Free The Prodigal's Return by Anna DeStefano

clearly not by invitation. At the same time that the man’s condition had sent Buford reaching out long-distance to Neal.
    Holy hell.
    Neal stared at his father in denial. The man just stood there, waiting for him to catch a clue or get out. It didn’t seem to matter which.
    â€œYou’re dying?” It was an impossible thought.
    â€œLike you care.”
    â€œCare!” Neal desperately needed to be in his Mustang—the one he’d bought and painstakingly restored because it was his father’s favorite model—and speeding back down the road to Atlanta.
    Except he couldn’t move.
    Jenn brushed against him as she hustled by, her head down. Her coat lay carelessly across one arm, despite the afternoon temperature that barely clung to the freezing mark. “I…I’ll come back tomorrow, Nathan, to finish up the kitchen.”
    Neal watched her until she was out of sight. Biting his tongue barely stifled the urge to call her back. To not leave him alone with the reality waiting for him when he turned around.
    His father was dying.
    Slam!
    And the bastard had just hit him in the ass with the front door.
    Â 
    H E ISN’T HERE .
    Neal isn’t really back.
    Right, he wasn’t back. And she hadn’t just left through the front door, instead of the kitchen where she’d gone to get her coat, just to have an excuse to be near him one more time. To touch him before he disappeared again, like some ghost who’d waited for her most vulnerable moment since returning to Rivermist to mess with her head.
    â€œJenn!”
    Her ghost was jogging toward her across the scarred front lawn, the effortless athletic grace of each stride stalling her just long enough for him to catch up. She turned her back, but there was noescape even in that. Parked behind her car was a shiny red Mustang, the make and model of the beautifully restored classic one hundred percent the Neal Cain she’d loved, no matter how the man behind her resembled a total stranger now.
    â€œJenn?”
    His touch on her elbow was so light, maybe she’d imagined it. Imagined him coming after her like a weak confused part of her had wanted him to. But there was no ignoring the pressure he exerted as he turned her around.
    â€œI’m sorry, I don’t want to bother you… But, I—I need to know what’s going on with Nathan.”
    Bother her?
    Now why would him being here, making her feel things that would only destroy her again if she let them, bother her?
    â€œJenn?”
    â€œI have to go.” She fumbled for the door handle, shattered by him calling her anything but Jennifer. By the sound of him calling his father Nathan. There was nothing familiar in that tight voice. Deadness, instead of warmth, filled those eyes. So why did she want to crawl into his arms and cling to the reality of simply having him here, no matter how little of the boy she’d loved had returned in the body of this dangerous-looking man?
    â€œDon’t leave, please.” Something in that calm expression shifted. A softening as he reached to thumb a tear from her cheek, only to stiffen before he actually touched her. “I know I’m upsetting you, but I need to know what’s going on with Na—”
    â€œYou’re going to have to talk with your father yourself.” Finally managing to open the car door, she crawled inside. She had to get out of there, before she curled into a ball and burst into tears. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on.”
    â€œHe shut the door in my face.” Neal held fast to the door frame, a fine tremor shaking his fingers.
    â€œMine, too.” His distress worked its way through her panic. She forced herself to remember what this man’s return could mean for Nathan, regardless of the disaster it already was for her. “But I got in. You will, too, Neal. I don’t think your dad wants to be alone nearly as much as he pretends