Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

KYLE

T he ride home is loud, not from street noise but from the noise in my head.

What have I done? And how do I undo it?

I switch out for the truck, head to Maggie's, and though Peanut Butter still hits me in the balls with his nose as a greeting, reminding me why he's nicknamed Nutbuster, he happily hops into the truck and flops into the passenger seat. He's snoring in less than five seconds, clearly one tired pup.

"He do okay?"

"Better than you by the looks of things," Maggie says, her eagle eyes not missing a thing. "Looks like you had a rough night, and not in the fun way."

"Big blowout with my family."

It's all I can offer, and Maggie's not one to pry. She's good with injured animals, like me, and can be patient, waiting until you're ready to risk getting closer.

"Family's hard sometimes. We're all just people, imperfect and flawed in countless ways, trying our best to love each other because both nature and nurture tell us we should." She's not talking to me directly, but rather to the wind as she stares off over the back yard, giving me space.

"Sometimes puppies get left behind for good reason, though, and the whole litter is better for it." I glance into the garage at Whiskey's pen, but I'm not talking about dogs and we both know it.

"Some kids need to pull their heads out of their asses and quit being such a whiny tit," she says ruthlessly. Her fierce eyes lock on me, and I figure out really quickly that the time for gentle is over and I'm about to get a dose of Maggie's tough love.

"I'm not?—"

She holds her hand out, stopping me. "I know you're not… and your experience is your own, but every single person in your family has had their own experience too, each one different from yours. Try seeing things from their perspectives a little and see if it changes yours at all. Maybe it will, maybe it won't." She shrugs. "But if you think your family is better without you, you're wrong, Kyle. You're one of the best people I know, but if they don't know the man you are, how can you be mad at them for not loving you? Would you love the version of you that you show them?"

That brings me up short.

I'm a cocky, annoying, rude, immature asshole who intentionally destroys everything for shits and giggles. That's who I am to them. And at one point, I truly was all those things, but I haven't been that man in a long time.

I meet Maggie's eyes, ashamed to admit that she's right.

"That's what I thought. You need to stand up straight, take your lumps, and be the man you've become with them. They deserve to know how amazing you are."

"Thanks, Mags," I tell her, wrapping my arms around the woman who's become more than a friend. Kayla aside, Maggie's a second mother to me, which only makes me remember how hurt Mom looked last night.

I leave feeling like I have a game plan, or at least a ghostly outline of one.

But it'll have to be put on hold because when I pull up to my house again, Cameron and Kayla are sitting on my porch. I chuff out a bitter laugh, thinking they must be the family delegates, one representing Mom and one representing Dad.

I park and let Peanut Butter out. Tired from all the playtime at Maggie's, he doesn't attack Kayla and Cameron with kisses the way he usually would but saunters over and gives them a sniff. Finding neither of them has treats, he huffs and walks to the front door, waiting for me to open it.

"Guess you two are here to rip me a new asshole?" I ask dryly.

Cameron snorts. "More like to review what the fuck is going through that thick head of yours."

"Well, come on in, then. Maybe you can make sense of it because I sure as hell can't." I open the door, and Peanut Butter leads the way, but instead of going to the living room, he heads straight to my bedroom. Guess he's passing out for round two of his morning nap. "Coffee?"

I don't wait for them to answer, going into the kitchen to start the pot. I don't need another one after Dani's super-strength brew this morning, but I need something to do. Cameron and Kayla sit at the kitchen counter stools, watching me.

"Let's start with Dad's your dad, obviously," Kayla suggests. "Can we agree to that stipulation, at least?"

I sigh, my hands planted wide on the counter and my head hanging low.

"Or do you need a DNA test?" Cameron taunts.

Maggie's words replay in my head. If I want them to see me as the man I am, I can't be the flippant, shit-talking bastard I've always been. I lick my lips and stand, turning around and leaning back on the counter with my arms crossed over my chest. "He's my dad. I had a moment of doubt because it seemed like it would explain why he hates me so much in a way that would mean it's not because I'm hate-able."

