“Any pub will do?”“McPherson’s, I think. One with music that will alter my life forever, give me eternal happiness, and make me see God. You know. One like that.”“So you need the magical sound of Ireland and some information about an Abbeyglen native. Francine”—Beckett’s eyes danced in the streaming sunlight—“I’m about to solve your every problem.” Beckett stood up and gave my hair a light tug. “Prepare to worship and adore me.”

“What is it you want, Finley Sinclair?"Some peace. Some healing. To hear God's voice again.I wanted to find my brother's Ireland. To put it into song.And I wanted my heart back."I'll know it when I find it." I looked past Beckett and into the night sky. "Or when it finds me.”

“I see who I am reflected in your eyes. I know what you think about me. But what if I told you, you were wrong?”

“The least you could do is offer a little conversation.” Beckett dodged a pothole, keeping his eyes on the road.“You want me to talk?”“It would be the polite thing to do.”“Okay. Let’s talk.”“Any topic will be fine.”“I’m going to sit here and silently think of one. Might take a while.”

“God, what is wrong with me? I've been watching too much Gossip Girl. Reading too many snarky books. Maybe I should listen to a bunch of Christian music or watch some Hannah Montana with Budge. I know, I'll view VeggieTales until the evil is purged out of me, and all the comes out of me is goodness, light, and songs about cucumbers.”

“When I look at you, I still see the son I love more than my own life. But I also see a man who has become so far removed from what matters that his perception is skewed. Family is real, son. A home to settle into—that’s real. People who love you and care about you. You’ve had a phenomenal career, and I’m proud of you. But it’s time to stop basing your worth on championships and endorsement deals. You can’t buy happiness. You can’t earn it. God isn’t counting all the deals you’re racking up—and neither is your family.” He lifted his brow. “And neither is Lucy. For the first time someone’s looking at the person inside—and you have to decide if you’re going to let her in and be the man she needs you to be.” His father turned his head toward a family picture on the mantel. “It’s a risk. But one I’ve never regretted.”

“Dream about me while you're in school.""Would that be with or without your false teeth?"He gave me a slow wink. "They're fangs.""Kind of sad you have to use props to get the girls.""It's absolutely tragic, isn't it?" His smile reached his eyes. "Be sure to put me on your prater list.”