“Love Island. The British version. I have no excuse.”
She laughs. “So underneath all that European racing glamour, you’re just trash TV and room service?”
“Don’t forget the snacks,” Jack says. “Very expensive snacks charged to the team.”
“Now I know you’re the real deal,” Lark says. “Living the dream.”
I clear my throat. They both turn to me with identical startled expressions, like they’d completely forgotten I existed. Which is amusing, considering I’ve been standing here the whole time.
“I should go find Theo,” I tell Jack, grabbing the beer that Lark slides to me and trying not to smile at how they immediately drift back toward each other even while looking at me. “You good here?”
“I’m great,” he says, already turning back to Lark. “Really great.”
Lark rolls her eyes but she’s fighting a smile. “Go mourn properly,” she tells me. “I’ll keep an eye on this one. Make sure he doesn’t steal the good tequila.”
“Only the medium-good tequila,” Jack promises.
I leave them to whatever’s developing there and scan the room for Theo. That’s when I spot Dominic standing alone near the door, nursing a beer, arms crossed, watching everyone else connect while he keeps his distance. He looks exhausted. Not just from today, but something deeper. Months of being the one making all the calls.
The confrontation at the bluff is still sitting in my chest, heavy and unresolved. I could walk away, find Theo, and avoid this conversation entirely. That would be easier. But Mom would’ve hated seeing Dominic isolated like this. And honestly, I’m tired of carrying this weight. The resentment, the anger, all of it.
Dammit.
I walk over before I can change my mind. “Hey,” I say.
He glances at me. “Hey.”
We stand there awkwardly, the bar noise filling the silence between us. People sharing stories about Mom, laughter tinged with grief.
“That was rough,” I say finally. “Earlier. At the house.”
“Yeah.” His jaw works. He takes a drink.
I wait. He doesn’t elaborate. This is going to be like pulling teeth.
“Look,” I start, then stop. I don’t even know what I want to say. That I’m angry? He already knows that. That he fucked up? He knows that, too. “You’ve been dealing with a lot.”
He looks at me then, suspicious. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“The estate, Mom getting worse, all of it,” I continue. “While I was in Seattle.”
“You couldn’t be here.” He says it flat, matter of fact. “She thought you were Dad. That messed you up.”
“Still,” I say. “I left and you handled most of it yourself.”
Dominic’s quiet. He’s staring at his drink now, not at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. The words feel awkward, rusty. Dominic and Idon’tapologize to each other. We just carry grudges and pretend everything’s fine. “For not being here. For the stuff about the sale. You were just trying to keep everything from falling apart.”
He’s silent for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “I should’ve told you. About the demolition. Should’ve told Jack too.”
“Yeah. You should have.”
“I thought if I just handled it myself, made it clean, nobody would have to feel like shit about it.” He finally looks at me. “Obviously that didn’t work out.”
There’s something in his face I don’t usually see. Vulnerability, maybe. Or just exhaustion.
“No,” I agree. “It didn’t. But we both fucked up in how we handled things.”
