“Thirty percent and your pride?” The words come out sharper than I intended. “Because that's what this is really about, isn't it? Not the lodge. Not the legacy. Your pride. You can't stand that I'm doing things differently than you did.”
“I can't stand that you're making a mockery of everything we built.”
“We?” I laugh, and it sounds as hollow as I feel. “When did you start saying 'we'? Because I remember a lot of 'I built this' and 'Isacrificed for this' and 'I know what's best.' But I don't remember a lot of 'we.'”
Bruce's face goes red. “Watch yourself.”
I bite it down.
Breathe.
And recognize it for what it is.
The old pattern, the trap just lying in wait. He falls back on how irresponsible I've been. How I spent nearly a decade wandering instead of settling into my legacy.
I'm not giving him proof.
He wants adult? Fine, he gets adult.
He wants me to be responsible? Good, let’s do this.
“No.” I step closer, raw pain builds in my chest. “You handed me the keys and told me to make it work. Well, this is me making it work. This is me doing what you couldn't—adapting.” I don’t flinch even as he does. I just step into adult and lay it all on the table. “As for Roman, Caleb, and Nolan investing? They believed in it—in me—even when you didn’t.”
Pain fills my chest, but still, it has to be said.
Because this is growing up. Saying the hard shit even when you know you’re going to hurt someone you love.
Especiallywhen it’s going to hurt someone you love.
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink.
For one terrible moment, I see him—not the immovable force who ran this lodge for thirty-five years, but the man underneath.
Tired. Blindsided.Hurt.
Then his jaw sets, and thewalls slam back into place.
“Well.” His voice is clipped. Controlled. The voice he uses when he's one wrong word from breaking. “I hope theirbeliefwas worth it.”
He pulls out his phone, tilts the screen toward me just long enough for me to spot the frozen frame of that goddamn TikTok video.
“Congratulations. You saved the lodge and shamed every Morgan who built it. I'm gladsomeonebelieves in what you're building. Because I don't recognize it anymore.”
He doesn't wait for an answer.
Just turns and walks out, his footsteps echoing down the hallway like a door slamming shut.
“Well,” Caleb says into the silence. “That was fun.”
“Caleb.” Roman's voice is a warning.
“What? I'm processing. I process with humor. It's a coping mechanism.”
“He'll come around,” Nolan says. “He's not mad at you. He's mad at himself for not seeing it sooner.”
“Maybe.” I move toward the window, staring out at the lawn where the Best Beard Competition is already drawing a crowd.
Somewhere out there, Sierra is documenting it all—capturing the moments I'm too busy fighting to witness. “Maybe not.”
