Chapter 15: The Renegade Billionaire: Chapter 15

“What am I looking for up here?” I despise the way my voice quivers as I lay on my belly on the damn roof because I’m too fucking scared to stand up.

Six weeks. That’s all it took for this old man to get me to climb onto the roof. Imagine what he could do if he used his powers for the good of the world. Jesus, he’s a tricky son of a bitch.

“Count the rotting pieces. How bad does it look?” Pops is shielding his eyes from the sun with both hands, and I swear the old man just might be dancing down there too.

Climbing up onto the roof was not what we had planned to do today. But after we cruised through town yesterday, we went to lunch with his friends where everyone in the place had ideas for the Hideaway.

Apparently before we prioritize projects, we have to know what we’re dealing with. Unfortunately for Pops, I don’t know a shingle from a gutter shield, something Moose had a field day with at lunch.

I stare at the black-and-gray rectangles in front of me. “I don’t know, Pops. It looks old, and it’s saggy in some places.”

“What the hell are you doing up there?” a loud baritone voice booms to the sky louder than a Fourth of July firework.

Scrabbling around on my belly so my head hangs over the edge of the roof instead of my toes, I find Cian glowering in my direction.

Just what I need.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“We’re working here,” Pops shouts back, though it sounds a little petulant, even from three stories in the air.

“And I told you that when you were ready, I’d come over and do it for you.” Perhaps Cian isn’t yelling. I’m beginning to think that his giant frame only comes with one volume—loud and aggressive. “Brax, get the feck down here, will ya, before you break yer neck and Madi skins my hide.”

His Irish brogue is thicker toward the end of his sentence. He’s pissed.

Army-crawling back around, I feel with my feet for the rungs of the ladder.

“Are ya taking the piss out, Braxton?”

I peer over my shoulder and see Cian sprinting toward the house.

“This is the ladder you used? You can’t place a ladder on a porch roof. You’re really going to kill yerself.”

“My ladder didn’t reach the roof,” Pops explains while I creep forward a few inches and cling to the hot pieces of sandpaper I now know are roof shingles.

“All the more reason to come get me, ya old fool. Braxton, so help me, St. Monica. Do not move from that spot. I’ll be right back with the proper tools, ya bunch of bubbletwits.”

“Did he just call us bubbletwits?” I call down to Pops, who’s stuffing his hands into his pockets and whistling to the sky.

Why does everything feel like a trick with this guy?

Moments later, Cian’s muttering as he stomps up the driveway, hauling a giant ladder as if it weighs as much as a jump rope.

“If one of ya gets hurt, that’s going to hurt Madi, and when Madi’s hurting, so is Elle, and Elle is very, very pregnant. If one of you makes Elle sad, I’ll bury you in the backyard and build a dog park over you.”

“A dog park?” It’s so very…specific. I bet up close he’s a scary motherfucker right now.

“Pops hates when dogs piss on his lawn. Imagine how he’ll feel being pissed on day in and day out.”

Pops grunts his disapproval, but I laugh so hard my belly shakes, and an involuntary yelp escapes when I slide two inches.

Cian returns to cursing while propping the biggest ladder I’ve ever seen against the house. He does something with it to brace it against the wood slats, then holds it steady from below.

“Get down,” he growls.

“No arguments from me.” I’m already crawling closer to him.

I’ve never been afraid of heights, but if I never climb onto a roof again, I’ll be a happy man.

Once my feet are securely and safely back on the ground, Cian rolls his eyes.

“Betty told me at the diner you fools were making plans over here. I didn’t think you’d be idiot enough to go at it without any professional help,” he says evenly. But his massive arms are crossed over his chest with bulging veins from his balled-up fists, so I know he’s still upset.

“Why pay you to do it when me and the boy can do it for free?” Pops rummages through the set of tools Cian dropped on the ground when he ran to get the ladder.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not going to charge you, Pops. Elle and I have our dream home thanks to you. Let me help.”

Pops mutters, but he’s also fully engrossed in inspecting everything Cian brought over—he’s a kid in a candy store.

I frown at Pops. He’s assumed I’ll help and has bossed me around for six weeks now, so why is he hesitant with Cian?

“It’s that easy to tell I have no idea what I’m doing, huh?” I laugh a little desperately, and Cian curses under his breath. I don’t care what Pops says though, I’ll gladly take Cian’s help.

“Look at this drywall saw, boy. We’ve gotta try this out.”

Before Cian or I can stop him, Pops heads into the house, carrying a red and black tool I have no idea how to use.

“Feck,” Cian curses. “Let’s get in there before he has holes in every wall and the ceiling too.”

