Page 5 of Wild Horses

“What idea?”

“To sell Davis Designs back to the Davis family with Tuesday as the purchaser.”

“Why would you do that?” He sounds like the snake he is, the words hissed from between clenched teeth.

I have to convince him I have the necessary votes in my pocket. Without missing a beat, I say, “Some of the more vocal shareholders are less than thrilled about bringing a person who sued our company back into the fold.”

Dad blanches, then barks, “How would they know about that?”

Outside, I’m nonchalant, but this is it. He’ll either buy the story—and for once, Tuesday will get the win she deserves—or he’ll call my bluff, and I’ll fail her again.

I dust a nonexistent piece of lint from the cuff of my jacket. “Perhaps someone let it slip that you and Duncan came to a less-than-savory, off-the-books agreement. Maybe that same someone raised concerns that we stretched ourselves too thin expanding into neighboring states and that it would be best for our ROI if we refocused on our local market.” Dropping the bored tone, I let an ounce of the anger that’s festered in me for years break through. “And who better to purchase our failed out-of-state venture than your daughter? Spreading her wingswith the approval of her…” The next words taste bitter, like the lie they are. “Loving father. It’s a compelling story.”

From the screen, I hear a snort. Tuesday knows how much bullshit I’m spouting right now, but I can’t let it derail my momentum. Coughing to cover a laugh, I say, “At a ten percent increase, of course.”

“Of course,” Tuesday readily agrees, a smile tugging at her lips along with a flicker of something. Gratitude? She’s so used to standing alone against our parents; it’s no wonder she doesn’t know how to process me standing with her.

It’s dangerous, lying about already having board members on my side, but Dad is cracking. And when Idodisclose what he’s done, the boardwillbe on my side. I won’t let his ego and warped sense of family hurt Tuesday anymore, and if I have to pull a thousand strings, owe a thousand favors to make this go through, then that’s what I’ll do.

With a wave of anger I’m sure to feel the wrath of for months to come, my father storms from the room, my mother in his wake. I can’t pretend I care. Instead, I give my attention to the one person I should have been here for—the person I’ve let down and hurt more than anyone else.

I’m more than ready to balance the scale I’ve let tip out of whack. I owe her years’ worth of amends.

“Tuesday, Trail Creek looks good on you. It’s nice to see you with so many people who love you.” I mean it; she looks settled. A stab of jealousy flickers in my chest.I want that.

“Thank you. How did you do this? And why?” she asks quietly, her question simple but weighted.

Swallowing, I think of the answer I gave Bond Davis, the man who loves my sister, when he asked me a similar question. “Sometimes families make difficult choices that are hard to explain?—”

“Buttruly are in everyone’s best interest,” Bond and his father, Scott, finish.

The people who have become the family she deserves study me through Tuesday’s phone camera, their piercing stares cutting the distance between us to nothing. Leaning into the camera and covering my discomfort, I say, “What they said. And don’t worry about Mom and Dad. I’ll ensure the board accepts your offer, and they’ll be pretending none of this ever happened before the ink dries on the contract.” I will make this happen for her, no matter what it costs.

“Thank you, War.” Tuesday hesitates, her voice hitching as if unsure of her next words. “It might be nice if you came and visited. See why I love it here so much.”

My heart aches, and I quirk my lips in a half-smile. “I may take you up on that.” She doesn’t mean it, though. Not really. Not yet. But I planted a seed tonight. One I can hopefully help grow into more. I’ve missed out on so much. I don’t want to miss her wedding. The chance to be Uncle War. The chance to get to know my sister.

I slump into my father’s chair, staring at the now-empty screen. The truth is, I’ve always envied Tuesday, not for her struggles but for her courage. Helping her now feels like the start of making amends, but maybe it’s selfish. Am I doing this for her or me?

The thought gnaws at me, and I push it aside, grabbing a scotch from the cabinet and granting myself a healthy pour. I just fired the first shot, and I’m smart enough to know Warren Phillips won’t take it lying down. Tonight, I’ll let the alcohol dull thewhat-ifsswirling in my head. Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the fallout.

I focus on my form as I slice through the water like a blade. The last few days have been fraught with behind-the-scenes negotiation and promise-making to square away the deal I made with Tuesday, but it’s worth it. Getting everything settled for her is a small drop on the positive side of my karmic balance.

The board members and shareholders were less than impressed with Dad’s plan to bring Duncan back after the shit he pulled. They were, thankfully, content with the increase in the sale price. My father has been a spiteful dick, but I expected it. We’ve been locked in a brutal battle since the night I snaked Davis Designs out from under him.And supported Tuesday.

He’s threatened to fire me, disown me, and more. I’m getting a small taste of what Tuesday dealt with for years. Outright disdain, hostility, and snide comments about how much of a disappointment I am.

God, I’m such a fuck up. I should have stood up for her so long ago, but it was easier to keep my blinders on and pretend we were the happy family our parents paraded before shareholders and the Dallas elite. To fall into the role my parents expected me to play. I wore the mask well, and despite it being suffocating, I refused to remove it. But now that I have, I can see so much more.

Pushing my body, I swim faster. This is the only time my head clears, the only place I’ve ever found peace. I swam throughout high school and college. My parents allowed it because it looked good to have an athlete in the family, but once I graduated, my father did everything he could to squash my enjoyment of the sport. Reminded me of how time away from work was time wasted, and if I was going to take overPhillips Construction, I had to be better. Smarter. The biggest shark in a sea of them.

Today, though, I’m where I belong. Swimming like it hasn’t been ten years since I last trained. Swimming like my life depends on it. Harder than I ever pushed myself in a race. If I move faster, can I outrun my guilt and failures? My loneliness? Can the chlorinated water dilute my memories?

It’s funny how clarity can make you look back and realize how foolish you’ve been. Hindsight and all that. I’ve spent thirty-three years going through the motions of a life that is perfect on paper. Years being my father’s yes-man. The tailored suits, the corner office, the six-figure career—none of it matters. Not when I go home to an empty apartment, drink alone, and wonder if anyone would notice if I didn’t show up tomorrow.

I flip under the water, kick off the wall, and push myself beyond my limits. This is supposed to clear my head, not mire me deeper.Swim faster. Push harder. Outrun the thoughts.

What if I’d stood up for Tuesday years ago? My shoulders and thighs scream, but I press on, the laps endless as I work the self-loathing and doubts out of my body.

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