Small-Town Homecoming. Lissa Manley

you did your best when we were in high school to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

      “You were hanging out with a bad crowd, making bad choices, and I was worried. Especially when I found the drugs in your drawer.”

      Curt flinched. “Not my finest moment.” He remembered the day during his junior year of high school that Seth, a senior, had showed him the drugs he’d found and confronted Curt about his wild behavior. Regret burned a hole in his gut. His life had been a series of bad moments. “I know I told you this when you visited L.A., but I have to say I’m sorry again. And that I’m going to stay clean. I want to turn my life around.”

      A year ago, Curt had ended up in the hospital from an overdose. The E.R. doctor had told him that if he kept abusing drugs, he’d die sooner or later. Probably sooner.

      Terrified of dying, Curt had gone directly into an inpatient drug treatment program, and had then moved into a halfway house run by a local church charity. The best life decision he’d made until that point. His life had been littered with bad choices.

      Finding God hadn’t been one of them. The Lord had saved Curt, and he would never forget that God hadn’t judged him. He had forgiven him completely, and now Curt was trying to forgive himself and move on to a better life.

      “Look how far you’ve come,” Seth replied, pressing his hand to Curt’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, bro.”

      Curt’s eyes tingled. He couldn’t remember anyone ever being proud of him. Certainly not himself. “Don’t be, yet. My recovery journey isn’t complete. Be proud of me when I prove to you that I’m staying clean.” For once he needed to show others he was reliable, in control and sober. He desperately wanted to be a good Christian man, hard worker and the kind of person who put his family first, no matter what. He alone was responsible for that.

      A pair of pretty green eyes came to mind. Jenna. Look what she’d accomplished on her own, all for the sake of her grandparents’ home, because of her staunch love for them. She was a perfect example of the kind of person he hoped to emulate—

      The bells over the door rang.

      “Uh-oh,” Seth said under his breath but loud enough for Curt to hear. “Brace yourself, bro.”

      Curt frowned, the bottom of his stomach sliding sideways. He froze, his eyes wide. “Why?”

      “Because Dad just walked in, and from the looks of the glower on his face, he’s on the warpath.”

      His shoulders bunching, Curt turned. He steeled himself to see the man he hadn’t laid eyes on in more than twelve years. After Curt had rammed his motorcycle into a tree, Dad had come to the hospital to tell him not to bother coming home, seeing as he was now a druggie with a record. Worse yet, by virtue of her dead silence, his mom had agreed. It had been a cruel blow to an eighteen-year-old Curt, and he’d never really been the same since.

      Angry and hurt, Curt had done just as his dad had asked. He’d gone to live with a friend until he healed, and then he’d left town, sure news of his accident would spread and everyone in town would be judging him and talking about him. He’d told himself he didn’t need his family or Moonlight Cove.

      Hitting the lowest point of his life recently changed everything.

      Sure enough, his dad stood there in the store entryway, looking tired and bitter. Old, too. He’d gone completely gray and had put on a paunch that stretched his dingy shirt tight over his middle. As usual, he was dressed haphazardly in too-short pants, mangled, mud-spattered tennis shoes that looked as if they’d been made when dinosaurs roamed the earth and a beat-up bright orange fishing vest. His face was tanned to a leathery finish by all his hours spent in the sun—while fishing, Curt presumed, if tradition held true—and deep wrinkles fanned out from his eyes and across his forehead. An oncologist’s field day.

      “Heard you were back in town,” his dad said by way of a greeting. He had his face pressed into a tight scowl. A perpetual scowl, if Curt remembered correctly, usually accompanied by harsh words and follow-up criticism.

      Curt inclined his head to the left. “Yes, I got in yesterday.” He was determined not to let his dad throw him into a tailspin. Duking it out verbally with Dad wouldn’t accomplish anything, and Curt was trying to prove himself a changed man. And that meant approaching Dad with a cool, calm demeanor that wouldn’t ruffle his highly ruffable feathers.

      Although it might throw his dad to discover Curt wasn’t going to be his verbal sparring partner anymore. They’d always had a contentious relationship; Curt had been the son his dad was never happy with. Growing up, disappointment had been Curt’s middle name.

      His dad came closer, his jaw noticeably tight. “Where are you stayin’?”

      “At the Sweetheart Inn.”

      “He’s here getting caught up on details before Kim and I leave for Seattle tomorrow,” Seth interjected.

      His father shook his head and looked at Seth. “I still think you’re crazy for bringing him on. As the guy who started this business, I know this place needs someone responsible.”

      That fire-tipped arrow hit home with perfect accuracy, zinging a familiar lance of pain through Curt’s gut.

      “He’s been clean for six months, Dad,” Seth said.

      His dad snorted. “So he says.”

      Curt saw red tinged with the shadows of his misspent past. “It’s true,” he forced the words out. “Rehab took.”

      “How many other times have you relapsed?” Dad asked.

      A rock lodged in Curt’s throat. “Three.”

      Dad flung his hands up into the air. “See? It won’t last. It never does.”

      “Maybe you ought to give him a chance,” Seth replied quietly. “He’s worked really hard to get here, and we’re his family. We need to support him in any way we can.”

      Curt met Seth’s gaze and nodded his appreciation.

      His dad scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Family didn’t mean anything to him when he ran around town, drunk and stupid, getting arrested, treating other people like dirt. He brought shame down on the whole Graham family.”

      “Did it ever occur to you that I acted out to get your attention?” Curt said in a low, raspy voice. “You and Mom were so busy fighting, you didn’t pay any attention to us kids.” As soon as the words were out, he regretted saying them. Old habits pushing through again.

      “Oh, so now you’re blaming me and your mom for your crummy choices?” his father said, his blue eyes blazing. “You never did want to take responsibility for your own behavior, Curt. Never.”

      Curt felt the old resentment building, a tide of anger that manifested itself as a burning wall inside of him. The urge to lash out was strong—overwhelming, actually—and Curt opened his mouth to blast his dad with both barrels.

      But then he realized that would be something the old Curt would do. He didn’t want to be that man anymore. Couldn’t be if he wanted to build a new life. So he stuffed the vitriol and remembered what Marv had taught him:

      Own your behavior.

      You cannot fix what you do not acknowledge.

      The only thing you can control is your own reactions.

      “You’re right, Dad,” he said, keeping tight control on his tone. “I do need to take responsibility for my behavior.”

      His dad pulled in his stubbly chin, frowning, clearly flummoxed by Curt’s statement.

      Curt went on, “I made bad choices, ones I regret. But I want to change that pattern, and that’s why I’m back in Moonlight Cove. I want to be a different man, one who can be counted on, one who my niece and nephew will look up to.”

      “So we’re all just supposed to forgive