He moves quickly for such a big guy, and I follow.

“To answer your question, yes. While it’s nice of you to help out, you don’t look like someone who’s ever worn a toolbelt.”

Feeling slightly defensive, I stand taller. “Maybe not, but I’m a fast learner.”

Cian stops in the foyer and stares at me for so long, I nearly take a step back. I’m really not trying to get a black eye to match my sore jaw.

“You’d better be a fast learner, Brax. I’ve got about a month before my baby’s due, and Elle says I’m driving her nutty, so she sent me over here. If we’re going to get the big stuff done in that time, you’ll have to pull your weight.”

“No problem.” In my head, I panic though. This might be a problem—a big problem because Cian’s right. I don’t even own a hammer, let alone know how to swing one.

A buzzing sound interrupts my internal struggle as we take off for the kitchen, Pops stands in the center of the room, wearing a toolbelt and safety goggles.

“We can use this to cut a hole in the ceiling to fix the leak,” he announces while holding up the power tool in his right hand—his own personal trophy.

“Slow your roll, big guy.” Cian steps forward and Pops reluctantly releases the tool, but not without a little tug of war with Cian first. “Let’s see this list I heard you were making at the diner, and we’ll go from there.” His Irish accent is less pronounced when he isn’t attempting to save people from rooftops.

Pops pulls out a folded-up sheet of paper and slaps it down on the island. Cian cuts a look my way, but not only am I in over my head, I’m so deep I can’t see sunlight any longer.

The big guy pulls out a stool, and I do the same while Pops leans against the sink. Somehow the old man manages to have the look of a preteen who knows he’s about to get into trouble, but when he winks, he proves that he doesn’t give a shit.

What must that be like? To go through life not caring what other people think of you?

“I’m going to need all the fecking saints here,” Cian mutters. “Christ on a turdloaf. You told me you had half of this fixed already.” The guy certainly is colorful with his insults.

Pops drops his gaze, but not before I see something close to embarrassment in his downturned expression. “Some…ah…investments didn’t pan out as I thought they would.”

Cian stiffens next to me. “What…investments, Pops?”

The old man kicks at the wood floor with the toe of his boot. There’s something so youthful about him, and I can fully imagine the hell he raised before settling down with Madi’s grandmother.

“I did it before.” Pops lifts his gaze to mine and quickly cuts to Cian. “Before we found out.”

My hackles are officially raised.

“How much did he lose, Pops?”

“Who are we talking about?” I ask.

The tension in the room is stifling.

“I’m a smart man.” Pops’ voice is almost fragile, something I’ve never heard from him before. “I…I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“It’s not your fault. Harry’s a conman, Pops.”

That name, again. My fists clench until my knuckles are white. Why is it every time something goes wrong in this family it’s because of him?

“I gotta know, though, Pops. How much did you lose?” Cian gives me the side-eye. “And does Madi know?”

“I’m not bad with money,” Pops says defensively, and I wonder if he’s saying that for my benefit. “We should’ve been okay. I even had enough to leave Madi a little nest egg when I’m gone.”

“How much, Pops?” Cian asks again.

“All of it,” he admits gruffly. “I didn’t know until I went to make a withdrawal for the taxes two years ago. He said to give his partner time and that it was normal. I never trusted Turd, but his partner, he seemed like a real smart guy. When all that went down last year, I realized everything was gone.”

“What’s going on?” I finally ask. I hate seeing Pops so…broken. This isn’t the meddlesome, interfering man I’ve befriended. This is someone else.

“Fucking Harry started running schemes after his…accident, but he had a friend who came to town a few years ago. He was…” Cian looks me up and down. “He was kind of like you. Rich, nice to everyone, and smart. Harry talked a lot of people into letting this guy, Sam, manage investments for them, and at the time, most of us were still trying to help Harry get back on his feet. Hell, I even gave the guy some money. Sam appeared to have all the credentials and he said all the right things. Not only that, but he also spent time in town getting to know everyone. Now we know it was just a long con.”

Cian stands and paces the kitchen. “We told you not to give him everything, Pops. What happened?”

Pops shrugs. “I wanted Madi to have a good life. I wanted her to stop working all hours of the day. I wanted to give her the security her parents took away, so when he showed me the return on my first investment and suggested I go bigger, I did.” He’s so dejected, I feel sick to my stomach.

“Sam and Harry preyed mostly on the elderly,” Cian informs me. “But we all got swindled.” He stands in front of Pops. “What’s going on with the taxes?”

Pops waves at us to follow him, then leads us outside to the shed where he pulls out an old toolbox. Inside are a couple of envelopes from the IRS.

