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Back The Lighthouse Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. PART ONE
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. PART TWO
  13. 12
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 18
  18. 19
  19. 21
  20. 22
  21. 23
  22. 24
  23. 25
  24. 26
  25. 27
  26. 28
  27. 30
  28. 31
  29. 32
  30. 33
  31. 34
  32. 35
  33. 36
  34. 37
  35. 38
  36. 39
  37. 40
  38. 41
  39. 42
  40. 43
  41. PART THREE
  42. 44
  43. 45
  44. 46
  45. 47
  46. 49
  47. 50
  48. 51
  49. 52
  50. EPILOGUE

Ryan stood in the doorway, surprised. His father had never spoken like that before, and the words gave him pause. Despite the guilt, he indulged the thought for a moment, wondering what he’d do if he really could choose differently. Where would he even begin?

He’d be lying if he said he’d never asked the question before, but the answer was never simple. Any path he chose invariably meant cutting ties to home, which was something he knew he could never do. He could never abandon the ranch, or say goodbye to Seabrook, or leave his father to fend for himself, and yet the idea that his father thought he could left Ryan speechless, even a little hurt. Maybe it was the meds talking, or maybe his father was just having one of his off days; whatever the reason, Ryan did his best to shrug it off.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Ryan said. He flicked off the lights and moved into the hall, but not before popping his head into the room one last time.

“I’m your son. My place is here with you.”

5

5

Last night’s rescue had certainly left Ryan feeling worse for wear. Aching muscles and blistered hands were just some of the ailments greeting him when he woke the next morning, never mind his bruised and numb backside. Little Dipper was safe, though, and that’s all that mattered—even if his body had paid a hefty price.

Stifling a groan, Ryan sat up and rubbed his eyes, then turned to check his bedside clock. The sun was already up, but the digits on the clock’s display—which appeared to be unstable and flickering—were stuck on the wrong time. He wondered if a storm-related power surge had caused a fuse to blow, perhaps fried the clock’s circuitry. Curious, he leaned over and gave it a shake, even tried hitting the reset button a few times, but each time the display returned the same digits: 10:57.

Great, just what I need, he thought with a sigh. Something else around here that needs fixing.

After leaning over to switch the clock off, Ryan dragged himself out of bed, threw on some pants and a shirt, and headed downstairs.

“Morning, Dad.”

His father was seated at the dining table working on a crossword with a cup of tea cradled in his hand. Wispy threads of steam wafted out of a ceramic teapot, lending the room a sweet, fruity smell.

“Good morning, Son.”

Ryan took a mug out of the cupboard and poured himself a cup too. “Sleep well?” he asked, pulling out a chair.