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My serene veneer nearly cracks at the thought. I’m not sure why I’m so broken that he needed to take care of something without me. Maybe because he stranded me here—not at home with Ivy.
They left me behind.
My father lowers into his desk chair and gestures to one on the other side. “Have a seat.”
I take a seat in the Queen Anne wingback, wondering if his intention is to intimidate me or if he’s going to be fatherly. Last summer, when I asked to be involved in his business, he sternly shut me down before the request fully leaped from my mouth. Although, in hindsight, maybe that was fatherly, considering what he does.
“I failed you.” The words tumble out of him, craggy and jagged, hitting me like an avalanche. Shock waves pulsing out to my extremities.
Assuming he’s referring to Arnold and Keith, I quickly refute his assessment. “That wasn’t your fault. If either of us is responsible, it’s me. Rex told me that you made everything right with Keith’s girlfriend and Arnold’s family, but I—”
“That’s not what I was referring to, Celeste. That was a horrific accident but always a possibility in their line of work. No one’s fault.” He sucks in a heavy breath, hand stroking his clean-shaven chin rather aggressively. “As a father … I failed you as a father.”
My mouth falls open to ease whatever struggle he’s enduring, but I briefly ponder some of the points Liam has made and the way I’ve felt these last couple of months. Maybe honesty would be more beneficial to us both at this point.
“Yes. You have at times.”
His light-brown eyes—speckled with the same caramel flecks that weave through my darker brown irises—rove over me with nothing but sorrow and remorse, the expression he wore for a year after Ben died.
That face is wounding, a stab to the chest. A depiction of pain and loss. Sacrifice and torment.
I swallow and resist the urge to be anything other than authentic for this conversation, relaxing my shoulders rather than straightening my posture to finish my confession. “But don’t we all fail people sometimes? That’s part of being human.”
A contrite grin tips one corner of his mouth, as though my response is surprising. “Not like I’ve failed you.”
I lift my hand, which could be viewed as disrespectful, but it’s suddenly clear that we’re all swimming against an impossibly strong undercurrent in this dark and violent sea, doing our damnedest to stay afloat and not let those we love sink. “That’s just not true. The biggest mistake you’ve made with me is that I willingly sacrificed myself to become who you all needed me to be, and you let me.”
His arched brows tell me I’m killing it at the always keep them guessing portion of this discussion.
“I had my reasons, but Liam said …” He swallows thickly, arduous enough that in this quiet office, I can hear the crackling dryness of his efforts. “I’m sorry. I never realized.”
“Liam said what?”
He hums, his focus sailing around the room until he finally docks it on me again. “That you were miserable at the thought of that life—losing yourself, lonely, depressed.” He steeples his hands, his index fingers rubbing against one another, anxiety rolling off him. “It’s not that I didn’t care, Cee. I just cared about your safety more, so I didn’t permit myself to notice those other aspects of your well-being.”
I can’t really fault him for that. No one can carry everything, so he prioritized safeguarding me. I dip my chin, hoping he sees the commiseration written on my face. “I was all those things. But considering what happened to Ben, it makes sense that you and Mom fixated on protecting me. You did what you believed was best.”
“We did.” He pauses, head cocking slightly to the side. “What do you know about Ben?”
That inquiry wallops me, like a slap across the face. This is the most honest adult conversation I’ve ever had with my father. It’s the most real and raw we’ve been since Ben died. I’m not sure if he’s trying to assess what I know or trying to procure his own answers. I’m also not sure what I should share.
“I know his death was suspicious,” I cautiously supply. “And I know you have enemies.”
He sighs, glancing away, as though looking at me hurts. “And you know the ins and outs of my business?”
“Yes, sir. I’m familiar with the depth of services Carver Homes provides.”
He smiles. It’s proud, which doesn’t seem to fit here. “Good answer.”
My forehead itches to scrunch with the confusion over the praise, but I school my features and simply roll with it. Never let them see. “Thank you.”
His gaze returns to me, eyes boring into mine. “It’s come to my attention that your brother bestowed a gift to you.”
The air is instantly dank and mucky. My lungs expand painfully, unable to refresh. This is what happens when you forget how to swim in that unforgiving current. An undertow threatening to drag you out to the angry sea. Head spinning. Limbs aching, too tired to continue. Oxygen depleted because the salty water keeps splashing up and seeping in. Don’t gasp for survival at the wrong moment; a poorly timed gulp is sure to sink.
Like the SS Thistlegorm. Commemorated defeat.
Parallel to the shore is the answer. If I were truly splashing alone in the ocean with a tumultuous undercurrent towing me in a perilous direction, I’d know what to do. I’d have the skills to survive—swimming sideways until someone rescued me or the sea relinquished its grip. That is not my present situation.