“I don’t know what the hell this means,” Cian says, handing half of the stack to me.

As soon as I open an envelope, a heavy, old-fashioned key tied with a blue ribbon falls into my palms. The ribbon says The Hideaway on it. I turn the key over in my hands, then read the papers it was tucked into.

What the fuck? “Madi doesn’t know about this?”

Pops grunts, then lowers his head. They were close to foreclosure due to back taxes right up until seven months ago.

The weight these papers carry sits heavily on my chest. My knees are about to buckle, so I lean against the old wooden structure. “How did you know my grandfather?”

Pops shrugs. “Ace was a good man. We played poker a few times, kept in touch over the years.” His answer is vague as hell, but I’m still trying to work out why my name is on the deed to the inn.

“This doesn’t make any sense, Pops.”

“What’s it say?” Cian steps closer to peer over my shoulder.

“They were close to foreclosure, then seven months ago, Pops sold a portion of the inn.”

“Feck me, Pops. You sold it? Why didn’t you tell Madi? Criminy Joseph, this is going to break her. Who’d ya sell to?”

My chest tightens, and sweat forms on my brow.

Pops throws his shoulders back and lifts his head, his pity party for one apparently over. “I did what I had to do. I’m working with the police to get my money back, but this sale ensured we wouldn’t lose her.”

“It can take years, and that’s if they can find Sam and if the cases are found to be fraudulent. That’s a lot of ifs, Pops. It’s more likely that money is gone,” I say absently.

How the hell do I own part of Madison’s inn?

“This place is falling apart. You should have come to me, Pops. What if the other owner wants to sell?” Fear and sadness mingle with Cian’s words.

“He won’t.” I peer up at Pops.

“But how do you know? You aren’t exactly turning a profit lately.”

Pops turns his hangdog look my way—he must have perfected that expression sixty years ago.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I hold up the key in my hand. “Apparently, I’m the owner.”

“Wait, what? How? Ace.” Cian says the four words in staccato. “Ace, you said Ace.”

I nod. “He was my grandfather.”

“He came to Happiness a few times a year for about ten years now, I think. He always stayed at the inn.”

My head snaps up, and Pops looks slightly guilty.

“He did,” Pops says. “And we became friends. He wanted you to be happy, boy.”

“So, he bought stake in an inn and put the deed in my name? What the hell sense does that make?”

“This is going to devastate Madi. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. Elle’s going cry.” The desperation in the big man’s voice would be comical if the situation weren’t so dire. “Anything else I should know?”

I quickly scan the files, and guilt swamps me faster than a heatwave in July.

“Mitchell is my middle name.” I can’t make eye contact with him. “My last name is Reyes, just like Ace. And this says I’m on the hook for all the repairs. I can’t even think about selling or gifting the inn back to Madison until all the repairs are made and the inn turns a profit.” I lift my gaze to Pops. “That’s why you were buying all those supplies from Huckabees.”

“Well, I didn’t buy them, now did I?” This guy should have been a salesman.

“You know, I came here to get away from people who were using me, Pops. This is some kind of bullshit right here,” I say, waving the papers in front of me.

“Mm-hmm.” Pops rocks back on his heels, but he’s not whistling this time. Instead, he stares at the floor of the shed. It’s how Sage would stand when he was younger and knew he was in trouble.

Somehow this betrayal doesn’t feel as hurtful as the shit my parents have pulled, but I have no idea why.

“Ace asked me not to. He wanted you to fall in love in Happiness before we tied you to it.”

“You should have told me, Pops,” I say gently, choosing to ignore how he said ‘fall in love in Happiness,’ not fall in love with Happiness. “And you absolutely should have told Madison. She has a right to know.”

He nods, and his neck bobs as though he’s having difficulty swallowing.

Pinching the back of my neck, I run through different scenarios, but the only solution I can come up with is to tell Madison the truth.

“What are you going to do? Help them.” Cian doesn’t end his sentence in a question. He tells me, but I’d already planned to.

“I—helping isn’t the problem.” I grip the key tightly in my palm.

“Like you helped Jessa over at the high school?” Cian smirks.

“Or the tip you left at the diner after you heard Betty’s grandson needed physical therapy?” The humor in Pops’ tone is frustrating.

“I didn’t…”

Cian chortles, which is a funny sound coming from someone his size. “Come on, Brax. You blow into town and suddenly good deeds are popping up wherever you go? It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Dammit.

“No one knows it’s you, boy. They just got their suspicions is all.” At least Pops has the sparkle back in his eyes.

“Yeah, but what’s with the DDD? That’s fecking weird.”

