A Brand New Ending (Page 44)

Respect gleamed from his green eyes, and a laugh ripped from his throat. “Always liked you. Had spunk, and never shied away from protecting Kyle.”

“I had to,” she said quietly. “He had no one else to protect him.”

He winced, and they fell into silence.

She cursed herself for bringing up bad memories, but they were hard to forget—even when she was sipping tea in his house and had brought him breakfast.

Maybe this was a mistake. It felt like a betrayal to Kyle.

“I should probably go,” she said, pushing up from the table.

“No!”

She stared in surprise.

“I mean, there’s no need for you to go yet. And I’m not trying to defend myself or get smart with you. Old habits die hard, you know?”

She slowly sat back and offered a smile. “Yeah, I know.”

They sipped their tea for a while in silence. Then he spoke. “My sponsor checks in daily. Rehab forced me to see things in myself I’d been hiding for a long time. The ugliness of hating yourself eventually takes a toll on a man. It was easy to know why I drank. It was hard to stop, because I knew I had nothing left to hide behind.”

“Catherine?” The name of Kyle’s mother rolled off her tongue. She’d encouraged Kyle to never be afraid to say her name even though his father had tried to bury her memory.

“Yeah. It’s a long story.”

“Seems like besides tea with the Queen, you got a lot of time to tell me.”

He laughed again, rubbing the top of his head in the same familiar gesture his son used. “Maybe one day. There’s definitely more hours in the day when you’re sober. I’ve binge-watched series on Netflix, drank endless cups of coffee, and started to read. Even got myself to church one morning.”

“Did an earthquake strike when you walked in?” she teased.

“Nah, it was not that big of a deal. The priest prattled on, but I liked the dark and the quiet. I liked the peace.” He paused, crumbling up the empty bag of food he’d finished, then lifted his gaze. “How’s Kyle?”

“Good. He’s working on his new screenplay.”

“I saw him on the red carpet once, on television. It was for that big action flick, Last Man Down. It was good.”

“He was always a talented writer.”

“Yeah, had his nose in a book or scribbled in journals since he was young. Reminded me of his mother. She liked to write.”

Her mouth fell open. “Catherine wrote?”

“Yeah, poetry. She loved to read and write poetry. That was her other love, besides horses.”

“Did you ever tell Kyle he was like his mother?”

“No. It was something that made me resent him so much.” The admission came out raw but truthful.

She thought about Catherine writing poems and stories, like her son. Thought about how the alcohol twisted Patrick’s memories; instead of being proud, he only ended up destroying a gift that could have brought joy and healing. She pushed the sad thought aside.

“We’re going horseback riding later,” she said.

Pain flickered over his features. “Do you still have his horse? Lucy?”

“She died a few years back,” she said softly.

“I threatened to shoot her, you know. Her leg was lame. God, how Kyle loved that horse. And I used it against him.”

“I remember. He came to see me and asked Mom to take her in. Kyle spent every spare moment nursing her back to health until she was able to walk again.” She struggled for the next words. “Why did you want to hurt him so badly?”

He ducked his head. “Don’t know. Of all the terrible things I’ve done to him, that’s the scene that replays over and over in my mind. It’s on repeat. It’s my own personal torture of regret.” He seemed hesitant about giving her more, so she was surprised when he continued. “It was my anniversary. The day we had gotten married had been so hopeful. I woke up that morning and swore not to drink. Swore I was going to be clean that day—for her. For Kyle. Instead, I barely got through three hours before the shakes started and I fell back into the bottle. I hated myself. Couldn’t stand to look in the mirror because I made myself sick. I took out all that bad stuff on my son. When I heard about Lucy being lame, a switch flicked inside. It was as if the whole thing was another reminder of everything I’d lost.” Anguish radiated from his figure.

Ophelia studied his frail frame.

He’d lost so much in pursuit of the bottle. Though his actions had been cruel, she realized he was a tortured soul.

Sympathy flickered.

“Lucy was well loved at my mom’s.”

“Your mom was good to Kyle. Tried with me, too, but I was too far gone to save. You still in love with my son?”

She jerked. Tea slapped over the side of the mug and splashed on her hand. “What kind of question is that?”

He shrugged. “Just a question. You ran off together, then you came back alone. Always wondered what happened.”

“Things didn’t work out. We were young. Had no idea what we were doing.”

“Sounds like me and Catherine.” A faint smile ghosted his lips, and she didn’t spot the usual bitterness. “Fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Told her I was going to marry her right then and there. All these years, all these regrets and what-ifs that drove me to drink . . . once I really examined everything, I realized nothing could have changed. I’m grateful for the time I had with her. And I’m grateful Catherine was strong enough for both of us to save our son.”

“Kyle doesn’t believe that. He thinks you hate him.”

Patrick gazed at his clasped hands on the table, trembling slightly. “Don’t blame him. I was mean. I wanted to hurt my own son. Never gonna be forgiven for that—by myself, or you, or Kyle, or God. Don’t expect it. But I’d do anything to make him see it wasn’t his fault his father was an asshole who wanted to destroy everything good around him.”

Her heart ached. So many lost opportunities and broken hopes.

“Maybe you can talk to him. Ask him to come see me. Just once. I’d like to give him something important.”

She closed her eyes, torn between her loyalty to Kyle and the driving instinct to try and heal the rift between father and son. His quest for fame and success sprouted from Patrick’s consistent cutting remarks that Kyle wasn’t good enough for anything. To finally hear his father’s apology and truth could heal something he didn’t even know was broken.

“I’ll talk to him,” she finally said. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I want. Just for you to try.”

She nodded. “Now I really better go. I’ll check on you later in the week.”

“No need. I’m better now.”

“I will anyway.”

She said goodbye and drove back to the inn, thinking about Kyle and Catherine and Patrick and how love could get so tangled and lost along the way. Wrong choices and terrible mistakes had been made.

After speaking with Patrick, she wondered if there could really be second chances—if one was strong enough to forgive. To try again. To take a leap and risk her heart again.

She was beginning to see a bigger picture. Kyle had hurt her, but he’d craved success and acceptance after so many years of Patrick telling him he was nothing. He’d been young and desperate, and lost his way.