Page 16 of Pour Decisions (Stryker Family #3)

JD

If I thought Kat was on my mind all the time before, she’s even more stuck there now that we’ve cleared the air.

She forgives me, even though I’m not owed forgiveness no matter how hard I try. I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.

I could have taken that and moved forward with her as just my roommate if I hadn’t had such a good time with her at the ridiculous sculpture event.

It brought back every feeling I’ve been missing since we broke up—lightness, fun even though the absurdity of it was driving me crazy.

I never realized how not at ease I am with most people until I was reminded of how relaxing it is to be with her.

I want her back. But her forgiving me and her wanting me back in return are two very different things. She just got divorced, for fuck’s sake. Any relationship is the last thing on her mind.

“John David,” Dad says, snapping me out of my daze.

“Hm?” I look up at him where he’s standing in the doorway to my office. How long have I been staring off into space?

“What’s this on my calendar for a few weeks from now?” he asks, still standing in the doorway. Bubba stretches in his bed and thumps his tail, looking at Dad but not getting up.

“What do you mean?” I ask, jiggling my mouse to wake up my computer.

“This meeting with a gin company?” Dad frowns and pats his leg for Bubba to come. Bubba grumbles and sighs, making his way to his feet. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“Because I did. It’s a good opportunity for us to expand our offerings in new markets,” I say. “And gin is faster to produce.”

“Is that right?” Dad’s eyebrow, now more salt than pepper, lifts. It’s a move he uses on more junior employees and it tends to shut them up, but it hasn’t worked on me for a long time.

“Yes. It’s just a meeting.”

“But it’s not moonshine or bourbon,” he says, petting Bubba. The dog yawns and goes back to his bed with another heavy sigh. He’s not used to working for pets.

“Stryker Liquors used to just be Stryker Moonshine not that long ago.” I shrug. And he was the one who created Big Bubba Bourbon. “Why not add more products so we can be more stable? The company we’re meeting with has been making big strides and our infrastructure could help them grow.”

Dad and I stare at each other for a few beats. I’ve learned this tactic from him—stay silent and oftentimes, someone will say something just to fill the dead air. When he tries to use it on me, we sit in an uncomfortable amount of silence.

My back starts throbbing the longer we sit. It’s been feeling significantly better since I started physical therapy three weeks ago, but sometimes the pain flares up again. I shift in my seat.

“Not a big fan of gin. Or this little idea,” Dad says, crossing his arms over his chest.

My “little” idea? The last time we took a little idea on—Wes’s canned cocktails—we made millions. And I’m not some intern. I have a lot of experience. I shift in my seat again and bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t visibly wince.

“Does it matter, though? It’s just a meeting,” I say. “We don’t have to commit to anything. I made that clear when I invited them in.”

Dad’s eyes narrow and he pulls the silent treatment again. I’m not cracking. I could sit here all damn day.

“You’ve been real resistant lately,” Dad finally says, “to doing things the way we’ve always done them.”

Resistant? Since when has me voicing my opinion been resistance? Years ago, when there were several more people between me and Dad’s level, he didn’t push back much at all at a simple idea. But now that I’m basically one step away from his job, I’m suddenly resistant?

I don’t think “resistant” is the word he’s thinking of. I’m not doing exactly what he wants anymore, and the idea of leaving his legacy to the unknown probably doesn’t feel good.

“I just feel strongly that we need to evolve,” I say, with a shrug. “Take bigger steps. It’s not even a big step when you think about it.”

“Being too strong-willed won’t get you where you want to go, son.” Dad ambles back into the hallway. “Just remember that.”

He leaves and I stare at the empty doorframe, my anger slowly simmering faster and faster. Was that a threat?

A few minutes later, I get a notification that Dad declined the meeting and invited me to a dinner with some men who run a chain of liquor stores in the South, one of our biggest customers.

I make a note to reply to it later when I’m not so pissed off.

Focusing on the same old shit is going to make our sales decline if we keep going down that path.

Thinking about it pisses me off too much, so I get up, do some desk stretches that Katrina recommended, and get back to work. But my back continues to ache all the way through the rest of the day and once I get home.

Katrina is already there, standing in the kitchen.

Someday I won’t be blown away by how beautiful she is every time I see her, but today’s not that day.

She’s in a romper and a hoodie, her feet bare and her hair up in a scarf.

