Page 116 of The Love Losers

“Anthony,” he says, disappointment ringing in his voice. Then he reaches up to adjust his bowtie. “You’re not thinking clearly. Your father…” He pauses, swallows. “You’re under a lot of pressure. I’ll admit it’s not fair what he did to you with the inheritance. Now, he and I both thought it would be a very fine thing if you and Rachel—”

Anger weaves its fingers around my neck. “You set this up with him so I’d be backed into marrying your daughter?Youwere partially responsible for this?”

“Now, no one’sforcedyou into doing anything, young buck,” he says, wagging his finger at me. I instantly want to swat it, but I hold back. “If you’d married already, it would be a moot point. And I haven’t tried to convince either of you of anything. I’ve only provided opportunities. But if you ask me, you’d do much better to marry a friend than a complete stranger. Your mother tells me you’re engaged to a girl you barely know.”

There are many things I could say, including that Rachel isn’t, in fact, my friend. Instead, I say, “I’m not going through with the deal. You can have the company. I won’t ask you to buy me out.”

“You’d give me a sinking ship?” he sputters, his face turning color. “Without that deal…”

“I know. And I should never have let it go this far. I don’t believe in the development they’re planning. I never have.”

“Your father was a great man.” He gets to his feet, his face purple now. He’s talking loudly, nearly shouting. “He helped make this city what it is today. He’d beashamedof what’s become of his legacy.”

I get to my feet too. “I don’t care anymore,” I say, nearly meaning it. Wanting to mean it all the way. To pull the infection out from the roots. I take a deep, slow breath and let it out. “I used to think that I wanted to be like him. Strong. Impervious. Larger than life. But he never stopped to consider that it might be better to be a good man than a great one. He wasn’t a good man, Simon. Not even close.”

His expression changes, something like remorse lighting his eyes, and Iknowhe knows something. It’s there in his eyes.

He swallows, eyeing me. “I don’t want his legacy to crumble to ash, Anthony. He cared about his legacy.”

“I used to care about it too,” I say, emotion suddenly throbbing in my head, threatening to burst. “I devoted my whole life to it. You know, I used to wake up in the middle of the night—every night—seeing him fall off that tree. Seeing his sightless eyes after I ran to him. But do you know why he climbed it in the first place, Simon?”

“I don’t…”

“Someone special to me has made me realize that I haven’t been living my life. I’ve been trying to live his, and it never fit. It never will. If you want to keep this company going, I’ll still give Smith Investments the money I was going to put into it for the deal. But I’m not going to work here, and I’m not going to sell The Ware. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Anthony,” he says, his eyes pleading with me as he tugs on his suspender straps like they’re a lifeline. “He loved his family. He only wanted what was best for you.”

“Then he and I are finally in agreement,” I say, stepping away from the desk.

“Where are you going?” he asks in alarm.

“To cut down a tree. I’ll see you at the wedding, Simon.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

ANTHONY

My mother and sister aren’t home when I get back.

So I get changed upstairs, since I can’t envision chopping down a tree in a suit, and head out to the shed for the axe. My hand is a problem. It hasn’t been throbbing much, but I still have stitches and probably shouldn’t be doing strenuous work with it. I’ve already pushed my luck. My father was a big believer in pain being a motivator, though, so it only seems right for him to soak up some more of my blood today. One last time.

I get to the tree and laugh at myself, because I’ve never cut down a tree before, not even a Christmas tree, and even though the tree has sickened, it has a thick knobby trunk and is tall. It’ll probably take all day to chop it down, if the axe will even do the job.

It doesn’t matter.

I grip it with both hands, the axe handle waking up the wound in my hand, and take a swipe. The vibration travels through my body. I feel it in my teeth.

“Did you like that?” I ask, feeling stupid for talking to a ghost. Needing down to my bones to do it anyway.

I detach the axe, using more of my biceps than I’d thought I would need to, and swipe again. Again. Each time I do, the pain vibratesthroughme, making me remember.

He used to flay my back open with switches carved from this tree’s branches. Just like his father did to him to make him strong.

Only he didn’t have any scars on his back, probably because his father only did it once or twice, not once a month, and then every week, and then nearly every day. Probably because his father didn’tlikebeating him until his back was raw.

My father had always told mehide it from your motherandtake it like a man.Andit’s the only way you’ll learn.

Ihadhidden it from her…

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