What You Need(85)

“Jesus, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, Walker, I’m listening.”

“Look, I’ll cut to the chase. Nolan, Jensen and I aren’t firstborn Lund sons. We each do our own things and we don’t feel the pressure of the Lund legacy. But we are aware of the pressure on you and Ash and even Jax—when he’s done with the NHL—to run the company. We just didn’t know who’d put it there. Because it sure as hell doesn’t come from Dad, Uncle Monte or Uncle Archer. So I suspect with you it’s entirely self-driven.”

Some of it was, but not all. My gut churned when I was thrown back to the summer after I’d graduated from high school and first worked at LI. Everyone had thought it was so cool and generous of Grandpa Jackson Lund to step out of retirement to mentor me. It’d been the worst months of my life—yet he’d instilled in me the drive I needed to prove myself worthy of the Lund name and eventual leadership in the company, community and family.

He didn’t drive you. The nasty old man browbeat you, berated you, convinced you that you’d never be good enough or smart enough to amount to anything. That the only reason you’d even have a job at LI was because of your last name. That, as evidenced by your mediocre grades, you didn’t have the mental capability of running a company the size of LI. That you’d be just like your father—sliding by with charm instead of brains.

How had I forgotten that? Christ, how deep had I buried that shit? It hit me like a brick wall that I hadn’t even been aware that proving my grandfather wrong had been my sole focus since I turned eighteen. A man who’d been dead for thirteen years.

“Brady?”

I glanced up at my brother.

Something on my face had him switching tactics. “Talk to me, bro. Honestly. What happened to you in the last week?”

As tempted as I was to lie to save face, I wanted to be beyond that. And it was obvious I was too far in denial about my ability to change things to do it by myself. So I didn’t hold back.

After I finished unburdening myself, Walker got up and grabbed us each a beer. Then he said, “You screwed up.”

“That’s why I’ve thrown myself into this seminar.”

Walker shook his head. “Was there ever any doubt in your mind you’d get back on track workwise?”

“Maybe at first.”

“Dude. Be real. You jumped back in and focused on it until you fixed it.”

“Yeah.”

“You need to do the same thing with Lennox.” He pointed his beer bottle at me. “But you don’t have the first friggin’ clue how to fix things with her, do you?”

I jammed my hand through my hair. Then I tossed a look over my shoulder, surprised that we hadn’t been interrupted. “No. And why would she want anything to do with me after how I acted anyway? I was a dick to her. I blamed her, I let her and her roommate down, and I made it sound like I regretted being intimate with her, when it was the most outstanding sex I’ve ever had. She’s different from any woman I’ve ever been with before.”

When Walker studied me, I figured I’d given him too much information. I prepared myself to take a rash of shit, but that wasn’t what he gave me.

“That day you brought Lennox to the game, I watched her very closely.” He smirked when I growled at him. “Back off, beast. She is damn fine to look at, but what struck me, watching her, was that she kept watching you. As she did, she had such a starstruck look on her face. It might sound sappy as shit, but she just . . . lit up around you. And, bro, you were the same exact way around her. Everyone noticed it. You know why everyone noticed it?” He swigged his beer. “Because for the first time in a long time you looked really frickin’ happy. It was a beautiful thing to see, man. I’m sure part of it was the rockin’ hot sex—”

“Wrong. Lennox and I hadn’t slept together yet.” I corrected his assumption.

Walker’s jaw dropped. “So she acted all love-struck and shit just because she just likes you that much?”

“I guess.”

“You guess.” He set his elbows on the table. “You have a woman like that? Who’s beautiful, smart and sexy, who gets you and likes you anyway—when you’re not being an overthinking workaholic dickhead—you go after her with everything you have. Everything. You do not waste another day waiting around wondering if she’ll forgive you. You do whatever it takes to make that happen. You get me?”

For the first time in a week, I actually had hope that I could fix this. “I get you. But since you’ve got way more experience groveling than I do, then you’ll have to help me out.”