At the simmering rage radiating from his brother, Steven slowly filled his lungs and tamped down his own anger. If Patrick shut down, they’d get nowhere.
A change of tactics was in order.
Gentling his voice, Steven leaned forward. “Look, I care about you, okay? I don’t want you to end up like Dad.”
“Dad was a good guy.”
“Yeah, he was—but he had a problem. A problem that killed him . . . and Mom. He ran into that tree head-on—and his BAC was double the legal limit. Is that the kind of trauma you want for your family?”
“I don’t have Dad’s problem.”
“Patrick—he denied it too.”
His brother shoved his fingers through his hair and began to pace. “Dad couldn’t regulate his drinking. I can. Yeah, I like to have a couple of scotches on Friday night with the guys after work. That’s not a big deal.”
“It is if two drinks become three or four or five . . . or you drink every night.”
“I don’t drink every night. I’ve got this under control. I know when to stop.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.” He clamped his hands on his hips, posture rigid, jaw hard.
“Drinking can escalate.”
“I know that.” Patrick closed the distance between them and got in his face, antagonism contorting his features. “I also know that I don’t appreciate my war-hero big brother swooping onto my turf telling me how to live my life or coming to my rescue. Not everyone can be a top-gun high-achiever hero with an MBA and a closet full of citations and sports trophies and academic awards—but I’m doing fine. I don’t need your help.” His nostrils flared. “So why don’t you go back to the Middle East, earn a few more medals, and leave us mere mortals alone?”
Steven sucked in a breath.
Whoa.
That was the longest speech his brother had made in the past year—and the most enlightening.
How long had he been nursing what appeared to be a formidable inferiority complex?
Was that the source of their rift?
Was that also one of the reasons he’d sought solace in alcohol?
And had his big brother’s homecoming exacerbated the situation?
Spirits tanking, Steven flexed his stiff fingers as he continued to grapple with the implications of Patrick’s rant. “I’m picking up a boatload of resentment.”
An understatement if ever there was one.
Patrick swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and retreated, shoulders drooping. “You are who you are. It is what it is. I thought I’d accepted that—but when you showed up, all the old feelings came rushing back. I’m working on them . . . but it’s hard to live in the shadow of a rock star.”
His defeatist tone was more worrisome than his fury.
“I’m a charter fisherman, Patrick. Not a rock star . . . or a corporate executive or sports celebrity or movie idol. And my military days are over.”
“You fish by choice—and I bet not forever. You’ll move on to bigger things after you finish your current mission to straighten me out. But I don’t need straightening out—no matter what Cindy’s told you.” Patrick slumped into a chair on the far side of the room. “I know she wrote to you. I know that’s why you came here.”
How to respond?
Steven balled his fingers and studied the framed family photo on a side table, no hint of the turbulence in this house visible beneath the smiling faces of the foursome. Cindy had asked him to keep her letter confidential, but she hadn’t summoned him to Hope Harbor. She’d merely laid out her concerns and sought his advice. It had been his choice to muster out and show up unannounced.
In view of what he’d just learned, however, riding into town in a white hat may not have been the best choice.
“You don’t have to respond.” Patrick let his head drop back against the upholstery. “I assume they train you special forces guys to keep secrets. But one day, when her hormones were all over the place while she was pregnant, she admitted she wrote to you. Didn’t matter. I’d already figured it out.”
“She didn’t ask me to come. That was my idea.”
“I know. She told me. I wasn’t surprised. You always did have the hero gene.”
Hero gene?
Not a term that had ever crossed his radar—yet Patrick could have him pegged. Growing up, his make-believe games had all revolved around superheroes and saving the world. As an adult, he’d simply transferred that mind-set to a broader stage.
Given the five-year spread in ages, plus their different sets of friends, he’d never considered the impact of his achievements on Patrick.
But in hindsight, he should have. Living in the shadow of a brother who seemed larger than life couldn’t have been easy for a kid who was more inclined to bury his nose in a history book and hide behind the lens of a camera than to work out at the gym or study weaponry.
His spirits continued to plummet.
If that was the source of their conflict, the challenge was far bigger than he’d feared. You couldn’t erase decades of memories in a few months—or even a year.
Maybe never.
Yet his brother did have issues—and he needed help now.
What a mess.
“I can hear the gears whirring in that precise military mind of yours.” Patrick crossed his arms, watching him from across the room. “Save your brainpower for someone else. I may not be perfect, but I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
Not perfect, but capable.
Almost a verbatim replay of Holly Miller’s parting comment yesterday, after he’d raised her hackles.
Odd fluke.
Or was it?
Perhaps there was a message in there he should heed.
Since tough love hadn’t worked, it might be time for a kinder, gentler approach with Patrick. Give him support and encouragement instead of grief. Let him find his own path instead of trying to run the show and ramrod his own ideas through. Demonstrate he had faith in him, that he considered him capable despite his flaws.
That wasn’t how a take-charge kind of guy would choose to handle the situation—but he was on a new kind of battlefield here, and different tactics could be more effective than the ones he’d employed overseas in pursuit of real-life villains.
Steven exhaled and clasped his hands. “I had no idea the friction between us went back that far.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Patrick gave a taut shrug. “It’s history.”
“If it’s still affecting us, it matters. It never occurred to me that my life had had such an impact on yours. You were just a kid when I left for college, and I didn’t see much of you on my summer breaks, thanks to my fishing jobs.”
“I saw you, though—and so did everyone else in our circle. I also heard about you from teachers in high school, who encouraged me to get stellar grades—like you did . . . find a niche or two to excel in—like you did . . . and go to college—like you did.”
Steven cringed.
That stunk.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” What else could he say?
“I survived—and I created my own life here, with Cindy. Close enough to Coos Bay to feel at home, but far enough away to leave comparisons behind.”