"This again?" Cameron snaps, throwing his hands out and looking at Kayla like ‘are you hearing this?'

Kayla glares at him and snaps right back. "Shut it, Cam. Let him explain."

Cameron clacks his mouth shut, semi-surprised at Kayla's vehemence, and stares at me expectantly, begrudgingly giving me the floor. It's not exactly an open-arms welcome, but it's all I'm going to get after years of doing my best to live up to the fuck-up label they assigned me long ago.

I try to put my thoughts together into words as I fill three mugs with coffee, setting a steaming cup in front of each of them and then taking a careful sip of my own. It scalds my tongue, and though I wryly think it's deserved after the ugly words I spewed last night, I set the mug down, leaving it.

"When I was a kid, I was always the tagalong everyone tried to ditch. Whether it was a game, or school stuff, or going out with friends, I was either left out or drug along with a reminder that it was only because Mom said one of you had to take me. I was the unwanted annoyance you were stuck with. You and Carter and Chance would argue over who had to take me."

"You were the baby of the family, and we were older and had shit to do," Cameron argues.

He's not wrong, so I nod. "I know. Especially now, I can see that, but then? It just felt like no one loved me and it hurt. It made me feel like I didn't have a place in the family. And then everyone started leaving, and I was mad about that. It was celebration parties and going away hugs, and nobody cared that I was stuck there in that house, slowly getting lonelier and lonelier."

"Kyle—" Kayla whispers, but I'm on a roll and won't stop now. I don't think I could if I wanted to. Everything that's been held back for so long is bubbling out, but this time, instead of using anger as a cover for what I feel, I'm letting the real emotion out… pain.

"Dad was never there, always at work or in his office or traveling for a deal. Mom was busy with her charity stuff and then she was taking care of Grace." I hold a hand out to Cameron, rushing to add, "Which I don't begrudge her doing. You needed her and Grace needed her, and by then, I was too far gone for Mom to deal with, anyway. It was a crisis-management-only situation, and I know it."

Cameron's not jumping over the counter to murder me with his bare hands, which I take as a sign that he's letting the comment about his needing help go.

I can't resent Cameron for needing Mom's full attention when he was going through hell. I'm glad she was able to step in for him, because I remember vividly how fucked up Cameron was for a long time after his wife passed away. Hell, I think he's still fucked up. He's just better at hiding it now. That thought replays in my head—I hide my growth by acting like a dipshit, and I think he hides his descent into hell by acting like he's got his shit together. We're two sides of the same coin in a twisted way.

"But when things settled down, I went back to acting out the only way I knew how—by being more and more of an asshole. Hell, you don't even know the half of it. In a way, I thought if I did something big enough, bad enough, attention-grabbing enough, then maybe… finally… everyone would give a shit about what I was going through too."

"How's that working out?" Cameron asks, but instead of sounding snarky, he seems sad.

"You're here, aren't you?" I say, ashamed that my behavior last night is what finally went over the line to get me the attention I've been so desperate to receive.

"Fair point," he concedes. "Pretty sure there were several better ways to go about it, though."

"Agreed."

"Would you like for me to list them out for you?" he offers dryly, counting on his fingers. "One, don't accuse Mom of cheating. Two, use your big boy words with Dad. Three?—"

Kayla backhands Cameron's bicep, and he shoots her a look of disbelief as he steadies his coffee so it doesn't spill. "Am I wrong?"

"I'm sorry you were going through all of that," Kayla says, taking charge. "I had no idea. I guess I thought we annoyed you and that was why you would come in, act a fool, and then blow back out, leaving chaos in your wake. But you'd always show up when we needed you, so I was okay with that. I thought you were too."

"I show up because I love you guys. I just want you to love me back and for me to not still be the annoying tagalong you want to ditch but are stuck with."

