As you said, he was a son of a bitch and I'm happy to see the end of him."

  "Mm," Nicholas said, nodding thoughtfu
lly. "Well, at any rate. He told these stories and thought I'd see things his way. And I will admit that I kept my real thoughts to myself. But all I saw in those stories was a sad kid who'd lost his mother, never had a father, and couldn't catch a break."

  Chet found himself with tears prickling his eyes. He busied himself drinking his bitter black coffee, rather than trying to respond. Though he'd had plenty of people commiserate when he told them his side of the story, he'd never had someone who knew his father actually take his side instead of Walker's. It was more than he could handle at the moment.

  "I'll tell you, it inspired me to be a better father to my own son. His mother and I split when he was quite young and I have to admit, I wasn't very good at being a father in those early years. Talking to your father. Seeing the lack of empathy and compassion he showed toward you. That was a wake up call. And my relationship with Nick is the better for it."

  Rather than responding to that, Chet asked, "Why do you think he left me the farm? Was it just a final dig, making me stay in Rubyville for a year?"

  Nicholas frowned, looking around to make sure no one was paying them any attention before leaning forward. "Am I correct in assuming that Walker's statements about your sexual preferences were correct?" He held up a hand. "Please don't mistake my discretion here for prejudice. I just don't want to force out you, if you are, in fact, gay, as he said."

  "Yes, I am. And no, I am not interested in telling the whole town just yet. Maybe soon."

  Nicholas nodded. "Mmhm. Well, I think you'll find people are more progressive around Rubyville than they used to be. Lots of reasons for that. I'd like to think my acceptance of Nick was a factor, but I definitely can't take all the credit."

  "Your acceptance of Nick?" Chet asked, confused as to what Nick had to do with the town accepting—no. He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Are you saying Nick is gay?"

  "Aw shit. I thought surely you knew." He shook his head. "Here I was so concerned about not outing you and I outed him. Please don't... well. I'll tell him myself. No sense trying to hide it. He would like that even less. Here, I'll text him." So saying, Nicholas pulled out his phone.