Page 57 of Master Debater

“So,” Rylee said, “you never answered my question. It’s almost like you’re avoiding someone.”

“I needed to take care of a few things here last night, and since I was doing this thing that real adults call ‘working’ until late, I crashed out in my old room. Then Jameson and Kat insisted we go to dinner tonight, and since the restaurant is in this neighborhood, it didn’t seem worth it to drive home or to my office, just to drive back during rush hour.”

Rylee lifted her can of sad static water and tipped it in my direction. “Nice try, but you love driving your car. Normally, you won’t shut up about it.”

Now that my sister had verged into the territory I was doing my damnedest to avoid, there’d be no more happiness. What was wrong with me that I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from telling her I liked it better when she’d been a self-involved princess?

What’s wrong with you is that you put yourself out there, only to get the reminder of why you shouldn’t. That didn’t ring precisely true, and yet I clung to my denial as hard as I clung to my indignance. Same went for denying there was any avoiding going on.

No, it was more like fucking fleeing.

My penthouse now held too many reminders of Willa, the absence of her all I could see, everywhere I looked. The other night, I’d stepped out onto the balcony to get fresh air, only for the recollection of descending to her bedroom and inviting myself inside to punch me in the face.

My grand piano used to be my place of solace. Now it’d transformed into a physical reminder of the first time I’d heard Willa sing; of the night I’d played her body along with the keys.

I used to love my space and my giant bed, and now I rolled over at nights, searching and seeking, only for my arms to come up empty.

I rubbed at the ache in the center of my chest. While it grew stronger instead of weaker, my memories of Willa were like the sparkly water, filtered through static and so fucking bittersweet they robbed me of breath. Hell, even my office managed to remind me of her showing up, of the night everything had slowly begun to crumble.

If I’d known what would happen, would I change it? Could I have slapped on some spackle and held it in place? At least for a little longer.

It doesn’t matter. It’s done.

It wasn’t like more time would’ve made the goodbye and inevitable end any easier. And while I might’ve made some missteps, I maintained I’d been upfront from the beginning about the demands of my career. With so much on the line, there was no way I could say no to the Doxon case, just like saying yes to my uncles—whose intentions were much clearer to me than Willa—would undo everything I’d worked for.

Part of me wishes the spark wasn’t still there. Her voice rose, unbidden, the words she’d spoken that night etching a raw trail into my very bones. That I didn’t know, without a doubt, that it’ll always be there whenever I think of you.

Lead filled my lungs and although I could vaguely feel the keyboard of my laptop under my fingers, nothing felt real or substantial anymore.

“Nate.” Rylee placed her hand on my arm, and the concern in her features made me think it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to gain my attention. “If you miss her that badly, call her up, apologize, and make it right.”

The only thing worse than being acutely self-aware of the hangover that wouldn’t go away was the mention of Willa, even if not by name. “What did she tell you? Because I tried to make it work, Ry. I really did. But she asked me to give on too much. Even if Bobby had cancer, that doesn’t mean?—”

“Bobby has cancer?” Rylee’s voice came out shrill, the worry in her eyes so palpable it coated the air between us. She scooted to the edge of her stool. “Is it bad? Do they know how long he has?”

Well, I stepped in it now. “He’s fine now. I’m not convinced that he was ever sick. I think the lung cancer tale was just something Gil cooked up to try to take away my new client.”

“How couldn’t you tell me?” Rylee pushed away from the counter, so roughly the stool rocked for a noisy eternity, underscoring the betrayal in her features. “How long have you known?”

“You haven’t talked to Willa?”

Rylee hugged her arms around herself, slowly backing away as though I was someone who’d hurt her. “No, but I’ll call her right now if I have to. I’ll ask her to come over and tell me what the hell’s going on, since my brother never does.” She sucked in a ragged breath, unable to stifle her sob. She’d told me before that she missed our uncles, but I didn’t realize how much until now.

Part of me had thought she was only using it to jab at me and get under my skin.

“It would be nice to talk to someone who understands what a self-centered jackass you can be!” Rylee shouted, our momentary peace and happiness so long gone it almost felt as though it never happened. “It hurt me to ignore their calls, but I did it for you. You always throw Dad in the mix, but during those hours on the boat, he talked about how much he loved Gil and Bobby and how much they’d been through. I’m not saying what they did was right, but Dad would’ve at least heard them out. But no, you had to make it about you and about your firm.”

I reached for my sister. “Rylee?—”

“Not everything’s about you, Nate.” The words echoed through the kitchen and slammed me with such force I braced a hand on the counter to ensure I didn’t topple backward off my stool.

My first instinct was to deny it. If it wasn’t the second time I’d been confronted with a crying female in a week—three, if I counted the other day when I’d made Christine cry at the office—I would’ve too.

I’d been so sure I was right. I was always so sure I was right.

The urge to dredge up the countless occasions Rylee had acted without a thought to anybody but herself beckoned, but I had several years on her. The synapses in her brain hadn’t even fully formed yet, and she’d lost her dad during one of the most vulnerable times in her life. So, what was my excuse?

“I’m…” My throat tightened, literally resisting finishing the sentence. Throwing out a sorry here and there for tiny inconveniences or interruptions I didn’t mind taking responsibility for didn’t seem like too big a deal. But an actual heartfelt apology was a whole different beast.

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