"We do love you," Kayla declares.

"Ditto," Cameron says, his brow arched, begging me to not make him say it.

The old me would've teased him about that, would've poked and prodded until he said it or more likely, said he hated me, and I would've taken it as a confirmation that I was right all along… that they don't want me in the family. But that's not who I am, not who I've been for a long time, so I nod. "Ditto too, man. Love you, Kayla."

It feels like a fresh start with two of my siblings, at least, but I know Kayla will have the rest of the boys on a group call before she pulls out of my driveway to let them know that we're good now. So, in effect, it's fixing one problem. There's still a much bigger one to deal with, though.

"I'm gonna fix things with Mom and Dad. I just don't know what to say," I confess.

"Start with ‘sorry for thinking you're a cheating whore, Mom' and go from there," Cameron suggests.

"Maybe don't phrase it like that," Kayla recommends, smacking Cameron again with the addition of an ‘act right' glare worthy of Mom.

"I'm not that stupid," I tell her, but at her look of challenge, I have to admit that they would have no way of knowing that. Especially after my behavior last night where I very much did unthinkingly call Mom that in a roundabout way.

"Start with I'm sorry and go from there. Be open and honest like you were with us. They love you, Kyle. They want to fix this too."

I sincerely hope she's right.

I ring the doorbell of my childhood home and Ira answers the door. "Kyle, good to see you." He looks past me, probably checking to see how much yard I destroyed with my motorcycle this time. But I drove my truck, and I don't think I'll do that again. I'm leaving childish antics behind and growing up, starting now.

"Thanks, you too. Mom and Dad around?"

"In Charles's office. Please knock. They've been in discussions all morning."

Discussions.

The word comes back to me, and I can't believe I forgot it. Mom and Dad used to say they had something important to discuss and would disappear together for a little while. My brothers would teasingly tell me they were talking about giving me to another family, but for a while, I thought there was a kernel of truth in the joke. It wasn't until much later that I realized that was my parents' code word for sex.

I don't think Ira's talking about the same thing, though. I imagine my parents are actually talking… probably about me, and maybe about giving me to another family for real this time.

Still, I knock three times on the door, just in case.

"Come in," Dad's voice calls out.

I take a steadying breath and open the door. Mom and Dad are curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, her legs stretched out long over Dad's lap. He's got the folded-up newspaper laid on top of her thighs and a pen in his hand. They're doing the crossword puzzle together, another thing I'd forgotten they like to do.

They both glance at me. Mom's eyes are pink and puffy like she's been crying. Dad looks ready to throttle me where I stand.

I've never felt like the disappointed glares and lectures I've received, many in this very room, were as warranted as they are now, but this time, I'm not the wayward kid who fucked up and doesn't give a shit. I'm the man who hurt the people I care about and who needs to make amends.

"Can we talk?" I ask, knowing full well that if they kick me out, it will be justified.

Dad narrows his eyes but ultimately flicks them toward the chair across from them, silently giving me permission to sit. It's not much, but I take it, appreciative that he's willing to talk.

I sit, my hands clasped between my spread knees, and look from Mom to Dad and back. "First, I want to say that I'm sorry. There is no excuse for my accusations or the way I blew up like that. I apologize."

Dad's grinding his teeth so hard that I can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, but Mom sniffles, fresh tears tracking slowly down her face as she brokenly asks, "What would ever make you think something that awful?"

I stare at my hands, picking at my cuticles. "I don't know. I overheard what you were saying about Dad being gone, and Anders being here, and in my fucked-up mind, it clicked together like puzzle pieces, but I wasn't thinking about… you. I was only thinking about myself." I trail off, not able to adequately explain what seems so outlandish now.

"And me," Dad corrects. "You were thinking I would willfully and knowingly choose to parent my children differently, to the detriment of one over the rest."

