Being the oldest, Deacon probably should’ve put an end to the idea. But since Olivia arrived, he’d been filled with a restless energy that needed an outlet. And punching his brothers in the face seemed like as good an outlet as any. Of course, with no gloves or protective sparring helmets, they needed rules.
“One round only,” he said.
Nash unbuttoned his shirt. “One round is all I’ll need.”
“You mean all I’ll need.” Grayson jerked off his shirt. The youngest Beaumont would’ve started swinging if Deacon hadn’t stopped him.
“Outside. I’m not going to have Grandpa’s house busted up.”
Nash smiled. “You sound just like Mom when we started roughhousing. You’re as persnickety as a girl.”
“Then you should be able to win easily.” He led his brothers out the door and around to the side of the house, where he traced a ring in the dirt with the heel of his boot. Blue had awoken from his nap and sniffed along behind Deacon’s boot, no doubt wondering if the new game involved tracking. His bloodshot eyes looked thoroughly disappointed when Deacon made him sit in a spot out of the way. “First person to connect wins,” Deacon said as he pulled off his shirt.
Grayson and Nash squared off first. Nash was a technical boxer, dodging and hedging until an opening appeared for his wicked right hook. Grayson, on the other hand, was more of a rapid-fire boxer. He threw jab after jab while Nash danced around him. And Deacon had to wonder if, despite his smack talk, Nash hadn’t gotten a little soft during his time away from home. When he had the openings to connect with Grayson’s chin, he didn’t take them. Instead he ducked and wove until Grayson finally slipped a fist through his guard and sent him stumbling back.
“And the winner is the great Grayson Beaumont!” Grayson jogged around the line dug in the dirt with his hands in the air. He dropped them and pointed at Deacon. “You’re up, big brother.”
Having always been protective of his littlest brother, Deacon shook his head. “I think it’s only fair to let Nash get a chance to redeem himself.”
It turned out to be a bad idea. While Nash had held back with Grayson, he didn’t waste any time swinging at Deacon’s jaw. Deacon ducked and came around with a one-two body jab, but Nash was too quick. They continued to dance around the ring for what felt like hours before Nash got in a hook that grazed Deacon’s cheek and hurt like hell.
“Now this is a sight that warms a father’s heart.”
With a hand cradling his face, Deacon turned to see their father coming around the corner of the house. As always, Don Juan Beaumont was dressed like a pirate version of Don Johnson in Miami Vice. He wore a white button-down shirt, linen pants, and loafers without socks, while his long gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a gold hoop hung from one ear.
Don Juan, or Donny John as most folks called him, lived up to his name in every way. He loved women with the same passion with which he loved life. It was unfortunate that neither passion involved earning money.
As he watched his father saunter toward them, Deacon tested his cheek with two fingers. “Please don’t tell me that you already spent the money I gave you.”
Donny John held up his hands. “What good is money unless you enjoy it, Valentino?”
The use of his middle name never failed to piss Deacon off. “It’s Deacon.”
Donny John released an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know why you boys insist on being referred to by the ordinary names your mother gave you. Being named for legendary lovers is part of the Beaumont heritage. And Valentino, Lothario, and Romeo are names that get people’s attention.”
“And get your ass kicked on the playground,” Nash said dryly.
“Which is why I taught you to box,” Donny John said. “Although it looks like Val…Deacon could use a refresher course.” He pointed a finger at Deacon. “You forget defense always comes before offense and timing is everything.” He demonstrated by lifting his fists in front of his face. “That’s why Nash always gets the upper hand. You’ve never learned how to close the hole after a jab.”
No, Deacon had never learned how to close the hole. Whenever life had thrown him a jab, he had always been open to the pain that followed. His father’s inability to provide for his family. His mother’s death from cancer. His true paternity. The wounds were still there and unhealed. Which might’ve explained his sharpness.
“If you want money, I’m tapped. If you want to fish, the poles are on the porch. And if you want something to eat, there’s hot dogs in the fridge.”
His father looked wounded. “Why, I just wanted to spend a little time with my sons.” He tipped his head. “Of course, now I am a little curious about Olivia Harrington. When she passed me in that big ol’ Suburban, she looked in quite a hurry.”
Damn. It figured that his father would run into Olivia and recognize her immediately. Of course Deacon had known her as soon as he’d looked into those big innocent-looking eyes that seemed to take up half her face.
“So I’m going to assume that she was here to tell you about her father dying?” Donny John said.
“How did you find out?”
“I ran into Francesca.”
Deacon didn’t have to ask how Francesca knew. Wealthy people kept track of wealthy people, and Francesca had always been overly curious about Michael Beaumont.
Donny John shook his head. “Poor Michael Casanova. I never thought he would go first.” His father’s eyes were sad. Donny John might have his faults, but he loved his family.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Deacon said.
After only a few moments, Donny John shrugged. “I had hoped that we could reconcile before he died, but I guess that’s what this is about.” He pulled one of the contracts Olivia had left from his back pocket. “I found this on the kitchen table. Now I’m not good at deciphering legal jargon, but it seems to me that Michael decided to do his forgiving through my sons.”
Deacon released his breath. Now that Donny John knew about the money there would be no getting rid of him until he got his share. A share he would no doubt blow at the crap tables.
“Nothing is final yet,” Nash said.
“Nor will it be.” Donny John unfolded the contract and flipped to the back page. “Especially when Deacon has yet to sign.”
His brothers turned on him.
“You didn’t sign?” Grayson said. “But I saw you.”
Nash grabbed the contract from his father and studied the signatures at the bottom before his gaze narrowed on Deacon. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?”
It was a good question. One he’d been asking himself since Olivia had driven away. A sane person would’ve signed the papers and celebrated all the way to the bank. Instead Deacon had not just kept himself from realizing his dream of being a millionaire, he’d kept his brothers from realizing theirs. And he wasn’t sure why. One minute he was bent over the contract with pen in hand, and the next he was air-writing. Since only a fool would screw up a deal for one hundred and fifty million, Olivia hadn’t even glanced at the signatures before putting two of the contracts back in the folder and heading out the door to wait for her ride.