Page 26 of Montana's Bravest

“You can’t say that.”

“I could hold my own. All you needed to do was to keep fighting along with me, instead of saying the hundreds of sorries. Sorry that I lost Jack that night. Sorry for the cops coming up empty, for dead-end leads.”

The creases on the old man’s face deepen as he tries to hold back his tears. “It’s been more than twenty years, Red…”

Red. His dad calls SamRed? Is that why his company is called Red Mark?

“Don’t!” Sam keeps his voice down despite his clear intention to let out a roar.

“You’re my only son. Why can’t you forgive me?”

“Well, you should’ve still had two sons.”

So Jack is, or was, Sam’s brother?

Sam pauses, apparently trying to control himself. He takes short breaths, and with spite he adds, “As a matter of fact, you still do.”

If this was a confrontation between Sam and an unruly guest, I would let him do whatever the hell he wants. But I’ve seen fights, and this fight is between two people whose love for each other is tangled in barb wires. Both men are hurting—Sam with regret, his father with desperation.

Sam takes a step closer toward his dad—his fists clench. “Get out of here before I make you!”

I step out and interject, “Sam. I need your help inside.”

He swiftly moves to shield me from his dad. Then he deadpans, “Help with what?”

“Just come with me.”

He doesn’t buy it. He knows the guests are gone, and perhaps he’s expecting me to say goodnight, too.

“Please,” I insist.

Sam follows me.

“I should go,” his dad says to him, which he ignores.

“What is it, Cass?”

I smile painfully. “Actually, there’s nothing. I…” I face him straight-on. “I hate to see family fight. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“How did you know he was family?”

“I overheard your conversation. But that’s not the point. I saw the way he looked at you. I wish I still had my dad to look at me like that.”

He bows his head, puffing. Then he swallows as if trying to turn himself into the Sam who is familiar to me. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have seen and heard that.”

“It’s okay.”

He ponders as he watches his dad walking away, raindrops pelting the old man’s coat. Then he turns to me. “You were close to your dad?”

“I was extremely close to him.”

My dad was the best father anyone could have. He listened, he served, he had so much love for his family, and he never lost his temper. But there was no fairness in this world—he was given to us, yet he was taken away too soon. That night, when a full moon shone on Kalispell, I heard Mother answering the door. I couldn’t sleep and was about to go to the kitchen to steal some ice cream. Through the open door, I saw men in uniform standing by. Mother had never cried so hard—she was howling behind her hands. She wouldn’t have done it if she’d known my brother or I had been there; she’d never had shown she was breaking. But that night, she was. I will never forget that harrowing cry.

Sam draws himself closer to me. It must be the look on my face. Any other man would send me running, but there’s something in his hold that makes me stay. My heart has already learned his language, and I don’t think twice as I lean into him.

“Jack—was he your brother?”

He groans. “Heis.”

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