“Yeah, Dad.”
We ate in silence, and I saw that he ate barely a quarter of what I did at the same time. I didn’t push him when he said he was done.
He did drink a whole glass of wine and was pretty gleeful about it, almost like a child who had eaten candy when he wasn’t allowed.
“Lia left…you.”
I nodded.
My father looked me squarely in the eye, clearer and more alert than I’d seen him in months. “You’re…a damn fool.”
“I know, Dad.”
“You lost…wife.” He struggled to keep his words steady. “Your fault.”
“I know that, too, Dad.”
He sighed. “I…don’t have much…left.”
I put my hand on his, and he gave me a half smile. “Sell the company.”
I blinked, momentarily stunned.
“Sell it,” he repeated.
“Dad?”
He shook his head as vigorously as he could, which wasn’t much. “Don’t…waste your life. I…did. I…look at me.”
“Dad, you didn’t get a stroke because?—”
“It’s drowning…you,” he cut me off. “Was drowning me, too. Should’ve…sold years ago.”
His words hit me like a physical blow. “Then, why didn’t you?” I demanded angrily.
He smirked. “Pride.”
That single word cracked open a part of me—like I was suddenly seeing with a clarity I’d never had before.
Pride.
That was it.
That’s why I’d worked myself into the ground. I wanted to prove to my father that I could carry the Boone legacy. I told myself it was about duty, but really…it waspride.
Dad’s eyes blazed with unusual intensity. “You can’t save it. It’s…fucked.”
The significant weight of his admission made me feel dizzy with relief.
For years, I’d been killing myself to rescue a business, notjustbecause of duty or legacy, but to prove my worth to a man who was finally admitting he’d been wrong.
“Yeah, Dad. It’s fucked.”
“Let it…go.”
“I can’t sell without you signing off?—”
“Nigel has it.”
