Page 150 of Bitter Rival

He gives me a two-finger salute. “Scout’s honor.”

“I’m not falling for that one again,” I grumble, closing the door behind him and flicking on the lights then dimming them as if that will shield him from the mess I left behind. “You probably weren’t even a Scout.”

He laughs. “I wasn’t.” He takes off his coat and tosses it over the arm of the sofa while I hang mine on the hook on the wall.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I call from the kitchen as I stack my dirty dishes in the dishwasher. How does one person use this many mugs? “I have tea or Kombucha or water.”

“Do you have anything stronger?”

“Nope.”

“Water is fine.” I pour two glasses of water and set them on the coffee table then gather up all the books and magazines and photos strewn across it and stacking them into piles while he combs my shelves and studies the art on the wall.

“You signed over your half to me,” he says, taking a seat across from me on the green velvet chair. “The house, the winery, all of it. It’s the only house that’s ever felt like a real home to you but you signed it away. Why would you do that, Daisy?”

“Because I always thought you belonged there. That vineyard was meant to be yours.”

“You were right.” His gaze drifts to the pink neon sign on the exposed brick wall: it was all a dream. “It was my father’s apology.”

I nod. I’m assuming he got a similar letter to the one Harold sent me after Beckett decided to keep the vineyard.

Robert fucked up, and he knew it, but he didn’t know how to make things right, so he gave his son the thing he loved most.

And I did exactly what he knew I would—signed over my half to Beckett.

With the letter came a gift from Robert. Ironically, he left me a million dollars. The same sum Beckett “stole” from my mother.

I still haven’t decided what to do with it. I thought about setting up a scholarship fund. Maybe opening my own gallery.

“Have you forgiven your father?” I ask.

Beckett doesn’t answer right away. “Someone much wiser than me once told me that if it isn’t serving you, let it go. Hating my father is no longer serving me.”

That’s not the same as forgiveness but if he’d answered yes, I wouldn’t have believed him. Things like that take time. And maybe it will never happen.

Life is messy. Not everything can be wrapped up in a pretty bow.

“My mother was sick,” he says. “I blocked a lot of those memories. But even when I was a little kid, I remember how she’d disappear for days at a time. My father would tell me she needed rest. That she was tired and we shouldn’t disturb her. I remember how there were days when her smile didn’t reach her eyes. When she seemed to be listening but days later, she’d have no memory of our conversation. I remember wishing that she would be there for me.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been so hard for you.”

His eyes meet mine. “I think you know exactly how that feels.”

I think about it for a minute. I guess we both have mommy issues and a sense of abandonment.

“What’s the opposite of hate, Daisy?”

“We’ve been over this before.”

“Say it.”

I gaze at him across the room in his black cashmere sweater and black cigarette pants, his large hand wrapped around the glass of water and I wonder if he’s capable of giving me what I want. “Unconditional love and respect.”

He nods and sets his glass on the table. “Over the past several weeks, I realized that everything I did in our time together was with the expectation of getting something in return. I was selfish. Only thinking of myself. And you…”

He swallows, looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him. “You were the opposite. Everything you did was for me. So I’m here to apologize. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I didn’t put you first. You deserve better. I want to do better. I want you to come back with me and live in the only house that ever felt like home. You can redecorate it so it feels more like you. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

He stands and starts pacing. “But I want you to come home with me. I miss you so fucking much it hurts. I’m no good without you. I’m fucking miserable without you.” He exhales loudly like saying all that wore him out.

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