Sitting in my truck in my parent’s driveway, I figure it out. Why I keep coming here. Why I keep forcing my way in, even though I know they’d be perfectly happy if I stopped darkening their doorstep.

It isn’t about punishing myself.

It’s about punishing them.

Knowing why doesn’t stop me from getting out of my truck and it doesn’t stop me from slamming my way into the house. Expecting to find my dad in the living room, parked in his recliner, eyes glued to the game.

He’s not there.

I stare at his empty chair for a second like I’m willing him to magically appear in it.

“For God’s sake, Declan.”

I look away from it, aiming my glare at the doorway my mother is standing in. She’s wearing jeans and one of my dad’s old T-shirts. Her dark hair threaded with silver, pulled into a ponytail. Her dark blue eyes narrowed on me in concern. When I was a kid, I used to think that looking like her made me her favorite.

She takes a step toward me. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be—”

“Where is he?” I push past her, ducking around the corner and into his study. It’s empty and not just because my dad isn’t here. Aside from the desk and an old leather club chair Con took with him when he moved out, it’s completely bare.

“What’s going on?” I don’t have to turn around to know my mom is standing in the doorway, watching me like she’s afraid to leave me alone in her home. Like I’ll steal the family silver the second she blinks.

“We wanted to talk to you together…” She trails off, her tone pulling me around. Forcing me to look at her. When I do she’s crumpled against the doorframe, her chin tipped up to look at me. “We were going to tell you tonight, after dinner.”

“Tell me what?”

“We’re moving.” She’s always been like that. Blunt. Almost brutally honest. “We’ve sold the house.”

I think about the old leather chair behind me. The one that belongs to my brother. He and Henley used to sit in it together. He’d read to her. Sometimes she’d read to him. I used to stand outside the door and listen to them. The low murmur of their voices, rising and falling. Their quiet laughter.

Even from where I was standing, I could hear it. How happy he was. Conner was never happier than when he was with Henley, sitting in that chair. In this house.

“To Con.”

Her chin lifts a bit. “Yes.”

I nod, swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “Where’s Da?” I say, careful to keep my tone flat.

“Declan…” My mom straightens herself off the doorframe, her brow crumpling slightly. “You never—” She squares her shoulders and shakes her head. “Jessica would never be satisfied with a house like this. You couldn’t possibly—”

“You’re right.” I cut her off because Jessica is just an excuse. It’s not Jessica they don’t want here, it’s me. It’s always been me. “Where’s Da?”

She sighs, backing out of the doorway when I come toward her. “He’s at the bar.”

When I get there, the place is locked up. Not a surprise. We’re closed on Sundays. I use my key to let myself, slamming the door behind me. Striding past empty tables and a deserted bar, I head for the office.

When I appear in the doorway, my dad doesn’t even look up from the computer screen. A surefire sign my mother called him and told him I was coming, and why.

“You gonna just stand there or are you going to say whatever it is you came here to say?”

“You gave grandma’s ring to Patrick.”

He stops typing, his fingers hovering above the keys for a moment before he sits back in his seat. “I did.”

“You ever think that maybe I’d want it?” I stay where I am, just outside the door. Don’t trust myself to come any closer.

“Honestly, no” He shakes his head at me. “But even if it had, I still wouldn’t have given it to you.”

I knew that, so why does hearing him say it out loud hurt so goddamned bad? “And the house? This place? The family fortune?” I dig, punishing us both with every word. “I suppose it never occurred to you that I might want them either.”

“I couldn’t choose between you and your brother,” he says, shaking his head again. Giving me the same tired story he’s been flogging since he told us he was going to sign everything over to Patrick over a year ago. “My father did that and it ruined my relationship with your uncle. I won’t be responsible for—”

“My relationship with Conner is already ruined.” I take a step toward him before I can stop myself. “It’s been ruined for as long as I can remember.”

“You did that,” he bellows, coming out of his chair to jab a finger at me. My dad’s a big man. Every bit as big as I am. When he gets angry, the ground shakes. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

“You’re right, Da. I did do that,” I bellow back. Somehow, I’ve made my way through the door and to the desk. I’m leaning into it, into him, so close his finger is in my face. “You ever stop to wonder why? You ever ask yourself what the fuck happened to me? Why I’m such a miserable prick?”

“Every goddamned day.”

The words hang between us, his admission ringing in my ears, but he’s not through. I may have started it, but my father is the one who’s going to finish it.

“I’d rather flush your grandmother’s ring down the goddamned toilet than see it on that woman’s finger—not because she’s an absolute fecking nightmare, but because you don’t love her and I’ll be damned if I’ll sit idly by and watch you give it to her.” He drops his finger, his hand hitting the desk between us with a dull thud. “I don’t know why you’re marrying her but I won’t let you tarnish your grandparents’ legacy to do it.” He sits down again, the chair letting out a familiar squeak when he lowers his considerable frame into it. “As for the family assets—you might not like it and you might not believe me, but my answer stands. Your relationship with your brother is damaged enough. I won’t see it completely destroyed over something as trivial as money.”

He’s right. I don’t believe him. “When are you going to forgive me?” I ask him. “When are you going to stop being disappointed in me?”

He stares at me for a few seconds, his jaw working and pulsating while he struggles to get his temper in check. Finally, he shakes his head. “It’s not my job to forgive you, boy. That’s something you’ve got to figure out on your own.” He doesn’t answer my second question. Probably because the answer is never.