Page 91 of Last Resort

We stare at each other for a few moments, my muscles tense, my eyes begging for him to believe me.

“Callahan.” It’s my name. That’s all it is, but hell if the way he says it and the look in his eyes doesn’t tell me he might actually believe me.

“He said things at dinner that night, Ledge. Made comments. About how he wanted to go home. About seeing Mom. About how tired he was. I thought he was saying goodbye.” My voice breaks, and I release my grip from his shirt and take a step back. I’ve spent months trying to come to terms with his death. Months. And for some reason, saying those words out loud, and having my brother really hear me, has it hit home.

He really is gone. I’ll never hear his voice again. I’ll never feel his solid warmth from one of his bear hugs. His laughter will never again be part of my life. He’ll never meet Sutton. Never know how much she’s come to mean to me.

God, I miss him.

I move again. Restless. I walk to the water’s edge and stare out at the darkness, needing a minute to myself. Needing time to process.

Ledger walks up beside me in his quiet, stoic way, and I can see him struggling just as I am. We’re Sharpes. We brush shit under the rug so when we have to sweep it out and deal with it, it’s not exactly the easiest thing to do.

I scrub a hand over my face. This is not how this conversation was supposed to go. I was supposed to yell and scream and keep living in the anger that has been consuming me for months, and he was supposed to accuse and blame and keep assuming the worst of me.

But here we are. All that’s missing is Ford.

“The deal,” I murmur. “He begged me to allow him to sign the deal. He made me promise that we’d make this place everything Mom had wanted it to be. How we’d make it shine and worthy of the Sharpe name.” I shake my head, still unable to look at him. “I was desperate to believe it wasn’t the dementia talking. Desperate to hold on to that moment of clarity and believe I was doing the right thing.”

“So you took the fall, let us believe you slept with Gia, so he could stay at the figurative helm.”

“I couldn’t let you take that from him. I’ve broken a lot of promises in my life, Ledge. A lot I’m not proud of, but I couldn’t break that one.”

“I understand.” He sighs. His nod says he understands.

“The last time we talked face-to-face, you threatened to kick me out of our family business.”

“I know.” His words are quiet and not the anger-laced comeback I had expected.

“Is that why you’re here now? To follow through on that threat?”

“There’ve been a lot of things said that can’t be taken back,” he says.

“Just like there have been a lot of things I’ve done, things that you and Ford were held to a different standard to than I was, that I can’t take back or fix,” I admit.

“It is what it is, Callahan.”

“Now you sound like Dad.” A bittersweet smile ghosts over my lips. I glance at him and see the tears welling in his eyes before he blinks them away and acts like they aren’t there. “I resented you two, you know. We were all busy trying to live up to the Sharpe name, live up to the expectations he put in place, but you two were always better at achieving what was expected than I was and am.”

“And we resented you because you were doing your own thing, and it always felt like he loved you more because of it.” He looks at me. There’s an honesty in his eyes that’s part truth, part apology.

“I reminded him of her. That’s all it was, Ledger. I reminded him of Mom, and it was his way of trying to be close to her.”

He nods. “It still doesn’t make it right.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. But at the same time, I understand it because every time I’m around you and Ford, all I see is him. In your mannerisms, in the things you say, in the disappointment you rain down on me with a single look.” I take another sip of my beer. “It’s hard to be around you at times. You’re the golden children, and I’m the constant reminder of being the fuck-up.”

“Is that why you bailed after he died?”

“I bailed for a lot of reasons. Because of the blame you put on me, because I can’t stomach walking into the office and expecting to see him and knowing I never will again. Because of the guilt of not being what he needed me to be . . . because this career isn’t me.”

“You’re good at it though.”

I stare at him, take in the rare compliment and nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re done after this, aren’t you?”

I glance his way and give a measured nod. “That was the plan.”