Prodigal Son: A Sexy Single Dad Romance: Book 2 in the Marked Men 2nd Generation Series (The Forever Marked Series)

by Jay Crownover

  “Aston broke up with him. I think it’s the first time in Ry’s life he’s ever faced rejection. He’s going to see it as an epic failure. I’m not surprised he’s falling apart. He can’t stand to lose, and I know he’s going to figure out a way to make this all about him and whatever he’s lacking. He won’t take two seconds to think about the fact that Aston is probably going through something pretty major, or that this is just as hard for her. He’ll take all the blame and beat himself up over this forever.”

  I sucked in a startled breath and made my way through the tiny house to my bedroom. I wasn’t planning on playing hostess any time soon, and the practice with my band had worn me out. I just wanted to crawl under my covers and sleep the whole dawning day away. “I can’t believe she dumped him. Those two are so much alike, I thought they would stay together forever. It took him forever to get Royce to agree to let him date his baby sister. Ry put the work in.”

  Aston Wheeler was as much of a perfectionist as Ry. The girl was pretty close to being flawless, which was why I didn’t really care for her. Or rather, it was just one more reason I leaned toward being annoyingly jealous of her. I was too stubborn to admit that was really why I was standoffish and abrupt with her whenever all us kids got together. I much preferred spending time with her older brother. Royce was an artist. He was quirky and sensitive, but also a badass when it came to protecting his little sister who was often ill and frail when we were younger. He was a bit messy and irresponsible when it came to everything in his life, including romance, which made him easy for me to relate to. There was absolutely no reason rigid and unyielding Ry Archer should be the boy I had a problem forgetting. If the universe were fair, I would’ve fallen for Royce Wheeler all those years ago instead.

  Daire sighed again. “She didn’t just break up with Ry; she also told him she’s going to college in California. She told him she wasn’t happy and hadn’t been in a long time. It’s totally out of character for her. They’ve been together for two years, and he had no idea she was planning on moving out of state after graduation. She didn’t tell him anything. I think he was blindsided by that as much as the breakup. She didn’t even tell me she was applying out of state. All of this was news to me as well. I want to shake her.”

  I let out a low whistle as I worked on wrestling my boots off my feet. “I didn’t know she had it in her to be so secretive.” Aston seemed like such a sweet girl. I couldn’t imagine her keeping something so huge from not only her boyfriend, but also her bestie.

  “She doesn’t. Which is why I’m sure there’s gotta be a reason behind her actions that neither Ry nor I know about. I’m worried about her, but my brother takes priority. He comes first, no matter what.” She made an amused sound that had me glaring into my empty room before she asked, “Want to explain to me why, out of everyone he knows, and all his friends who live way closer than you do, he ran to you? Why did he go looking for you, Bowe? He ran from the girl he supposedly loved more than anything right to you.”

  I threw myself back on my bed and practically growled, “I’ll talk to you later, Daire. I’ll make sure your brother calls you once he wakes up and gets back to his regular self.”

  I hung up the call on the sound of her knowing laughter.

  I tossed my cell toward the empty side of the bed and lifted my hands to rub my tired eyes. I was going to smear dark eye makeup all over my face, but couldn’t muster up the energy to care or rouse myself to wash it all off before bed. Instead, I pulled my comforter around me and stayed sideways across the mattress as my eyes drifted closed.

  I thought I was finally breaking free from all the complicated relationships that had haunted me throughout my teenage years. I loved my parents. My dad was my hero, and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. He had a guitar in my hand and taught me how to play and write songs since the time I could understand what made music so magical. I always knew I wanted to pursue music instead of enrolling in college, much to my mother’s horror. Eventually, we had to come to a compromise after I failed my entire first semester. I only want to make her happy, which we both realized was a huge mistake.

  It wasn’t that my brilliant mom was against me following in my father’s footsteps. It was more that she’d been with him through all the ups and downs that being a professional musician brought. She stayed with him when he had nothing and when almost everyone on the planet recognized his face. She knew how difficult it was to have a family and to keep a relationship together when one of the people involved gave half their heart to music and melodies. She reminded me repeatedly that while I was growing up, I had to share my dad with all the people who made it possible for him to do what he loved for a living. I knew she just wanted my life to be a little easier than that. She wanted me to have a secure future. She didn’t want me to sacrifice or go without the way she had to when my dad was on tour for long stretches of time. She often reminded me how often it was just me and her, and later on me, her, and the twins when my father was away. I hated it growing up, but I understood the sacrifice now that I was older.

  Music meant everything to me, and I was willing to do whatever it would take, to sacrifice anything, to make my mark the way my father had. I wanted to make both my parents proud, but more than that, I wanted to chase after my dreams and accomplish great things because they mattered to me, not because I just happened to have a famous father.