"Okay, but didn't you? I'm sorry for jumping to some awful conclusions, but can you blame me? You have treated me differently my whole life. I'm not smart like Cameron, or competitive like Carter, or ballsy like Chance, or stoic like Cole, or a beast like Kayla." I throw my hands out like punches, one after the other as I mention my siblings, and then slam my palm to my chest as I add bitterly, "I'm just the disappointing fuck-up who never did anything right, which you took every opportunity to remind me of."

"You're not a fuck-up, noun. You choose to fuck up, verb," Dad says snidely. "Two very different things."

I huff out a humorless laugh, surprised at the way he can still cut me so easily. "Gee, thanks. Guess it's all clear now, huh?" I glare at him as I flop back in the chair, throwing my arms up in surrender before letting them fall to the armrests.

"Why do you have to make everything so difficult?" Dad demands.

Mom moves her legs as Dad abruptly stands and paces toward the cold fireplace. He places his hands on the mantel, staring at the family picture above. I don't remember taking the picture, but we're all gathered together, standing in front of Mom and Dad with arms wrapped around one another and big smiles on our faces. I can't be more than three or four in the picture. We look happy. Maybe then, we were. Maybe then, I was.

"I did my best," he spits out. "And if it wasn't good enough, then I apologize. But I had the weight of the whole company, this entire family, and thousands of other ones on my shoulders and was doing my best to keep it all on-track." He doesn't sound sorry. He makes it sound like my feelings were minor and inconsequential compared to the super-duper, fucking important things he was oh-so-busy doing.

"But you left me behind to do it!" I shout, standing up too. "I didn't care about the fucking company! I didn't want the money! I wanted a father!"

I'm glad there's a table between us because we are rock against rock, one immovable force against another, ready to smash each other in our desperate bid to make ourselves heard. My chest is rising and falling too fast, my breathing jagged as the pain I've shoved down, ignoring it for my whole life, rushes up to be set free.

Dad looks to Mom for help, scoffing at my outburst, and she holds her hands out, one toward each of us. "Enough. Sit down. Both of you." Mom's using her no-nonsense tone, and we both know what that means—she's at her limit and we'd best watch it.

Slowly, we sit, Dad and me eyeing each other like this might be a trick one of us is playing on the other. But Mom soothes both of us in the way only she can, like the calm in the eye of the storm of me and Dad.

"Let's go back to the beginning. Each of you jump in when you have something to say. Politely," she warns, giving both of us a solid Mom glare of don't try me today .

I slowly nod, resuming my posture with my hands between my spread knees. Dad reclines back on the couch, letting Mom lead. He probably assumes that if he or I do it, we'll end up yelling again. He's right about that.

"After the twins, I wasn't doing well. My body was a wreck, my hormones were all over the place, I was exhausted, the boys were busy, and Charles was running a multi-billion-dollar company that required his full attention. I didn't mind, because honestly, I didn't want him to see me the way I was." She looks to Dad, whose eyes soften instantly when he sees the pain that going back to that time causes her.

I hate that she's doing it for me, but I need to know. I need to understand why things are different between me and Dad, and I think this is the only way to do it, so I stay quiet, letting her fall into the memories.

"So we hired Anders, and he truly saved me. But I most definitely did not have an affair with him," she says, giving me a pointed look, and I shrink, guilt-ridden for even suggesting such a thing. Mom would never do that. It's not who she is, and if I'd thought about her for a single second, I would've known that. "He played ball with the boys, helped with the babies, and let me heal, which I did. It didn't take long until I was happy again and could re-engage in all the things I loved about the family and life we'd created." She takes Dad's hand, squeezing it. "We were done having kids. We didn't make a formal declaration, but we knew. Until a few weeks after our anniversary."

She looks at me, and I fill in flatly, "Boom, surprise."

But Mom smiles. "I was so happy."

Dad laughs hollowly. "I was terrified." I look to him, and he explains, "Watching the woman I love go through something like that—and her turning away from me and my support to deal with it in her own way—was one of the scariest things I've ever gone through, and I didn't want her to go through it again."

