Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Chloe grins.
“Renn’s the most athletic, and Gannon is second or third in all those categories except that he was supposed to take over the Brewer empire—but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Bianca stepped in and filled that void.”
Her grin falters.
“Dad saw a lot of himself in Gannon, especially when he was younger,” I say, wondering why the hell I’m talking about this with her. But the thought doesn’t stop me. “He said it all the time. I think as Gannon grew up and saw more of who Dad was, the perceived similarities bothered him. I think that’s why Gannon didn’t take over. He could’ve. Maybe not as well as Bianca, but he could’ve done it. Yet he didn’t.”
I’ve never admitted that to anyone—not even my siblings. But it’s a thought I’ve always held.
She leans against the table, her face serious. “Did it bother you growing up to think Gannon was your dad’s favorite child?”
I stretch until the pull of my muscles makes me wince. “I don’t know if I would say it bothered me. But I probably have a lot of second-child complexes.”
Chloe smiles softly.
“Dad and I didn’t get along,” I say. “Ever, really. I don’t know if it was because I was the second born or if I was just a different kind of child than the rest of them. But I remember thinking all he cared about was money and reputation, and I hated that.”
“That makes sense. You’re still like that now.”
I smile at her. “I was also pretty hardheaded.”
“I’m shocked.” She grins. “How is your relationship with your mother? Can I ask that? Or is that pushing too far?”
It would be pushing too far, and I’d shut anyone else down for asking. But I’m strangely okay with talking about it with her. It’s no surprise, really. I’ve shared more of myself with Chloe over the years than with anyone else. It’s why I’ve valued our friendship so much, and why she’s the only person I could ever see myself marrying. This, talking about the hard shit, the ugly shit, is what we’ve always been able to do.
“Our relationship now is great,” I say. “I love my mother. I can understand why she did a lot of the things she did that bothered me as a kid.”
“Like what?”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t know. Like, she always wanted us to think the best of our father, which I get. It’s important for kids to have someone to look up to, and for boys, that’s generally the dad. But I never wanted to be like him.” My stomach twists. “He wasn’t the man I wanted to emulate. I found my heroes in books, and Mom and I often fought about that. She wanted me to be like him, and that’s the last thing I wanted. Then you factor in that she had five other kids. I either had to pretend to be something I wasn’t, like interested in business, or behave badly, which I didn’t like to do, to get their attention. There wasn’t space for me to just be myself—to be real. Someone was never just cheering for me because they were all too busy. I see that now, but I didn’t then. I carried that with me for a long time.”
Chloe shoves off the table and sits next to me. She pulls her bare feet up and under her, her knee brushing against my arm. The contact lights me up. I want to draw her closer … but I don’t.
“Do you want to be a dad?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.
I nod, holding my breath. I don’t want to scare her off, but I can’t lie to her. Omitting the truth or being vague is not being honest.
“I do,” I say slowly. “The older I get, the more fucked up life becomes, and the more I want a family of my own. Just my own little family to pour my energy into, you know?”
“I understand although I’ve never really wanted kids.”
My stomach drops.
“My father …” She sighs. “He wasn’t very nice to my mother. And the last thing he said to me was that he loved me, and I never saw him again. That’ll screw with you. And then my grandfather wasn’t a nice man. My first memory of him was yelling at me for spilling my drink at dinner. And the last memory I have of him is telling Mimi she caused his heart attack.” She sighs again. “I guess I’ve always felt like having more people to love is a burden because, eventually, they’ll disappoint you. I do a good job of disappointing myself.”
She grins, but I can’t return it.
“You’ll be a good dad someday,” she says.
“You never know. You might meet a man someday and want to have kids.”
Her shrug is noncommittal. “I’ve wondered what that kind of love would feel like. It may be the only form of real love that exists.”