Fate of the Fathers
Chapter 2

Jenna slammed on the brakes, feeling her chest leap into her throat at the sight of the dog bounding out in front of the car.

The canine stopped in the middle of the road, staring at them for a moment before trotting off and disappearing between the cars.

Images flashed in Jenna’s mind.

Rain hitting the window. Darkness surrounding the car.

“Jenna?”

She blinked. “Sorry.” Easing her foot back onto the gas pedal, she gripped the steering wheel tightly so her aunt wouldn’t see the tremors in her hands. Even as she pulled the car into the garage, she couldn’t shake the feelings the dog had drawn from her memories.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” June asked as they entered the house.

Jenna just nodded, knowing her voice would betray her if she said anything.

As though reading her mind, Aunt June said, “I’ll get some leftovers warmed up for us.”

The heavenly scent of lasagna filled the air as they sat down to eat a short time later.

“Have you decided if you will resume classes in the fall?” June asked after taking a drink of water.

Jenna shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it, I guess.”

“You’ve made a lot of sacrifices this year for me, honey. I don’t want you to give up your dreams of having a college education.”

To be honest, Jenna hated school. She had completed two years at the community college and had enrolled last fall to finish up a couple of classes for her associate degree in anthropology with the plan to transfer to a university for her bachelor’s degree, but then her aunt had undergone another round of chemo and Jenna had dropped out to help her.

It had been a relief when she no longer had to worry about homework and exams. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“You just turned twenty-one,” June continued. “You should be at the university with your friends.”

“I’d rather be here with you,” Jenna replied, taking another bite of lasagna. She decided not to mention that she really didn’t have many friends left in Boise. The ones who mattered were all hours away at Idaho State University now.

“What did your uncle and I do to deserve you?” June mused. “As grateful as I am for your help, I don’t want you to put your dreams on hold for too long.”

Jenna didn’t even know what her dreams were anymore. She had only picked anthropology because she had no idea what it was, and it sounded interesting. The time or two she had tried to envision what she wanted her life to look like in five years, her mind had been blank.

She had absolutely no idea what she wanted.

“Don’t worry,” she said aloud. “When I decide what I want to do, you’ll be the first to know.” She got up and gave her aunt a kiss on the forehead before putting her plate into the sink.

“Are you working a shift tonight at the grill?” June asked, getting up from the table.

“Yeah, Lily texted me and asked if I could come in early. Probably expecting a crowd tonight.” She turned to dry off her hands as the landline phone began to ring.

June lifted the phone from the receiver. “Hello?”

There was a long pause as she listened to the caller on the other end of the line before saying, “Well, that is interesting. Thank you for letting me know, Sandra. I’ll talk to Jenna and let you know what she wants to do.”

After saying good-bye and replacing the receiver, June turned to Jenna with a strange look on her face.

“What was that about?”

“Someone in Lincoln City has made inquiries about your parents’ beach home. They’re interested in buying it if we want to sell.”

The damn beach house again. Jenna stilled her features as the pounding sounded in her ears. Torrents tossed in her gut.

Aunt June didn’t seem to notice Jenna’s silence as she continued. “I know we’ve mentioned to you about the will your parents left. The house was in your name and well, we’ve been taking care of the bills—no mortgage, just utilities, property taxes, and HOA fees, but. . . you are the rightful owner of the house, and the final decision is up to you.”

Jenna felt a twinge of guilt for making her aunt and uncle carry the additional burden of maintaining the cost and care of a home in another state—all because she had been too wrapped up in her own devastation and pain from the loss of her parents.

It was selfish of her to keep denying her responsibilities, but the one thing she knew was that she didn’t want anything to do with that house or that city.

Friday nights at the local bar and grill were no joke. From the moment she clocked in, it had been a frenzy of bussing tables, taking orders, and carrying food from the kitchen. She was relieved by the casual dress uniform, consisting of a black tee-shirt with the logo on it, jean shorts and tennis shoes, but even then, she could feel the sweat coating her skin.

It hadn’t taken long before the pain in her ankle had become almost unbearable. Downing water and an anti-inflammatory, she pushed on, gritting her teeth, just wanting the shift to come to an end.

“Doing okay?” Chet, the bartender that night, asked, filling a glass with beer, and handing it to a customer. He was a middle-aged man with a rounded belly and scruffy neck beard, but as the lead bartender for nearly twenty years, everyone greatly respected him.

Jenna nodded, taking a second to drain the last few ounces of the water before resting her hip against the bar. She opened her mouth to reply, when a “Hey, waitress!” caught her attention.

“Gotta go,” she said to Chet as he handed her a tray with a couple of cocktails on it.

“These are for table nine.”

She thanked him and then moved back out from behind the bar, balancing the tray as she made her way to the table that had called out to her. She was having difficulty hiding the limp now.

“What can I get for you?” she asked the group of four men. They lounged casually in the booth, laughing loudly at some joke.

“We need another round of beers!” one of them piped up, and as he caught Jenna’s eye, began eyeing her up and down.

She ignored the immediate discomfort she got from his attention, saying instead, “Certainly, I’ll put the order right in. Same as before?”

“Yes, ma’am. Feel free to join us if you want, Jenna,” the same man continued, his eyes finding her nametag.

“I’m still on duty for a few more hours, but I’ll bring those beers right out,” Jenna said swiftly, before moving on to take the cocktails to table nine.

After dropping off the drinks and taking their orders, Jenna took the long way back to the bar—much to the chagrin of her ankle—expertly avoiding the table with the men. She knew she was going to have to take their beers to them eventually but would put it off as long as possible.

