Free The Lucky One by Nicholas Sparks Page A

spending another four years in the classroom, so he’d joined his father at the sheriff’s department. That was enough to placate Gramps. It seemed like he’d spent half his life placating Gramps.
    But he had no choice in the matter. Even though he didn’t particularly like Gramps—Gramps was a devout Southern Baptist who went to church every Sunday and thought that drinking and dancing were sins, which always struck Clayton as ridiculous—he knew what Gramps expected of him, and let’s just say that taking nudie pictures of coeds was not on the “to do” list. Nor were some of the other photos on the disk, especially of him and a few other ladies in compromising positions. That sort of thing would definitely lead to
serious disappointment,
and Gramps wasn’t very patient with those who disappointed him, even if they were family
. Especially
if they were family. Claytons had lived in Hampton County since 1753; in many ways, they
were
Hampton County. Family members included judges, lawyers, doctors, and landowners; even the mayor had married into the family, but everyone knew Gramps was the one who sat at the head of the table. Gramps ruled the place like an old-fashioned Mafia don, and most people in town sang his praises and went on and on about what a quality man he was. Gramps liked to believe it was because he supported everything from the library to the theater to the local elementary school, but Clayton knew the real reason was that Gramps owned pretty much every commercial building in the downtown area, as well as the lumberyard, both marinas, three automobile dealerships, three storage complexes, the only apartment complex in town, and vast tracts of farmland. All of it made for an immensely wealthy—and powerful—family, and since Clayton got most of his money from the family trusts, the last thing he needed was some stranger in town making trouble for him.
    Thank God he’d had Ben in the short time he’d been with Beth. Gramps had this weird thing about lineage, and since Ben had been named after Gramps—a pretty slick idea, if he did say so himself—Gramps adored him. Most of the time, Clayton had the sense that Gramps liked Ben, his great-grandson, a lot more than he liked his grandson.
    Oh, Clayton knew Ben was a good kid. It wasn’t just Gramps—everyone said so. And he did love the kid, even if he was a pain in the ass sometimes. From his perch on the front porch, he looked through the window and saw that Ben had finished with the kitchen and was back on the couch. He knew he should join him inside, but he wasn’t ready just yet. He didn’t want to fly off the handle or say something he’d regret. He’d been working at being better about things like that; a couple of months back, Gramps had had a little talk with him about how important it was to be a
steady influence.
Peckerhead. What he should have done was talk to Ben about doing what his dad asked when he asked, Clayton thought. Would have done a lot more good. The kid had already pissed him off once tonight, but instead of exploding, he’d remembered Gramps and pressed his lips together before stalking outside.
    Seemed like he was always getting pissed off at Ben these days. But it wasn’t his fault; he honestly tried to get along with the kid! And they’d started out okay. Talked about school, had some burgers, tuned in to
SportsCenter
on ESPN. All good. But then, horror of horrors, he’d asked Ben to clean the kitchen. Like that was too much to ask, right? Clayton hadn’t had the chance to get to it for the last few days, and he knew the kid would do a good job. So Ben promised he’d clean it, but instead of doing it, he’d just sat there. And sat. And the clock ticked by. And then he’d sat some more. So Clayton had asked again—he was sure he’d said it nicely—and though he couldn’t be certain, he was pretty sure that Ben had rolled his eyes as he’d finally trudged off. That was all it took. He hated when Ben rolled