Page 129 of Jack

“I don’t even know what that means.”

Conrad walked over to the dresser mirror, checked his appearance. “It means, what’s up with you and Harper?”

Stein grinned. “Yep. That’s it.” He nodded. “That’s what’s got him all surly.”

“I’m not surly.”

Silence.

“Fine. If you haven’t noticed, I’m homeless.”

“You’re hardly homeless,” Doyle said, looking up. “You practically have a beachside home. And a pretty nice-looking vintage Alfa Romeo in the garage. And a sick-looking Victory Hammer S bike.” He folded his arms. “You want to talk about homeless—try living in your parents’ guesthouse like you might need an emotional Band-Aid.”

Jack looked away.

“I know I need to figure this out. And I will because I’m not the guy I was five years ago,” Doyle said.

“We know that. And Dad needs help with this place,” Conrad said, his voice soft.

Doyle lifted a shoulder, directed his gaze to Jack. “I’m sorry about your broken-down old bus going up in flames, but maybe it’s a sign.”

“Of what?”

“That your running is over.”

The words came from their father, who stood in the doorway. He wore his tuxedo, gray with a blue vest, a bow tie perfectly tied, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, clean-shaven, and walked into the room and shut the door.

Silence.

Conrad drew in a breath.

Stein folded his arms, looked away.

“Running?” Jack said.

“Let’s cut to the truth, Jack. We all know that you blame yourself—not sure why—for Sabrina’s death.”

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets.

“It derailed you. And then it got worse when you failed the bar.”

Jack glanced at Stein, who raised his hands. “I didn’t tell him.”

“Please. We’re not stupid. Jack, you’re an achiever. You don’t fail. And when you do, you freak out.”

“Not true.”

His dad held up his hand. “Let me amend that. You hate to fail.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Everyone isn’t the oldest brother in the family. Everyone isn’t the guy who was known as Big Jack.” His dad’s voice softened. “Everyone isn’t the son who showed up, shovel in hand, for every firepit I asked you to dig.”

A smile from his brothers.

“Everyone isn’t the guy who still shows up, even when all hope is gone.”

“Let’s not turn this into a hero thing. I get paid to find people. Some might call me a mercenary.” Jack offered a smile.