“Tips, Jenna. . . Tips!” she muttered to herself. She had never been much of a people person, instead preferring the outdoors and solitude. But this job helped her pay for necessities, so she didn’t have to rely as much on Dwayne and June.

Thinking of Aunt June reminded her of their conversation regarding the beach house earlier, but Jenna pushed it aside. As much as she knew it would help them financially if she sold the house, it was too much. Her childhood. . . parents. . . the accident.

“Damn girl!” Jenna turned as Lily sidled up next to her at the monitor.

“Hey, Lily,” she muttered, punching in the orders on the screen.

“If I had your ass, I wouldn’t be busting it at this joint,” the girl said, black curls bouncing on her shoulders as she hip-bumped Jenna.

A sound halfway between a laugh and snort came out. As irritated and miserable as she was in that moment, Lily had found a way to distract her.

Lily winked. “Table fifteen can’t stop staring. Hopefully they’re good tippers! Oh, Chet asked if you could watch the bar while he steps out to make a phone call. That okay?”

Jenna nodded, replying she’d head over right away. Skirting back through the tables, she moved behind the bar, letting Chet know he could go.

“Thank you, honey,” he said, dropping the bar towel down on the counter. “All I got is the couple of beers you put in a moment ago, but I’ll be quick if you don’t want to pour them.”

“I don’t mind, take your time,” she said, picking up a couple of glasses and walking over to the beer tap.

When she turned around a moment later, she jolted in surprise as a new guest was seated at the bar. Tanned skin, cut jaw, dark hair and damn those muscles. Abstract charcoal lines protruded from the collar of his white tee, revealing the edges of a tattoo.

“Hey,” she croaked, mouth having gone dry in a matter of seconds. “What can I get for you?”

The man turned around and she noted the casual but alert stance he held as he made eye contact with her. His eyes dropped to the small nametag she wore.

“Jenna?”

She nodded, willing herself back into waiter-mode and not gawker-mode. “Yep! Is there a drink or appetizer I can get started for you?”

He seemed taken aback for a moment as he stared at her, before finally saying, “Bourbon, please. Straight. You can call me Chase.”

“You got it.” Jenna began to turn towards the shelf of liquors but started when fingers closed around her arm.

Chase’s grip was cool and firm as he stared at the small marking on the underside of her wrist. “Nice tattoo.” The words came out so quietly that it took her a moment to gather what he said.

Realizing that he was still holding her wrist, Jenna eased it free, feeling oddly shaken. Chase gave off weird vibes and she felt like she should know him or something. Perhaps she had seen his image on a Dateline episode.

Rubbing the spot where the tattoo sat ingrained in her skin, Jenna cleared her throat, turning away to grab the bourbon. She kept her back turned as she poured the liquor, hoping he wouldn’t see how shaky she was. But then again, it wasn’t every day that a complete stranger grabbed your arm. He really should have better manners than that.

When she finally turned and slid the glass across the table towards him, she shrugged, hoping her voice didn’t sound as tumultuous as her insides felt. “I got drunk one night with a couple of girlfriends and then we got tats.” It hadn’t been her brightest moment, but there had been extenuating circumstances that led to the event. She may regret the how but not the what.

“Worse things have come of getting drunk,” Chase said and as if on cue, he finished the glass and slid it back across the counter. “I’ll take another.”

When Chet returned a few minutes later, Jenna resumed making rounds to her tables, delivering food, and removing empty plates and cups.

It wasn’t until the last of the customers were leaving that Jenna realized Chase was still seated at the bar. As bizarre as she had found the whole interaction to be, she also found herself wanting to know more about him. She hadn’t met very many interesting men in her life—at least not like him. Unreadable and mysterious typically sounded better in the romance novels she enjoyed reading, rather than real life. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to go back and talk to him.

Limping to the dumpster with two garbage bags full of trash in tow, Jenna breathed in the chilly night air, thankful that her shift was nearly over. Her feet ached, ankle throbbed, and she was exhausted from being friendly.

She tossed the bags into the large container, letting the lid bang shut. As she turned around, a looming figure behind her made her shriek.

“Oh my god, you scared me!” she said, starting to laugh it off. But then she realized who was standing right in front of her.

Mr. Creepy stood less than an arm’s distance away, his eyes were glassy, and face flushed from one too many drinks.

“Jenna,” he drawled, taking a sluggish step closer to her.

She stepped back, silently cursing the dumpster when it halted any further progress. God, she had only served this man a couple of beers. He must have had liquor somewhere else tonight to have reached this level of inebriation.

“Sorry, I need to get back inside,” she started, making a move to go around him. “Chet needs me to help—”

The man grabbed her shoulder, pushing her back into the wall of the dumpster. Jenna grimaced at the pain that shot up through her ankle at the sudden movement. “You were supposed to come and join us for drinks.” His breath reeked of alcohol, and he moved closer to her.

Jenna’s pulse became erratic as she realized things could end up very badly for her if she didn’t do something quick.

“How about I have a drink with you now? We could go back into the grill—”

“Fuck the grill!” he shouted, spit flying from his mouth. “I know somewhere we can go.” He started to move away, pulling her with him.

“No!” Jenna growled, fighting against him. “Let me go. . . now!”

His slight hesitation was all she needed. She ducked and spun around, barely feeling her ankle screaming at the motion. Wrenching his hand from her arm, she gave him a shove, kneeing him hard in the kidneys at the same time.

She could feel everything.

Blood rushing through her body in fiery waves.

Fingertips tingling, itching, as she struck the man.

Again. And again.

Someone was screaming—was it her?

Arms grabbed her from behind, pulling her back. There was hot breath against her ear as a low voice hissed, “Control yourself, little wolf!”

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