I lean my head back and recall the phone calls between my father and me. The relentless pressure he placed on me to succeed. The fuck you I felt deep in my bones after working endlessly for his approval and never getting it when Fletcher walked into our lives and had it without so much as a word.
“To say I resented Fletcher is an understatement. To say it shoved the wedge deeper between my dad and me, even more so. Fletcher stole time from me with my dad. Time I can never get back, and I’ll never forgive him for that.” I laugh.
I shift my position and listen for any sign of life on the other side of the door. When I’m sure she’s still there, I continue. “Fletcher even went as far as to call my dad’s attorney and ask point-blank how much was in the will for him. The executor—a smart man—told him the will hadn’t been changed at all since it had been finalized years before. You can imagine how that turned out. Fletcher pitched a full-on tantrum over it, but he was smart. He was a con man. He first worked his way into convincing our dad that he was on the cusp of succeeding and needed some investment capital, angling for my dad to offer to help. By that time, my father had spoken to his lawyer and the bubble had burst. My dad finally saw the real Fletcher—the one we had all seen from day one with his thirst for money over anything—and wouldn’t give him what he wanted. So Fletcher started in on Lauren. He knew she was a recovering alcoholic, so he sent her cases of wine every week. He encouraged her to drink the few times he was around and then threatened to have her kids taken away for neglect when she did. He pressured her until she begged our dad to pay him off so that she could hold onto her sobriety.”
I sigh and pray that she’s listening. That she hears me and can forgive me. That she realizes we were conned by him too.
“My father refused Lauren’s pleas. When Lauren stopped allowing Fletcher to come around, the threats turned to me. He had the balls to tell me he would ruin my professional reputation if I didn’t pay him off. I didn’t budge, and so he began a smear campaign on me. He sent letters to my customers, to my bosses, to anyone associated with me, really. Hell, when our father died, he even threatened to file a lawsuit to stake a rightful claim on the ranch I stood to inherit. I never met him face–to-face, Tate, but I swear to God, I fucking hated him.” I run a hand through my hair as something drags against the opposite side of the door.
“The whole thing was horrible. I hated my dad for not being able to keep his dick in his pants and for causing the situation that was beginning to destroy our family in the final days of his life. I was so angry at what he’d caused that I didn’t want to go home and face him. The anger ate at me. His immediate acceptance of that piece of shit stung when I’d been busting my ass for years to get a tenth of that approval.” I cough to push the goddamn emotion that burns my chest away, to shove it down so that it never sees the light of day.
“I never made it home to see my father before he died. I was so angry about everything with Fletcher that I didn’t believe Lauren when she called and said the time was near. Even though we had our problems, my father was invincible to me, a giant, and I couldn’t imagine him succumbing to cancer.” Even now, I’m consumed by guilt, but I have so much to lose so I keep explaining. “I was in Kentucky, standing in the middle of the Gerard’s family room when Lauren called. They were a nice couple who had spent their life savings trying to save a farm that had been in their family for generations. I remember I was standing there . . . amidst pictures and toys and evidence of a life lived . . . about to steal their farm for pennies on the dollar because it was what my boss wanted. I felt like shit for it, but I was the top agent and was so obsessed with the accolades and the praise over it, I was pretending not to notice the lives I was ruining in the process.”
I blow out a breath and recall the punch in the gut I felt seeing Mrs. Gerard cry while sitting in the kitchen her great-great-grandfather had built with his own two hands. I recall my relief when I was able to step outside to take Lauren’s call, and then the utter panic that followed when I did.
“When I answered the phone, she told me I had to get home and get home fast. I’d never heard her sound like that before and knew this wasn’t a ploy. I knew he was dying. I raced to the airport and begged to be on the next flight out.” I clear my throat and rest my head back against the door, reliving every damn moment. “You still there?”
She doesn’t answer, but I hear Gracie’s tail thump on the floor, and that gives me hope that she is.
“I called him before I got on the flight. He sounded so frail when he normally sounded like he could move mountains.” The thought makes me smile as I close my eyes and relive the conversation.
“THAT YOU, JACK?”
“I’m on my way, Dad.”
“I’m not going anywhere, son.”
“Good,” I say as tears threaten and guilt swallows me whole.
“Sometimes things happen in life that you aren’t particularly proud of. In the moment, you do them because you think that’s what’s expected of you, but when you’re looking at minutes left instead of years, you realize you screwed up. You tell yourself that, if you could do it all over, you’d make amends.”
I nod and assume he is talking about our relationship. That he feels the same kind of guilt I do over not being closer. Over not trying harder. Over the stress he put on us with everything with Fletcher.
“I understand.” I think.
“If there was one thing you’d want to make amends for in your life right now, excluding family and me, what would that be?”
It is an odd question, but I humor him. I am fresh from Mrs. Gerard and her tears, and the unsettled and unfulfilled feeling I have from the deal still lingers in my gut. “I’d save a ranch, not ruin one,” I murmur through the line. “Help the small guy instead of the corporation for once.”
His laugh sounds off and then turns into a cough that ends up with him struggling to breathe. I’m in a city, hundreds of miles away, and I’m helpless to do anything for him.
“Dad? You okay?”
He coughs a few more times, a murmured yes in there somewhere. His breaths are shorter now, though. His breathing more labored.
“Promise me something, Jack.”
“I’ll promise you whatever you want when I get home,” I say. “Face-to-face.”
“Promise me you’ll make that amends, will you? Promise me.”
I laugh, but it dies as quickly as I emit it because I realize he’s dead serious. “I promise, Dad.” I rise as my flight is called over the loudspeaker. “Is there anything you need me to do for you? Any amends you want me to help you make?”
“Yes.” Another string of coughs as I get in line to board. “But I’ll tell you when you get here. Face-to-face.”
“Okay. I’m boarding. I’ll be there soon.” I pause, my father never one to accept any show of affection. “I love you.” My words are soft and I fucking hate the tear that creeps down my cheek.
“Me too, Jack. Me too.”
“SO, SEE? I made my dad a promise that I’d make amends,” I say when I finish relaying that last conversation with my dad to Tate. “I focused on it the whole flight home. How I’d find a small ranch in trouble. How I’d come in and help it to succeed instead of helping sabotage it so it would fail. Sound like a ranch you know?”