Page 92 of Bad Boys After Dark - Brett
His father strode across the room in his Armani suit and motioned toward a leather chair in front of his desk, before sitting in the taller, more commanding chair behind the desk.
“I’ll stand, thanks.” Brett crossed his arms, needing the barrier between them. He’d purposely dressed in jeans and an old favorite blazer, wanting his father to see he didn’t take after him at all. It was the rebellious punk in him coming out. Brett owned that punk-ass attitude. Lord knew he needed it today. The cold glint in his father’s deep-set eyes told him the clothes he’d chosen didn’t matter. There was no hiding from the truth.
His father nodded, holding Brett’s gaze. Just one of the damn mannerisms Brett had picked up from him. Like the cold stare, the anger, and the ability to live behind a wall of ice. Those traits had haunted Brett for too long. At least he no longer existed behind those fucking barricades. Thanks to Sophie.
The thought brought his mind back to the reasons he’d come. If only he knew where to start. It seemed silly to try to hash out what happened all those years ago. He wasn’t a child needing his father’s approval. Fuck that. He was a highly respected businessman, had more money than any five men needed, and he had the woman of his dreams waiting for him at the end of the day.
He didn’t need to be here.
He eyed the door.
“I assume there’s a reason you’ve come?” His father’s deep voice was as commanding as his presence.
He met his father’s gaze, expecting to see the same cold stare as always, but his gaze was thoughtful, concerned even. Fine lines feathered out from the corners of his eyes. His forehead was etched with worry lines, his hair more silver than black. His shoulders were thinner than Brett remembered. The longer he studied his father’s features, the clearer reality became. He no longer knew who his father was, or what was going on inside his head. For the second time in as many weeks, Brett thought of his sister looking down on him from the heavens above, seeing the two of them acting like strangers, and the thought of disappointing her slayed him.
Brett uncrossed his arms and said, “I came to apologize. I was an arrogant kid, and I’d like to say I didn’t know what I was doing when I got into all that trouble. But the truth is, I did.” He paced, the weight of his father’s stare trailing him like a shadow. “I blamed you for Lorelei’s death.” He crossed his arms again and met his father’s gaze.
His father didn’t flinch. “Go on.”
“I shouldn’t have blamed you, and I’m sorry that I made things harder for you and Mom.” He’d expected to feel anger or relief after getting it out in the open, but he didn’t. He felt overwhelmingly sad. Sad that their lives had turned out this way. Sad that his father didn’t seem surprised by what he said. He sank down to the leather chair, leaned his elbows on his knees, and stared at the carpet, trying to wrap his head around the grief.
“I’m sorry you felt the need to apologize.” His father’s voice was a little unsteady.
Brett lifted his gaze and saw regret staring back at him, pulling him deeper into the darkness.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save her,” his father said as he rose to his feet and paced—another similarity Brett couldn’t deny. “I’m sorry I was too wrapped up in building this fucking company to realize she was so sick. We thought she had the flu. Kids get sick. It’s part of life. And you kids were like little petri dishes. Someone always had a cold or a stomach bug.”
Brett opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was lost in disbelief.
His father leaned against the edge of his desk. “After the fundraiser last winter, when you guys had all those pictures of her up…” His eyes dampened and his voice escalated. “I went home and tried to get lost in work, but it was like she was right there all over again. Crying, pleading with me with her pretty little eyes. ‘Daddy, please make me better.’ My baby girl lay dying, and I couldn’t do a damn thing but hold her hand and lie to her.”
Brett felt gutted. He’d had no idea…
When he’d been allowed into Lorelei’s hospital room for the last time, he’d crawled into the bed beside her and told her a story about Lorelei Bad, the greatest actress who ever lived. Midway through his story, she had spoken in labored, exhausted breaths, and said, And she had the best bodyguard in the world. She’d nodded off to sleep right after that, and Brett had lain there until his parents had dragged him home for the night.
