I stared at the red noodle in my palm and remembered our game night—When Jessa had pulled the noodle to make up for the missing piece on our board.
Theo must have taken the red pasta from the cupboard last night. He was keeping it in his pocket.
Because Jessa was his missing piece.
The anger drained out of me in an instant, replaced by something that pained me so much worse.
Grief. Guilt. The crushing weight of knowing I’d pushed away the one person who’d made my son feel complete.
I stayed there in the laundry room with that soggy red noodle in my hand as my chest caved in. Every breath shook me as I fought hard for control.
What the hell had I done, and how could I fix this?
By the timeI called Atlas, I was barely holding it together.
He showed up with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and that same West-family scowl carved into his face.
“Thanks for coming, and for agreeing to watch Theo for a while,” I said, letting him into the foyer.
He dropped his bag and looked around. “Jesus, Griff, turn on some lights. This place looks like a tomb.”
“It feels like one. Drink?”
I led him to the bar and pulled out a bottle of our dad’s best old scotch. I poured two glasses and slid one to him.
“Where’s the kid?” He asked.
“Asleep. Finally.” I took a long pull from my glass. Oh the sweet burn. “He’s been a wreck. Won’t talk to me. Cries himself to sleep every night.”
“Can’t blame him. I told you he liked her.” He studied me over the rim of his glass. “You look like hell, by the way.”
“Feel like it too.”
I finished my drink and poured another. The burn didn’t touch the ache, but at least it gave me something else to focus on.
“Do you remember this label?” He tipped his glass toward the bottle. “Dad’s investment. He dropped more money on liquor that year than most people make in a lifetime. Had a whole collection he never touched. Just kept it locked in a storage room like trophies.”
“Which each of us brothers got a share of. Cheers to Dad’s legacy,” I muttered.
The silence stretched. I moved to the windows. Outside, were several million hearts in the city. None of themmine.Jessa had returned to Holly Creek by now, a million miles away from me.
“Dad thought money bought everything. Happiness. Women. Us.” He joined me at the view. “And look how that turned out.”
My jaw tightened. “Look at us now.”
“Exactly.” His smirk faded. “You ever wonder why each of us screws it up the second a relationship gets real?”
The words hit like a sucker punch.
“Because he never showed us how,” he said quietly. “He worked himself into the grave chasing more. More money. More power and experiences. And we’ve been doing the same damn thing ever since.” He paused. “We don’t know how to be enough for someone without turning everything into a transaction.”
I stared into my glass. “Are you a shrink now? Because I have a little boy in his room who needs counseling.”
“Okay, poke fun. But I’m being serious. You’re like Dad, and I worry about you.”
“I’m nothing like him,” I seethed. But the words were hollow.
“No?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you killing yourself over this IPO? West Games is already successful. Why isn’t that enough?”
