head. “It’s a strange new world out there. Be glad you don’t have kids.”
An image of Sydney dancing in the kitchen in Wyoming with a baby in her arms slammed into me so hard and fast it made my heart brace. I sat up stiffly and ditched what was left of my drink on the coffee table while Devyn eyeballed me.
“You alright?”
“No.” Placing my elbows on my knees, thumb running along my bottom lip, I let the idea sink in. It felt right. It felt so right I wanted to hold onto the image with both hands and never let it go. Sydney with a baby. Then I thought of her having a baby with someone else and I nearly lost my mind.
Heat spread from my chest, up my neck, and down my legs. It made me realize how cold I’d been the past month. Not seeing her, not talking to her, not touching her had left me cold and on the verge of going numb.
The image lingered, taunting me. Sydney smiled and a sharp pain pushed against my sternum. I missed her. I missed her so much it was painful.
I had no idea what I was doing anymore. No clear grasp on why I’d insisted on staying angry. Why I’d torpedoed the best thing that had ever happened to me. Why I’d set out to hurt her in the first place. My inability to keep a heavy hand on my pride was screwing up the best thing that had ever happened to me.
Devyn was right. I held no resentment toward my mother, and she hadn’t done anything different from Sydney. She’d never picked up the phone and told me my father was dying and time was running out.
“What if I love her?”
“Yeah, you love her so much you singlehandedly destroyed her career in a matter of days. You’re a real life Prince Charming.”
Now that the fog of war had cleared, hearing it stated plainly made me feel like a dirtbag, made me cringe in shame. I’d known exactly how to hurt her––take away what she held most dear, the only thing she had left: her career. And I’d gone after it with everything I had, hadn’t I? It was a maneuver straight out of the art of war by Frank Blackstone.
My eyes fell shut. The truth did hurt. My lungs could barely function with it. “Thanks. I didn’t think I could feel any worse.”
My sister chuckled darkly and shook her head. “Men.”
“I’m serious, Dev. I love her. I’m in love with her.”
“You have a funny way of showing it. You know what love is, Scott? I’ll tell you what love is––John was willing to uproot his entire business to move back to New York if I’d told him that I wanted to work for Dad. I have a law degree and master’s in business and I haven’t done anything with either one––”
“You have four great kids.”
“Yeah, because I have an amazing husband who gave me the choice. Who would’ve sacrificed for me the way I have for him––that’s love. What you feel is remorse.” She took another sip of her wine. “You’re just starting to figure out that you have a genuine gift for hurting people without even trying.”
I winced. “Don’t hold back.”
“You’re a big boy, you can handle it…I thought this marriage would do you good, but I can see now it’s only done her harm.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Scott
Panic began to set in shortly after Dev’s “pep talk.” I knew I needed to fix things, but I had no idea where to begin, or how. Or if it was even possible. That’s what worried me most. That I was too late.
Every time I thought about that day in Sydney’s office––the day I told her to pack her shit up and get out like she was yesterday’s trash, and she started crying––I just about died inside. She hadn’t cried at her grandmother’s house. Or in the hospital. Or when she told me about all the other horrible things that had been done to her. And yet I’d made her cry.
Meghan was right. I was the fucking Anti-Christ. And my old man would be proud. Both of those statements were true, and I didn’t care about either one.
Miller passed me in the hallway without making eye contact. He’d been giving me the silent treatment since Sydney left a month ago, which was fine by me. I was in no mood to make nice.