“Yes, but it was Dad’s mom’s first. He gave it to her on their wedding day. I remember her telling me the story of how it passed down to the firstborn son of every generation. If there wasn’t a son, it would pass to the firstborn male cousin, following that part of the family’s line.”
“I can’t accept this,” I said, handing it to Liv, who put her hand up and pushed it back to me.
“It’s yours. Gabe is the firstborn son. He’ll pass it to Reid when you’re both ready.”
Gabe rose, stretching his back before coming over to me and pulling me from where I was sitting. He took the ring, spinning it in his fingers before picking my hand up and slipping it on my finger where it fit surprisingly well. “It’s yours. There’s little we have of our family except the bad, but this was always part of the good. My mother never took this ring off, and she would want you to have it. My father knows that, just like we do.”
“I need a drink,” said Liv. “Scotch, little brother?”
He waited for my reaction.
“I think this is a scotch kind of day,” I told him, ruffling his hair with my fingers.
“Scotch it is, big sister.”
She strolled out of the room, leaving us alone.
“You all right?” I asked him. The morning had been emotion packed.
“I think so. Knowing you’re here with me helps.” He picked my hand up and kissed my engagement ring. “Knowing you’ll be my wife soon makes it even better.”
“Should we get that glass of scotch and start discussing dates? I already have the dress.”
He drew me against him. “I was thinking April,” he said, his mouth coursing down my neck. “And I have just the location.”
Chapter 41
Gabe
The weather had turned. Spring was here, and in another two weeks Tori would be my wife. It had seemed a lifetime ago when I’d first asked her, and now it was finally here. I watched the people walk by, enjoying a stroll in the warm weather. Birds ran in front of them, snatching crumbs from the ground.
“I always hated this park,” my father said, taking a seat next to me.
I kept my sight on the path. “Is there anything you don’t hate?”
“Not much.”
Silence fell over us, and I glanced at him. He looked relaxed and tanned. Khaki had never been a color my father wore, granted it was rare to see him out of a suit, but he wore it today with a polo shirt, something I’d only seen him wear when he had last visited me at the office.
“Retired life seems to be treating you well,” I said, turning my focus back to the birds.
“It’s surprising, but I’m enjoying it.”
“Look,” I started, unsure of what I wanted to say to him.
“Let me start,” he interjected. I peered over to see him lean forward, his hands clasped. “I was hard on you.”
I snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
“And maybe I didn’t make the best decisions.”
“You think?”
“You called me, William. Not the other way around. I put it in your hands, and you made the first move.”
“Because I wanted to hear your excuses. Hear what could possibly make you think I’d forgive you for laying a hand on me, for hurting me so badly that I still carry the scars.”
“My father.”
