Page 64 of Last Resort

Something happens in my tummy at those words, and I try to ignore the silly, feminine response to hearing them. The flip-flop of it. The fluttering inside.

To know it wasn’t dread filling him at the sight of me but rather pleasure.

For the first time since we’ve been here, I feel nervous being near him. Flustered and uncertain how to respond, I change topics. “Is it true what they say about multiples? That they are the best of friends and can read each other’s thoughts.”

“I tell you I was happy to see you again and you counter with questions about my brothers? That’s harsh.”

I chuckle. “Well . . .”

He flops back onto his back, the sigh he emits almost ominous as he fixates his stare on the ceiling. “That’s a complicated answer,” he finally says.

“Family always is, right?”

I give him the silence to work through the emotions dancing through his eyes and immediately regret asking what I thought would be a no-brainer question.

“The simple answer is yes. We can complete each other’s sentences.” He pauses and there is a sadness that falls over his features that makes my heart break. “I still consider them my best friends.”

“And the complicated answer?” My voice is gentle, fingers brushing the waves of hair off his forehead reassuring. And it surprises me how relaxed I am with him. I don’t think I ever did this with Clint—talked and touched him with this level of gentle intimacy.

I care about Callahan Sharpe.

More than I think I even want to admit to myself.

“The complicated answer is that my dad favored me and that has damaged my relationship with my brothers now that we’re older.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Long story short, our mother died when we were in our teens. Nothing long and tragic, she just didn’t wake up one morning from a heart attack she had in her sleep.”

“I’m so sorry.” My heart hurts for him, for the pain in his voice.

He shrugs despite the obvious grief. “She was the love of his life.” The ghost of a smile and flicker of his eyes over to me is so bittersweet. He clears his throat. “I’m the one who’s the most like her. My demeanor, my mannerisms, my everything.”

“And so he clung to you to hold her close.”

“I’m thinking a psychologist would agree with that statement.” Another shrug, his discomfort more than obvious. “And while in any situation that wouldn’t have gone over well with my brothers, what made it worse, is I was the screw-up Sharpe. The one who didn’t live up to the expectations set for us. Ford and Ledger were penalized for every step outside of the lines, while I did so freely and blatantly. The difference was my transgressions, my fuck-ups, were often overlooked.”

“Animosity. Resentment. Jealousy,” I murmur trying to picture the dynamic and remembering the tension I felt between them that first day.

He chuckles. “Believe me, a lot of the time, their feelings are well deserved. I’m not an angel and probably exploited my father’s forgiveness way more than it was deserved, but yes, there is a lot of resentment for it.”

Callahan goes on to explain situations here and there where he was given an out while his brothers were held to the fire. His crashing the car but Ledger getting in trouble for letting him get behind the wheel. His dropping out of Wharton and how what his brothers saw as favoritism, really ended up being his own personal hell. His screwing up a major deal because of a missed error.

I can see where his brothers have issues, but I can also see times Callahan tried to force his dad to see the blatant differences in affection (if you could call it that). I respect him for admitting, right or wrong, that at times he accepted this preferential treatment as a way to escape punishment.

But to me it sounds like his punishment was handed out, just in different ways.

“We all loved our dad differently, just like he loved us differently. It’s not right or wrong, it was just as it was. And I think our father’s death could have brought us closer together, that my brothers would have let it all pass, had I not advocated for this deal to buy Ocean’s Edge.”

“Why was this a bad thing?”

“It’s a long story but it would take too much to turn this place around into the high-end resort consistent with the Sharpe brand. My brothers pored over projections and budgets, and God knows what, but the exponential disbursements to bring it to where it needs to be wasn’t cost effective.”

“Why am I just hearing this now? Aren’t I supposed to be the one in the know so I can give my client what they want?” I laugh but it lacks humor. “In my opinion, you’d recoup the costs, but it would take some time, yes.”

“And in the meantime, bring down the value of the Sharpe portfolio that we rely on as leverage for loans to buy several other properties in the works.”

“So why are you here then? Why not sell it off?”

He tells me about the meeting with the owners. About his dad’s wishes, his request for this one thing. How he granted it because he couldn’t say no. And then the fallout with his brothers after.

“You were in a horrible position. They actually blamed you for it?”