“Things ended the way they did because of me,” Rhys said. “He pulled the strings. It was his call. I mean, I let it be his call. But the manner in which…that was my doing.”
Callahan pursed his lips, swirling a stainless steel straw around his iced coffee.
“And I’m sorry,” he rasped. “Callahan, I am so sorry for the things I said. For the way I did what I did. You didn’t deserve it.”
“I know I didn’t,” Callahan agreed.
“I was so angry back then. At him mostly, and I redirected it because I didn’t see another way to deal with it.” Rhys leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee so he would have something to do with his hands. His nerves were dangerously close to getting the better of him, and he hated the way he wanted to climb out of his skin and flee. “I was different, then. Blinded by a lot of things that I see through now.”
“Such as?”
Rhys exhaled, the air blowing loudly through his lips. “You’re not going to let me off easy, are you?”
“Not at all.” Callahan answered him with the smallest hint of amusement in his voice. “I think this is the least I deserve.”
“Money, Callahan.” He rolled his eyes. “Undeniably. Money and control and power. All of it.”
“Was more important than me.”
“No.” Rhys held up a hand in denial. “Not even close.”
“You made me feel like I was a game for you. Something trivial for you to conquer and cast aside.”
“Callahan,” he protested, leaning closer with both feet firmly planted on the ground. “No. Never.”
“What then? You gave me a list of things that were more important to you then than I was. What do you mean, if not that?”
“I was old enough to know better.” He adjusted his posture into something that felt a little less desperate, even though Callahan probably deserved to hear what he had to say with Rhys on his knees on the sticky coffee shop floor. “My father threatened to take so much away from me. And from you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering to be with me. And honestly, Callahan, what am I without all of those things?”
Callahan scrunched his nose and looked at him with a quizzical expression. “What do you mean, what are you? Those things aren’tyou,Rhys.”
“They were quite literally all I had to offer, Callahan.” He dragged his tongue across the front of his teeth. “And if all of those were taken away from me, what would I have to offer you?”
Callahan sat back in his chair, studying him with a careful and thoughtful look. He took his time with it, too, raising his glass to his mouth and taking a long drink while he remained silent. Rhys reached for his own drink, barely warm, but he swallowed it back anyway, the wait and the pressure between them enough to make his head pop.
“Your love, Rhys.” Callahan’s voice was soft and nearly tender. “Your care. Your time. Your attention. Your focus.”
“I didn’t think any of that mattered before.”
“But now you do?”
He nodded, thinking, of course, of Beckett. “I do.”
“Then that’s good for Beckett, isn’t it?”
“I hope so,” he murmured.
“You love him?” Callahan asked.
“Yes.”
“What does your father think?”
“He levied the same threats against Beckett as he did to you,” Rhys admitted, a tight frown pulling at his mouth.
“What’s different then?”
“I know myself better now than I did when we were together,” he said. “I have a better understanding of my worth, and that allows me to be on his side. And I wasn’t…I wasn’t mature enough? Or smart enough back then to know that I could have been on yours too, Callahan. I’m sorry. I just…”