  I often butted heads with my more pragmatic and reasonable mother, but I never doubted for a second that she would love and support me regardless of the path I chose for myself. She was actually the more understanding parent when I started to put my foot down about being dragged to Denver whenever there was a reason for my family to get together with their longtime friends. She loved that she found a family that had helped she and my dad not only get together, but stay together whenever times got tough. My parents were inexplicably close to the friends they’d lived and worked with when they were my age. I understood they wanted the next generation to have the same kind of bonds and be the same kind of support system they had, but it wasn’t something that could be forced.

  The twins and I had our own friends here in Austin, and while it was nice to know there was a whole group of people we could rely on in a pinch regardless of time and distance, they couldn’t be a part of the challenges and solutions that made up our everyday lives.

  Plus, Ry was the epicenter of the relationships that connected everyone back in Colorado. He was the one we all circulated around and gravitated toward, whether we wanted to or not. He was either related by blood to half of them or the one who welcomed the new additions into the fold with open arms. There were a lot of us kids from the second generation running around. He was friendly and charming. He was levelheaded and calm. He was the one they turned to for advice and the one they looked up to as a role model. The fact he and I had always rubbed one another the wrong way always made me feel like an outcast. It made it harder to get close to the others who did nothing but sing his praises and fell for his practiced portrayal of perfection. I felt like I was the only person on the planet willing to call Ry out on his bullshit time and time again. I felt like I was the only one who could tell he was putting on a front, and that underneath that very pretty mask he wore, he was as much of a mess as the next conflicted and confused kid.

  This was supposed to be the year I was finally free of him and all the warring emotions that invaded my entire being when I was forced to interact with him. I finally put my foot down and was going to keep the much-needed space between us so I could truly forget about him and our history together. There had to be other boys out there who could inspire songs about love and sorrow. I needed Ry off of my mind and out of my memories so I could focus on finding one.

  I couldn’t believe he was sleeping on my couch right now.

  I couldn’t believe his dream girl dumped him and had been hiding something as big as leaving the state from him.

  I couldn’t believe she found the courage to tell him,
to his face, he didn’t make her happy. It was so unlike her.

  I couldn’t believe I was the one he turned to for comfort after all the harsh words and ugly accusations we had slung at each other the last time we were in the same room together. I was pretty sure we’d reached the mutual agreement to never speak again after that big blowout.

  The only thing that wasn’t a surprise was that he still looked as good as ever. Even in his current, fucked-up state.

  All those damn Archers were blessed with some outrageously superior genetics.

  They were all tall, with striking good looks. Both Zowen and Ry took after their fathers with dark hair and inexplicably pale blue eyes. Both boys were in really good shape from playing sports. Ry played football, while Zowen preferred soccer. Ry was far more serious about his chosen sport than his cousin. Ry was still playing college ball, while Zowen had given up the game to focus on school when his grades started slipping. The Archer girls, Remy and Daire, looked more like their mothers who were fair and delicate. They were no less impressive than their siblings, even though they lacked the looming height and bulging muscles. Any one of them was a head-turner on their own. When the four of them were together, it was like they created their own magnetic force that made everyone around them unable to look away or focus on anything but them. The Archer effect was no joke.

  Ry had always been astoundingly attractive. He’d also always known it.

  It wasn’t that he was the conceited or egotistical type. More like, he’d always been the best at whatever it was he did, so of course, he would also be the best-looking guy wherever he went. I wanted to be irritated by his self-assurance, but he wasn’t wrong, so it was a challenge to call him out on his arrogance.

  Honestly, today was the most real I’d ever seen him. All of that polish and shine he wore like armor had finally tarnished, but he still looked better than the average person. His hair was still thick and shiny, even when it was a ruffled mess. His body was still unbelievably ripped and gorgeously toned, even when he was dressed down and looked like he’d shoved his dinner in his face while driving eighty on the interstate. His face still looked like it’d been carved by a master sculptor, even when it was tearstained and slightly haggard. An unkempt Ry Archer was still the best-looking guy I’d ever seen in person. And I liked him better when his human side was showing.

  I had to remind myself he was absolutely not my type. Not back when I ended up in bed with him, and not now. No matter how quickly he softened my hardened heart.

  I never understood how a guy whose father owned and operated one of the biggest and most well-known tattoo shops in the US could be so clean-cut and proper. It wasn’t that Ry didn’t have any ink, but he definitely didn’t embrace the form of self-expression the way a lot of the older kids had who had grown up running around the different tattoo shops our parents either worked in or frequented. He could be covered in beautiful, colorful designs that made him stand out even when he was covered up in a football uniform. Instead, he only had one complicated, black and gray image that covered one of his muscular arms.

  I thought it was simple and boring. My dad, who was covered in ink from all over the world, reminded me it was just as bad to judge someone for how normal they looked as it was to make assumptions based on how they decided to decorate their body. It wasn’t my place to question why Ry did or didn’t let his father put his famous and highly sought-after work all over him… but I did it anyway. Mostly because I felt like I needed to question everything Ry did.

  The boy was beyond confusing.

  So was the way I felt about him.

  Because, while Aston Wheeler might be his first love and the one he picked as his perfect match… I was his first everything else… and he was my one and only.

