“It’s fine, Rhys,” Callahan interrupted.
“What?” He blinked, unsure he’d heard right.
“I accept your apology.”
A sense of relief that he hadn’t thought possible washed over him like a tsunami and it took all the strength he had to maintain his composure, to keep himself in a seated position. He took a deep breath and brought his eyes up to meet Callahan’s stare, finding himself overwhelmed again by the honesty and the sincerity that decorated Callahan’s face.
“You do?” he croaked, clearing his throat.
“I do.” Callahan smirked a little. “I don’t think we’ll ever be friends, Rhys. But we can tolerate each other for now, and then maybe one day we can be acquaintances.”
“I think that’s more than I deserve from you,” he said.
“Probably.” Callahan crossed his legs, stretching them out and looking far more comfortable than the conversation had Rhys feeling. “But you’re not getting invited to the wedding.”
“I wouldn’t come even if I were.”
“I like that about you.”
Rhys felt his cheeks heat, and he looked down at the table, taking a beat to gather himself. This was close to what he’d hoped for, and he didn’t know what to do now that he had it. For so long, he’d never even known how to broach the subject of their past to Callahan, but here they were. His apology had been accepted? It was another checkmark on his to-do list done, another step down the road toward the rest of his life. And Rhys felt empowered by it in a way he never had before.
For his whole life, he’d been playing games and making moves, but they’d never been for himself, had they? It was always for something or someone else. These moves now, these decisions, they were for him. Because Beckett was for him. The future was his for the taking and for the making. He was ready for it.
“Beckett loves you, by the way,” Callahan said, taking another drink. “I’m sure you know that. But it’s nice to hear, I bet.”
He nodded.
“So.” Callahan clapped his hands and set his drink back down on the table. “On to the next matter at hand—your father.”
“Can we not?” Rhys asked, even though he knew the conversation was inevitable. “Things have been going so well.”
Callahan laughed and rolled his eyes. “I’d love to not, but that’s really why we’re here, and I do come with good news.”
“Which I don’t deserve.”
“An hour ago, Rhys maybe didn’t deserve it. Rhys now, surely does.”
Rhys scratched the side of his nose, face itchy and eyes feeling full. He cleared his throat and gestured for Callahan to continue.
“I went digging though the old estate and trust paperwork, which was miserable so you can owe me for that, but it turns out before he died, my father gave your father quite a substantial loan.”
“Hewhat?” Rhys was entrenched in the business back then and he’d never heard of such a thing. “How much?”
“Fifty million.” Callahan arched a brow. “Liquid assets and cash to pay off a debt owed to the bank, apparently.”
“How is this possible?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But sometimes, Rhys, old money dies.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face wondering how he could have been so oblivious to the debt his father had apparently accumulated. The fact that he’d managed to keep his private account private for so long was undoubtedly the only reason that money even still existed, because if his father had known it was there, he surely would have cleared it out instead of going to the McMillians for money.
“It’s probably better that he’s casting me out,” Rhys said. “He can go down with his own ship once it sinks.”
“It’s sinking now.” Callahan finished the rest of his drink, the straw sucking up a loud burst of air. “I’m calling in the loan.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m calling in the loan. He can pay it now, with interest, or I’ll take everything he owns.”
