Feels like Trouble (Lake Fisher 4)

A grin tips my lips. “You did not,” I scoff.

“I did.”

“And how did people react?”

He loads his hook with a worm and aims toward the bushes at the shoreline. “Who cares how they reacted?” he says with a shrug. “My end of the lake, my rules.”

“But you only own a small section.”

He chuckles. “Yet my reach is vast.” He nods toward the fishing pole I’m still holding. “You going to use that? Or just hold it in your hand pretending it’s your dick?”

I suppose I had better use it. I fix a worm to the hook and toss it out.

“This is what you wanted to do?” I ask him. “You wanted to fish?”

“Fishing’s good for you. Eases stress.” He looks me up and down. “You carry a lot of stress.”

“I wouldn’t say a lot,” I mutter. I watch my bobber, but it just floats toward the reedy grass. “I feel kind of bad out here fishing while Evie’s working.”

“Evie’s not working.” He reels his line in, checks the bait, and casts again. “She’s getting her toenails painted at the pedicure place with Katie.” He snorts out a laugh. “That’s why I’m fishing.”

“What’s that got to do with fishing?” I ask, as I reel my line in and toss it back out.

“If I’d stayed home, I’d have to watch the kids, because Jake would have found some chore or other to do. He would have taken one or two with him, but there are so damn many of them.” He snorts out a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong. I adore all of them, but sometimes an old man wants some peace.”

“You only had one kid, right?” I ask. “Just Jake?”

He smiles. “Yeah. My wife always said you shouldn’t mess with perfection. For her, the sun rose and set in Jake’s eyes.” His eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s mulling something over. “How are things with your daddy?” he asks suddenly.

“Fine, I guess.” I shrug. “Same as ever.”

“Fine, I guess,” he repeats, mocking my tone. “You two still at odds?”

“I wouldn’t really call it at odds since we generally avoid each other. We’re not very close.”

“Why not?”

I shake my head. “We’ve never seen eye to eye on what my future should look like.”

“In what way? Your daddy still pushing for you to come work at the car lot?”

I nod. “He’d love that. But I’d hate it.” I’d hate every second of it. I’d hate selling cars people don’t need to people who can’t afford them. I’d hate being indoors. “He’s good at it, I’ll give him that. But it’s not for me.”

He makes a sound something between a harrumph and clearing his throat. “Every man wants to pass his legacy down to his son,” Mr. Jacobson says quietly. “I gave Jake the compound a few years ago. Best thing I ever did.”

“But Jake actually wanted it,” I remind him.

“So you don’t spend much time with your dad?”

I shake my head. “It’s too tense. He has too many expectations I can’t meet. I’m rather tired of being a disappointment to him. He sees me as a failure. I guess I am.” I’ve never told anybody this. Not ever. Not once in my life. Not even my mom.

“You’re the opposite of a failure. Your dad will come around. Give him a grandbaby or two to love and you won’t be able to get rid of him.”

I scoff. “I don’t foresee that happening any time soon.” I reel my worm in and toss it back out.

“Why not?” His brow furrows as he looks away from his bobber and toward me. “That Evie of yours is head over heels for you.”