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‘She can be stubborn, but she’ll see that eventually. She can’t continue like she has been, and neither can the company. To see it pulled apart, failing... It’s your father’s legacy.’
Her voice is transformed with her grief, her concern. Just as it was a month ago, when she asked me to consider doing this. I balked then, but the more I heard about the company, the more I couldn’t ignore what was happening.
And I trust myself to keep it all contained. The last seven years have taught me to think before speaking, to always be in control of myself, that it doesn’t pay to act on emotion. It’s how I’ve achieved all I have. I’m not the same man who left seven years ago.
Now, with hindsight, do I regret leaving? Yes.
But regret doesn’t help me.
I have to look to the future.
So why did I lose sight of that in Alexa’s office? Why did I allow my emotions to take the driving seat when I should have been focusing on the business? On what matters?
Why? my conscience mocks me again. Because you’re not over her. Because yo
u love—no, loved her. And now you want her.
Fuck—I do.
I don’t love her. Not any more. How can I possibly love her when I hate her for what she did? I still can’t believe the audacity of her parting words.
‘I loved you too.’
How could she possibly have loved me, only to marry my brother within months of my departure? It was sick. Twisted.
And still I want her.
Maybe I’m the twisted one, for wanting what was taken from me.
Just like the business was taken from me when my father decided to give a portion of it to Liam instead of me.
He said it was my wake-up call—that if I truly wanted to be a part of the business then I needed to demonstrate I was worth it.
‘Knuckle down,’ he said. ‘Give up the sport, the mates, the fun. Grow up.’
I’ve definitely done all that.
And look at me now. Everything my father would have wanted. Only he’s not here to witness it.
‘I’m so glad you’ve come home, that you’ve agreed to help Alexa and the company,’ Mum suddenly gushes, patting my arm. ‘Your father would be glad too.’
And there it is: the confirmation I definitely want but don’t feel prepared to hear. No matter that my thoughts had been going down that path seconds before.
‘I hope so.’
‘No hope about it, love.’
Her voice cracks with emotion and my stomach twists.
‘He spoke about you often, you know. Liam did too. They always hoped... Well, you know...’
Oh, God. I don’t want this conversation. I don’t feel prepared for it. Emotionally or physically. I came for Sunday dinner—not to be emotionally battered by the past and my mistakes.
‘We can’t change the past, Mum.’
‘No, no, you’re right. And it doesn’t help to dwell, does it?’
She reaches over to squeeze my hand, her smile bright even as her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