"But I didn't," Mom rushes to add. "My pregnancy with you was so easy. And when you were born, you were the most flexible baby I'd had. You'd sleep whenever. Eat anything. Go wherever. You were always ready to go, excited by everything. By the time you were a toddler, that had amped up and you were a tornado of activity I was always chasing." Thankfully, she smiles at the memory because I think that could go the other way—a wild child when she already had her hands full had to be a lot.

"I don't know where things went wrong for you," Dad says, taking over and looking truly confused. "I thought we were happy—thought you were happy—and then you started acting out as a teen. We did everything we could, but if we drew a line, you'd pass it. If we made a rule, you'd break it. If we doled out a punishment, you'd fight it. I tried being nice, being hard, being mean, but none of it mattered to you. It was like you'd already checked out and nothing we did could get you to check back in. You didn't seem to care about anything—family, friends, work… not even yourself."

His words hit hard, sitting heavy on my heart. "I didn't. No one cared about me, so why should I care about myself?"

"Kyle, we cared about you! Of course, we did," Mom says, her eyes filled with pain.

I scrub at my face, years of battling my parents coming back to me. "I know. Deep down, I knew. But I wanted…" I trail off, not sure what I specifically wanted.

"Me," Dad says with certainty. "I was gone. By the time you were a teen and out of school, I was so caught up in work that I was the one who checked out. Miranda always had a better connection with you, so I let her handle things. I told myself it was easier for everyone and it was better for you, but I shouldn't have distanced myself. I should've forced my way in if necessary."

"That would've made it worse," I admit, knowing that's the truth. "I would've fought even harder against you."

We go silent, looking at each other as we all come to the realization that there's nothing we can do about the past. Mom speaks first, always the peacemaker and chaos coordinator. "What now? How do we fix this?"

"To start, I'm sorry," I say, meeting both of their eyes in turn. "For my behavior, my assumptions, and for being an ass."

"Me too," Dad says. "Kyle, maybe I have been a bad father with you. And for that, I'm sorry."

"Not me," Mom adds, smiling a little. "You two are the stubborn peas in a pod who can't get out of your own way to save yourselves."

Dad and I chuckle because she's right.

Except…

"We are not peas in a pod," I tell Mom. "Pretty sure you're talking about Cameron, not me. I'm Kyle, remember?" I tease, risking a teeny-tiny smirk.

But Mom laughs. "Are you serious? You two are the most alike. Do you think Charles was always this?" She waves her hand around at him, seeming to indicate his entire being, and I shrug because yeah, I do. She laughs harder at that. "When Charles and I met, he was more of a hellion that you could ever be. He was such a mess that I turned him down when he asked me out."

Dad jumps in, sounding offended as he proclaims, "Yeah, for like six months!"

Mom grins at him. "How long it took you to grow up is on you, not me. I told you what I wanted and what my dealbreakers were, and it could've been six hours, six days, or six weeks. You made it six months and it's a good thing you didn't wait any longer." She tosses her hair sassily, a smirk that matches mine pretty well on her lips.

I'm looking between my parents like they've lost it. I've heard stories about them dating, of course, and how much in love they were. I've seen the pictures of their wedding and flipped through family albums. But Mom turning Dad down? Nope, that's never come up once.

"Anyway," Mom says, turning her attention back to me, "the point is, Charles grew up and you have too. But you're still alike. In personality sometimes, in drive and ambition always, and in stubbornness, all the blessed time." She shakes her head, feigning exasperation.

Well, I think she's faking, or at least exaggerating her exasperation with us.

"Moving forward, let's start by not yelling at each other ever again, because that was overwhelming, to say the least. Both of you, use your words respectfully." Mom's treating us like misbehaving children, but we kinda deserve it, so I nod and Dad does too.

"No more ‘I'm disappointed in you' lectures and glares," I suggest.