  I usually start by thanking the readers who have purchased this book, or any book that has my name on it. Because are you really a writer if no one ever reads what you’ve written? But this time, I really need to thank the folks who helped me write when I was pretty sure it was something I’d forgotten how to do, or lost any and all motivation to keep trying. Without them, there would be no book, which would mean there were definitely no readers, and I’m not sure I could still call myself a writer.

  I barely got this book written. And just because the content was hard, and the story deeply emotional and personal. I always knew who Remy was and what she was dealing with. I wrote her as a child that way in the Marked Men series, knowing she was going to be a tough-love type story when and if I ever got around to her. I actually picked this book to tackle, specifically because I felt like I knew who Remy and Hyde were so well. I felt it would probably be the easiest book for me to write while creatively struggling. So, it wasn’t the content or the work. It was me. I really, truly have felt irreparably broken this year. I’ve been dealing with a lot of personal loss, emotional upheaval, professional setbacks, and my mentality just wasn’t where it usually is. I’m pretty good about keeping my head in the game no matter what, but I failed miserably this year. I typically write four to five new books, one each season, a year. This year I’ve managed to create two. I think my lack of output speaks directly to just how burned out and emotionally exhausted I am.

  When I asked my beta team to help me make sure I was putting out not just a good, but a great book, they really took it to heart. I feel like they worked as hard as I did to make sure Remy and Hyde could proudly follow in their parents’ footsteps. Any place I lacked, or stumbled in the creation of this book, they were right there to fill in the gap. Pam, Traci, Alexandra, Kelly, Cheron, Sarah, and Karla are all really lovely ladies with individual talents that are beyond compare. And since they are all unique and come from different perspectives, I think they really helped nail down Remy’s issues with her mental health and how she sees the world, and how the world views her. You would not have this book in your hands without their help. I am very, very proud of the team of women I’ve built to work and create with over the years. They are the best, and honestly one of the few bright spots in the last couple of years.

  And then there’s Mel. We’re going on nine years of working together, and I can honestly say, she knows me better than I know myself. Especially when my usual perspective and passion is skewed. She is the eternal cheerleader when things get rough. She is the soothing southern voice when all I want to do is break shit and scream my lungs out. I would kill for a fraction of her constant composure. If it wasn’t for her refrain of “You’ve got this,” and “You can do it!” I don’t know that I would’ve been able to drag my weary bones and fractured creativity across the finish line.

  Now, for a new addition to my girl-power line up, I want to thank my friend Lindsay Ehrhardt for jumping on board as my mental health sensitivity reader. It was a big ask, but there is no better person for the job. I’ve known Lindsay for as long as I’ve known Cora. I’m intimately acquainted with her journey and growth over the years. She’s the funniest person I’ve ever met. She’s also ridiculously smart, and incredibly sensitive. I trust her implicitly to make sure Remy’s story helps rather than hurts. I believe she will make this book better than it ever could be without her input.

  Of course, there would be no book—good, bad, or ugly—without my creative team. One of my favorite parts of publishing a book independently is getting to handpick the folks I want to work with. I think I have the best of the best and cannot recommend Hang, Elaine, and Beth enough. You can find all of their info at the beginning of this book. My books wouldn’t make as much sense, look as good as they do, or read as professionally as they do without them. They are worth their weight in gold, and you may have noticed I go back to them time and time again. FOR GOOD REASON! If you want to support good people and make sure you are investing in talented creatives, these girls deserve every bit of time and attention you might have. When I say ‘give them all your money because they never disappoint,’ I mean it.

  Of course, I can’t go without thanking my readers. The readers who review. The
readers who interact with me on the socials. The readers who tell other readers about my books. The readers who never say a word, but I know they’re there anyway. All of the different types of readers matter. I appreciate each and every single one of you. Especially if you’re still here after how quiet I’ve been the last couple of years. I know I try to stretch my wings creatively, and sometimes it pushes people out of their comfort zone. I want to do that. I never want to be stuck in one place regurgitating words I’ve already written. I never want you to know what’s coming next. I want you to be as surprised as I am with each new book. If you can hang with never knowing what’s around the corner, I appreciate you from the bottom of my soul. I also sincerely appreciate the readers who have reached out or commented that they’ve also had a rough time of things lately, and they let me know my words have helped them find solace in some way. Books have always, always been my safe space. I adore, and am humbled to offer that to someone else in their time of need. It might just be a romance novel to those who don’t know, but for those of us who are connected through a novel in such a special and personal way, we know better.

  I guess I just want to remind everyone with this acknowledgement, that it is okay to ask for help, and to lean on the folks you trust when shit is hard. I’m the type who generally suffers in silence and likes to think I can handle my issues all by myself, but the truth is, we all need some support every now and then. I hope everyone reading this has someone who can prop them up when the weight of the world gets too heavy.

  As always, I want to shout out my most awesome reader’s group, Crownover’s Crowd. They are just the chillest, most encouraging group of readers on the interwebs, and I’m so happy we have a safe place to gather and interact regularly. If you haven’t joined, I highly suggest you do.

  Below is a list of all the places you can find me: