Prologue
Lincoln
“Nice of you to finally show up,” Deacon says.
Grabbing the pitcher of beer from the center of the table, he raises his eyebrow at me. When I nod, he pours me one.
“Family shit.” I accept the mug and take a drink. I’m usually not a big drinker, but tonight it feels like I’ve earned it.
“Your dad?” Tucker asks.
“Always.”
Deacon wraps his hands around his mug. “How is he?”
“Same shit, different day.”
“Still sober?”
I shake my head. “Fell off the wagon again.”
“Damn.” Tucker grips my shoulder and frowns. “Maybe next time. I’m sorry, dude.”
“Don’t be,” I say, shrugging him off because I’m grumpy—the same way I always am when I leave Dad’s house.
“You okay?” he asks.
Fuck, no. I’m working my ass into the ground and taking care of a man who used to beat the livin’ shit out of me.
“Hell no, I’m not okay. I’m exhausted.” Taking my hat off, I run my hand through my hair and then put it back on.
“You know what you need?” Deacon asks.
Lifting my mug, I take another drink. “Something stronger?”
“Nah, man. You don’t want to get into the same shit your dad got into.”
My stomach sours at the thought, and I push my beer to the center of the table. The last thing I need is to turn into my father.
“What you need is a tight, warm pussy.”
That’s the other last thing I need.
I’m not one to sleep around. Mostly because as much as I don’t want to turn out like my father, I really don’t want to turn out like my mother. Haven’t heard from her in years, but mention her name to anyone in town, and they’ll think of one thing: whore. She slept with anyone willing to put a beer in her hand and a dick between her legs. And that’s a title I don’t want to keep in the family.
Which leaves me with two options: stay single and keep my dick in my pants, or find a nice girl, settle down, and commit—something I put the brakes on years ago.
In my world, people cheat, steal, hit, and lie. And the promise of love is nothing more than an empty declaration designed to bring down a person’s walls.