A box of crackers is on the counter and she’s shoveling them into her mouth.

Did she eat lunch? I make a mental note to make her something. I already meal prep my own lunches, so making the sandwich she likes as a part of my evening routine won’t be a hassle.

“Hey!” She smiles at me—her real, warm smile that makes me melt on the inside. Her eyes skim over my shoulders and chest, more analytical than anything.. “Tough day?”

“What makes you say that?” I ask. Bubba trots past me to get to her, tail wagging.

“Shoulders are tense.” She glances back at me again as she bends to pet Bubba. “Very tense. Is your back aching?”

I try to relax them, rolling one back, then the other. “A little bit.”

“So yes, it’s been a tough day?” she asks.

I shrug. “It’s been a day.”

She raises an eyebrow at me, a tiny smile on her lips that tells me she knows I’m full of shit.

“I was just about to do some yoga to unwind. Want to do your PT homework too?” she asks.

“Sure. Just let me change.”

I change out of my work clothes and feed Bubba.

He runs into the backyard with one of his toys when I open the back door.

Kat is already outside, legs in a butterfly stretch.

I lay my mat out next to hers and start the exercises.

They’re a good distraction from her starting her yoga, which twists her body in ways I can’t ignore.

“Did I put relaxation and stress management on your treatment paperwork?” she asks as she watches me stretch from a downward dog position.

“No, but you implied it.” I suck in a breath and lean into a stretch more. “Heavily.”

She steps her feet up to her hands and stands up straight. “If I had written it down, would you be more chill?”

“Doubt it.”

She snorts, stretching her arms up. “I should have seen that one coming.”

We move alongside each other silently. Well, mostly silently—Bubba barks at some birds and pants after he zooms back and forth across the yard.

“How has your back been?” she asks as I curl my body up like an angry cat. “Any changes to your pain or new challenges?”

“Is this an at-home session?” I ask, quirking up an eyebrow.

“No, I’m just checking in.” She smiles back, catching that I’m teasing her a little bit despite my flat tone.

“No new pain. Less pain, mostly,” I say.

“Great. You’ll see more improvements soon, I promise.” She bends over and I steal a glance at her ass.

Her moves progress into more and more difficult ones, just as mine ramp up too. I have to take breaks, which Bubba fills by bringing me random sticks and demanding that I throw his ball.

“So what made today so shitty that your back is locking up?” she asks once Bubba has flopped down in the yard to rest. Her voice is hardly strained even though the pose she’s in is difficult.

“Just my dad.” I take a deep breath.

“Mm.” She nods and comes out of her pose, giving me her full attention. “Same old stuff?"

I’d never opened up to anyone about my dad before we met—all the pressure he put on me back then, the looming idea of carrying this whole company and, by extension, my family’s livelihood on my shoulders.

It never felt like anyone would truly get it.

Or worse, they’d tell me to suck it up the way I suck up most things, if I ever got to the point of actually telling anyone anything.

But she understood, and judging by the soft look in her eyes, she still does.

The relief unwinds the tension I’ve been carrying all day.

“Similar old stuff. He pushed me to be great and to get to where I am now,” I say. “But now that I’m actually trying to make changes that would deviate from his vision for the future, he’s being a dick about it.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s like building a house to your specifications, then being mad that the house is like that.” She pauses. “Well, sort of. You get me.”

I do, in more ways than she’ll ever know.

“That makes sense.” I sit back on my heels again.

“He’s been saying he’ll shift his role to an advisory one for a while now, but he’s flip-flopped enough to make me worry he’ll hang onto the CEO position longer just to keep control.

He’ll drive his health into the ground out of spite.

He needs to work less and the only way he’ll do that is to give me control. ”

She nods again, more slowly this time, like she’s trying to digest what I’ve said.

“I don’t think stepping back will ever be easy for him, based on what you’ve told me about him.” She lifts her hand as Bubba comes up behind her, and he tucks himself against her side. “But maybe he’s just making a fuss. Maybe once he sees how positive the changes are, he’ll loosen his grip.”

“I hope so.” I scratch Bubba under his chin while she scratches him above his tail.

She might be right. Maybe I’m worrying for no reason and Dad will cut his hours without complaint.

But I don’t want this power struggle to drag on for years. I want the position I’ve been working toward for most of my life—the one Dad promised me.