have been struggling for most of your life to understand why she’s this way, and I can’t.”
“I know.” Julian cleared his throat, then stepped away from his dad so he could move to the bed to put his shoes on. “I just wish,” he said, then stopped.
Fredric slipped his feet into his shoes, then gave his dog a pat before he rose again. He took three shuffling steps toward Julian, then laid his hand on his shoulder. “Stop holding back.”
Julian let out a frustrated growl, then dragged a hand through his hair. “I wish you’d leave her. I wish you’d tell her that she was wrong, that you deserved better. You were the better parent, you loved us the way we needed…”
“That argument wouldn’t hold up in court,” Fredric said, very softly. “I didn’t do enough.”
“You’re not superhuman,” Julian told him. “I never expected that. I don’t care that you’re a parent,” he went on when Fredric opened his mouth to argue. “You’re a person first. You had a stroke—you were blinded, you lost movement in your arm, you could barely walk for a year. And you were still the one who put me back to bed every night that I had nightmares. You were the only one who promised me it was going to be okay.” Julian swallowed thickly. “And it was. It was okay. You were right.”
Fredric made a soft noise, then squeezed back of his neck. Before he could say anything else, there was a soft knocking at the door, and Julian knew who it was. “Tomorrow,” Fredric said, letting his son go. “Have breakfast with me and we can talk. Properly.”
It felt important, and it felt maybe even like the promise of something world-changing, and he was terrified but he knew it was necessary to say yes. So he did. “First thing in the morning.” Turning on his heel, he walked to the door and opened it, letting out a soft breath when he saw Will standing there looking like he’d descended from the heavens he adored so much.
He wore loose trousers and a light linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up halfway toward his elbow. His hair was styled, but a little wind-swept, and there was a faint pink along the apples of his cheeks. After a beat of silence, he shuffled his feet and shrugged. “Is this too casual?”
Julian glanced down at himself—at his own stiff shirtsleeves and trousers, and then he shook his head. “No, and I don’t care either way. You look gorgeous.”
Will gave him a soft, happy smile which was in such stark contradiction to his rejection earlier, and Julian didn’t quite know what to do with that. “Are you um…ready…?”
“Just waiting on me,” Fredric said as he called Bastian over for his harness.
Julian let Will inside, then took a breath as his soft cologne wafted under his nose. It was unique, and it was subtle, and it imprinted on him gently, burrowing into his memory. He would treasure those moments, even the painful ones. He’d remembered that he was worth something—that in spite of the way his own family treated him, Will found him important enough to defend.
And that wasn’t nothing.
Chapter 18
His aunt and uncle had booked the resort a few miles up the road which had a deck that overlooked the beach. He would be there for this dinner, the rehearsal, the ceremony, and the reception. And then Julian could watch Crescent Cove fade in his rearview mirror along with the last vestiges of his past with Bryce.
The air had a warm burst of humidity on the breeze as they climbed out of the car, and Will stood on his left while he guided his dad in through the front doors, following the meticulously placed signs along the wall directing the Pedalino party.
“Is this going to be just the people staying at the cottages?” Will asked as they turned a corner. His voice was muffled by the thick walls and rich carpet, but it was quiet enough Julian could hear him well
“No,” Julian warned him. “The pre-rehearsal dinner is always some big affair. Most of them are coming from Bryce’s side of the family though. He wanted to show off.”
Fredric snorted and shook his head. “He did the same damn thing at your wedding. Your mother and I spent about forty grand on plane tickets alone.”
Julian stiffened, but he tried not to let talk of his former wedding sour his already somber mood. “Yes. Clearly it was money well spent.”