Though I’ve repeated the mantra—Yes, Dad, I understand—Idon’tunderstand.No rational person could.
“I’m sorry, Hawk,” he finally says.
My eyes go wide.
Did I truly hear the words?
I’m sorry, Hawk.
I didn’t know Austin Bellamy was ever sorry about anything.
Of course, when you shoot one of your own children, you probablyshouldbe fucking sorry.
There’s a dull hum in the air between us, like the world itself is holding its breath.
My father says it again, quieter this time.“I’m sorry, Hawk.”
The words sound strange coming from him.Fragile.Out of place in a mouth built for command, not remorse.
He doesn’t look at me when he says it.He stares past me, at the oil painting of our ranch hanging above the fireplace.The golden fields, the sprawling fences.A portrait of his father’s legacy.
I shift in the chair, my head hurting.The smell of antiseptic still clings to me.It burns when I breathe.
“Why’d you do it?”I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
He glances at me, those clear blue eyes flicking sharp and defensive.“I told you.He was going to hurt us.Hurt your mother.”
I don’t answer.I could tell him I don’t believe him.That Ted was a great guy.That he taught me things—things I never learned from him, my own father.That he was my friend.That I miss him.
But I don’t say any of those things.My father wouldn’t care, anyway.
For a moment, the air between us goes tight.Until?—
“Ted made choices,” he says finally.“He betrayed this family.And betrayal—” He pauses, as if he’s weighing his next word.“Betrayal deserves consequence.”
Betrayal?
Ted wouldn’t betray this family.This was a job.
“You didn’t let him explain,” I say.
He exhales through his nose.“Some men don’t need to explain.Their actions speak loud enough.”
I look down at my hands.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” he says, his voice soft again, as if that’s supposed to make it better.“Family first, Hawk.Always.”
I swallow hard.“Even when family’s wrong?”
He looks at me for a long time.Then he smiles—the kind of smile that doesn’t touch his eyes.“Family isn’t wrong.It’s blood.And blood keeps us alive.”
He turns back to his desk, dismissing me with the same motion.
I walk out of that office, twelve years old and damned lucky to be alive, and I make myself a silent promise.
If the truth has a cost, I’ll pay it.
If justice hurts, I’ll take the pain.