“No, it’s not.” I tug on the collar of my shirt. “It’s…listen. I don’t know what I’m doing here. After my grandfather passed away, his attorney handed me a postcard of the inn. On the back, he’d told me to go find my happy, and I’m trying, but it’s also the first time people don’t treat me as though I’m the bank. Does that make any sense at all?”

Pops pats me on the back. “You’re a good kid, boy.”

Freaking boy. “Pops, do you know that I’m thirty years old? I haven’t been a boy in years.”

“You’re a boy until you prove your salt. But your secret is safe with us, right, Cian?”

Cian nods but doesn’t look happy about it. “What are you going to tell Madi? You haven’t exactly been sly around here, you know. People don’t just drop the kind of money you have to stay at the Hideaway.”

The deed in my hand weighs me down much more than a piece of paper should. “I did that before I knew I owned the damn place.”

“I’m still trying to figure out why you did. What did you think you were getting from any of this? Because I have to tell ya, if you hurt Madi, I will fecking skin ya alive, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I got it. And I wish I knew. But I don’t know what to tell you other than I feel alive when I’m here. I don’t have to hide or pretend to be someone I’m not. I’ve never had that before.”

Cian nods, then raises his brows and gestures at the deed.

“So, what are we going to do?” he asks.

“Easy, we’re going to tell Madi she has a new business partner.” Pops says it so fucking merrily that a stranger looking in would think this was his plan all along.

“You’re what?” Cian chokes on his words. “Just like that? You’re going to drop this on her? This is her dream, Pops. Her life.”

“It ain’t like the boy’s a stranger—not really. Madi and I owned the inn fifty-fifty. I only sold Ace forty percent, that way she maintains control of all the decisions.”

Holding up my hands in surrender, I inch closer to the door. “I’m going to gift it back to her.”

“Nope, ya can’t do that. It’s all in the contract Ace’s lawyer drew up. Ya have to get the inn back to fighting shape, then it has to turn a profit for three full years before you can even think about dumping it.”

My chin drops to my chest. “What were you two troublemakers scheming up here, Pops? That’s not a sound business deal in any way you look at it.”

“Well, you already made a deal to dump a shit ton of money into the place. I guess it would go over better if you were an owner. A silent owner,” Cian’s tone leaves no room for argument, but I meant what I said—I’m not looking to take Madison’s inn away from her.

“All settled then,” Pops says, edging past me toward the shed door. “Now all you got to do is tell Madi.”

The tension in my neck crawls up into my forehead. “Me? Why do I have to tell her?”

Cian belly laughs at my side, then claps my shoulder a little too forcefully, and I hitch forward. “That man has nine lives and then some. If you thought for a minute he was going to face Madi’s wrath over this, well, then you’ve still got some learning to do here in Happiness.”

I snap my mouth shut, but not before a grin pokes through.

“I don’t know why Pops has taken such a liking to you, Brax, and it’s not my place to question it, but what is my place is protecting Madi. She’s been like a sister to me for half my life, and she doesn’t deserve the shit she’s been dealt. So I’m going to tell you now not to hurt her. And listen when I say that, because if you do hurt her, you’ll never see me coming.”

“I’m not going to hurt her.”

He stops and scans me head to toe, but when he meets my gaze, I find a kindred spirit who is ruled by his protective instincts. “I hope not, Brax. I don’t hate ya, so it would be a real bitch to have to kill you.” He starts walking again, then calls over his shoulder, “Oh, and a piece of advice?”

“What’s that?”

“If you’re going to spread good deeds in town and want to stay anonymous, stop dropping off twenty-thousand-dollar checks with your signature on them, you fecking boob.”

A bark of laughter rips through me. The neighboring town was having a fundraiser for girls in STEM, and I drove over there yesterday to drop off a check since they didn’t have any way to submit donations online. “I didn’t think anyone would be able to read my signature.”

“Oh, you’re making a name for yourself here, Brax. Don’t worry about that. But if you truly want your anonymity, then come to me and I’ll help you out.”

I stop on the grass. “You will?”

He nods. “I may not understand you, but I get what you’re doing. Being the good you want to see in the world is noble. I’m just sorry you have to be so secretive to do nice things. People will like you for you around here no matter what your bank balance is. Remember that.”

Cian stomps off in the direction of his truck.

“Will you be at the fundraiser tomorrow night?” I call to his back.

“Have you met my wife?” he replies over his shoulder. “She won’t miss a social event even if I tied her to our bed.”

“Kinky.”

He chuckles and waves as he walks away.

As I glance up at the inn, the calm that surrounds me here is replaced with worry. Madison isn’t going to like anything I have to tell her, but there doesn’t seem to be any other way around it.