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yours. Bob always knew trash like you wasn’t good enough for one of his classy little bitches. Only a matter of time before that girl figures it out, too.”
    “I’m going to get the boat,” Mason said through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to shout that Lark wasn’t a bitch, and no one got to call her that, especially a hateful waste of flesh like Parker.
    “Good.” Parker’s mouth pulled into a hard frown. “Take it, and don’t bring it back. I don’t want your shit taking up space in my barn anymore. You bring it back here and I’m selling it for whatever I can get.”
    Mason turned his back on Parker without another word, knowing if he stayed to look into the man’s face another moment he’d lose all the ground he’d gained in the past four years of therapy and give the asshole the fight he so obviously wanted.
    “Good seeing you, Mason,” Parker called after him. “Glad all your dreams came true.”
    The way he said it turned everything into a joke—all the years of study, all the sleepless nights during Mason’s residency, everything he’d learned and everything he’d fought for, and the past four years living in a rat hole of an apartment with three other guys, eating macaroni and cheese and taking handy man jobs during his rare holidays to save enough money for a car and a down payment on a condo in Atlanta.
    It was a joke, all of it, and coming back for Lark was the biggest joke of all.
    She was too good for him when they were younger, and she was too good for him now. It was like Parker said: Mason was still trash, trash with an M.D. and a better haircut, but trash nevertheless. Lark was from one of the most established families in Summerville, from a long line of people who cared about each other and stood up for each other and were classy and intelligent and kind and believed in good things happening to good people. For Mason to think that he could ever truly be a part of that—especially after what he’d done to Lark— was laughable.
    No, he thought as stomped into the shadowy barn and picked his way through the mess of projects his uncle was never going to finish.
    It wasn’t laughable, and Mason wasn’t a joke. He was on the verge of having everything he’d ever wanted, and he wasn’t going to let Parker poison him with doubt. He was going to take Lark out and have a wonderful afternoon, and afterwards he’d find somewhere to keep his boat.
    One of his basketball buddies from high school, or his old friend, Nash, might be interested in having it around. He would either find someone to give it to, or he’d sell the damned thing himself. He wasn’t bringing it back here for Parker to make a thin dime on. He wasn’t coming back here again, period.
    Mason paused with his hands on the edge of the tarp that covered the boat, the realization hitting him hard.
    He didn’t have to come back here. Not ever again. He was…free.
    He supposed he’d been free for a long time—since high school, he had only lived with Parker during the summers and hadn’t seen his uncle at all in the past four years—but some part of him had still felt tied to Parker. He was the only family Mason had left.
    Mason hadn’t seen his mom since the day she skipped town, the summer before his junior year of high school. She used to call every few months, but by the time Mason graduated from college, the calls had stopped. Last he’d heard from her, she was retiring to Mexico with husband number ten, and planned to call with her new number when she got settled.
    The call never came.
    If Mason cut himself off from Parker, he would truly be a man without a clan.
    There had been a time when the thought would have scared him, or at least felt very wrong. Parker hadn’t had to take him in. He could have left Mason to fend for himself, especially after high school, when his nephew was legally an adult. If Parker hadn’t let him shack up with him at the farm during the summers, Mason never would have been able