"Unless you deserve it," Dad amends. I narrow my eyes, gauging his commitment to improving things. He cocks his head and adds, "You're grown, but you're still learning, and I might have some insight to offer on occasion if you'll pull your head out of your ass and listen."

"Fine, but I reserve the right to tell you any and all advice sucks."

We stare at each other for a long second before we both agree.

This is a renegotiation of our entire relationship, and Dad's an excellent negotiator, so I need to be careful here or I'm going to walk myself into a corner.

"No driving your bike through the yard," Dad declares, and I nod because that's an easy concession. It bothered Ira more than Dad, anyway.

"Leave my business alone. No pity contracts, no snooping on my finances, no referrals for a friend of a friend. I'm doing fine—better than fine, honestly—and don't want it associated with the Harrington name because it's mine and mine alone."

Dad slyly grins and leans toward Mom. "I see it now." Mom answers with a grin of her own, and something about what I said must confirm that Dad and I are alike.

But we're not.

Dad inherited Blue Lake from Grandpa Chuck. And while he's grown the family business from a small investment firm to a massive global empire, it's not the same.

Except maybe it is?

I'm not looking to be the pool king, but I want to build something with my own hands, heart, and brain. And while Dad never dug in the literal dirt, he had to sift through some muck to find the right opportunities to make Blue Lake the success that it is today. And that took time and dedication, the same things I have to give to my business in order to succeed.

Well, fuck. Maybe Mom's right, after all.

"To be clear, that water park contract wasn't a pity offer. It was genuine. But I did only consider it because of you, so when you said no, I turned it down. I respect that you want to do things on your own, so… agreed."

Dad respects me? And how I do business? The idea is such a surprise that it knocks me back.

"Family dinners—every time and on time," Mom spits out. "And no boots on the table or dirty boot prints on my clean floor."

Apparently, we're doing a full mediation on my relationship with the family, but if that's what Mom wants, I can do that. "Maybe not every time because I might be busy, but as often as I can. And I'll be on time." Mom smiles like she considers that a win. "And no boots or mess on the floor."

"Speaking of busy," she drawls out, "how did things go with Dani last night? Did she get scared off?" Mom cringes, her face screwed up like she's afraid of the answer.

"I don't think Dani's scared of anything, except maybe the way she feels about me. She's not exactly looking for someone, but I'm not exactly giving her a choice." I smile, remembering how she held me last night until I passed out, with her body against mine, but more importantly, her heart taking care of me. I know what a big demand that is of a woman like her, but she did it willingly, and I think that's a good sign.

Dad dips his chin, looking pleased at that, and I have to almost wonder in amazement that the first look of pride he has in me that I notice is that I'm chasing after a woman the way he apparently chased after Mom.

"Good. Please bring her to dinner again. And tell her that the two of you will be on your best behavior." Mom makes that a reminder to us as much as an enticing promise for Dani.

"I will."

I look at Mom and Dad, and it feels like the last ten or so years are better. Not gone. The damage is still there on both sides. But it's at least patched over with some good sealant, not bubble gum, spit, and a prayer.

I stand, feeling a lot better than I did when I arrived. And for the first time ever, I hold my hand out to Dad. He looks at it for a moment and then slides his hand against mine. He shakes it for three pumps, but before I can withdraw my hand, he pulls me in for a hug.

I can't remember the last time he hugged me. I sure don't remember the last time I hugged him.

I swallow thickly and wrap my arm around him to pat his back too. When we separate, Mom has fresh tears trailing down her cheeks again, but this time, I think it's for a good reason. She stands, hugging me tightly, and I whisper into her ear, "I'm sorry, Mom."

She grabs my face when I pull back. "You are the best of both of us—Charles's wildness and my heart."

I would never, not in a million years, consider my dad to be wild, but I guess, once upon a time, he was. So I take the compliment as she intends it and say, "Thanks."