Page 16 of The Light We Lost

“Why do you do that? Take yourself out of the game before it’s even begun?” Jake asked, his voice quiet. “This is a second chance, Nolan. But maybe you’re looking at it wrong. Instead of seeing it as a chance to fix your marriage, why don’t you look at it as a chance to do right by Indy? You can fix some wounds, at least make them bearable. That girl hasn’t come home in years, and did you ever truly ask yourself why? This could be your chance to say goodbye.” He stood, apparently ready to work, but not before he said, “If anything, this is an opportunity to do right by your dad.”

He closed the door behind him, leaving me to stew in those words alone. Indy and I were finished. If the years apart weren’t confirmation enough, the way she’d looked at me last night was. There’d been no love—or even longing—in her eyes, and I didn’t blame her. I had chased that out of her.

But maybe . . . maybe Jake wasn’t wrong. Maybe I could correct my wrongs, ease the damage done and say goodbye properly.

Because beyond Indy, my biggest regret was how I’d left things with Dad.

With a sigh, I grabbed the letter off my desk and began again.

Nolan,

Depending on the order you opened these letters, you’re either mad as hell or pleasantly surprised. I bet it’s the former.

So let me start by apologizing. I’m sorry.

This may be a surprise, but I don’t always know how to be the best father. You’re all three so different, and oftentimes it felt like I was throwing anything out and seeing what might stick. Sometimes I think I’ve done a damn good job.

But some things have slipped through the cracks. I know your mom leaving has left an impact on all of us. I see it in Brooks, and I imagine I’ll see it in Levi as he continues to grow up. I see it in you, Nolan.

We don’t talk about it often, and that’s my fault—but I loved your mom. Part of me always will. We had our fair share of good and bad times, and I worry you were so young when she skipped town that you only remember the fact that she left.

I worry you believe when things gethard—you run.

We’ve had our fair share of arguments. One of them being that I should’ve fought to keep your mom from leaving. And son, I did. There was a time when I would’ve given anything to keep our family together.

But I couldn’t fight alone.

And when it came down to it, and I saw it was affecting my kids, I chose a different fight. I chose my boys, and I will continue to do so. You three are my everything.

That’s the type of love you fight for.

Years ago, when you sat on my couch and told me you wanted to marry Indy, I supported you. Everyone questioned my judgment, but I didn’t care—I trusted you. I saw how much you two loved each other. I see it now. Which is why I can’t stand by and support this, especially when I know it’s not what either of you want.

I’m not saying it’ll be easy. It’ll hurt like hell, but I can’t understand how you two went from being each other’s air—to not being able to face one another. I think it’s because you’re scared. You’ve both been cut down to the bone, and you’re afraid if you take one more hit, you won’t survive. So you’d rather not love at all than face it all again.

But I dare you to take a step. To fight for your wife, and the life you both deserve. It’ll hurt, and there may be wounds that never fully heal. But that pain? It’s worth it. I promise. Stop letting your past define you and claim your future instead. Or at least have the courage to face her when you call it quits.

You’re a grown man, and you’re not obligated to listen to me. But I’d like to make a deal with you: if you try and at least repair your relationship with Indy, I’ll help you buy the bar. I know you think I’ve stopped believing in you, but I haven’t. I’ve been setting aside money for you, and when the time is right, it’s yours.

Dad

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling, not knowing what to think. In less than twenty-four hours, I’d gone through a marathon of emotions. Anger, grief, sorrow, confusion. I felt it all.

Most of all, regret.

When I lost Indy, I slipped into a dark place. I drank more than I ever had. I stayed out all night. Slept all day. I screwed Dad over with work more timesthan I could count. I was a miserable bastard, and I didn’t care who I brought down with me. Sometimes I wondered if I wanted to drag everyone down, so I wouldn’t be alone.

Dad never gave up on me, no matter how many times I wished he would. It took him dying, and my brothers fighting like hell, to pull me out of it. I didn’t deserve a second chance. But I’d do anything to do right by Dad.

Even if it killed me.

Chapter Seven

Indy—Now

Iwas running on two hours of sleep and caffeine, and my neck ached like an eighty-year-old woman who’d slept in a jail cell.

Probably because I had spent the night in jail.

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