Autumn Night Whiskey (Tequila Rose 2)

“And it wouldn’t have been appealing even if she’d said yes.”

Appealing?

My jaw clenches, the back of my teeth grinding as I hold in every profane word I desperately want to spew at his opinion. The inclination to show respect is ingrained in me, even if there’s not an ounce of it sincerely present.

I don’t give a damn how it would have looked. For once, I just wanted her to love me and to know I’d have her forever. As much as the confession wishes to slip out, the deep-seated anguish I harbor keeps the thoughts from running away. She said no for a reason and somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew she would. I know she won’t ever choose me again. Accepting that truth is too heavy a burden.

One my father doesn’t seem to mind pointing out.

“Well, I think we both knew she wasn’t going to say yes.”

My knuckles turn white as I grip the armrest and answer him with only a nod.

“Then why go through with it?” My father’s exasperation isn’t hidden as he opens the window and whistles to get the dogs’ attention, scolding them for going into my mother’s garden. If the screen weren’t there, I have no doubt he would lean out of it.

I used to love being here. Not just in this office, but being home. It used to feel like that … like a home. Ever since my mother got sick and my father stepped back from work, it’s turned into a place of strategy, stale with disappointment.

“Did you even think about what that would do to your career?” There’s a hint of desperation, of a father urging his son to make the right choices. Years ago, I listened to that tone and clung to it with everything I had in me. That was before I realized that even if he thought it was right, it didn’t mean it was right for me.

“There’s a lot at stake in the next five years,” he says, finally taking his seat across from me and the dim light casts shadows on his face, making him look older than he is. The long days in the sun and years of smoking certainly didn’t do his youth any favors either.

“I am aware,” I comment, crossing my ankle over my knee and trying not to think about the state my father’s in. Taking care of my mother is practically a full-time job and he’s a stubborn man on the verge of losing everything. My mother to Alzheimer’s, his career because his time has been dedicated to her … and then there’s me.

“It would look good to have a family. Wouldn’t it?” I can’t help rebutting. With Magnolia and Bridget … “We’d make a good-looking family.” My voice lowers with the thought and I can’t hide the taste of the bitter pill I had to swallow in the last comment. It doesn’t go unnoticed by my father, and again the tension increases.

Ever since he told me to break up with Magnolia, things have been tense between us when she’s mentioned.

I understand why he did it. There was a scandal concerning her father about to break, and I couldn’t be attached to it so early into my political career. I was only twenty-one and had just gotten the internship that would set me on the right track. He was looking out for me, and I didn’t know which way the wind was blowing or what to even think. It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did and had the plan worked, she would be my wife. I’d have that beautiful family with my first love. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was a temporary breakup. When she came home from college and the scandal had died down, I’d beg her to take me back. I still have fucking nightmares over that phone call. Hearing her voice hitch before she sobbed and being unable to tell her the truth shredded me. Knowing I was knocking over the first domino in a series where each one falling only cemented her hatred for me that much more.

I knew it would hurt, but I didn’t even give her a reason. In hindsight, maybe that made it worse. If my father hadn’t been in the room, I would have told her it was fake. I’d have made her promise to lie. As it stands, I did what I thought I had to do to protect her. It never should have happened at all. I shouldn’t have gambled with the only thing I ever wanted. I’m half a man without her.

“If I could go back, I would.” I utter the hard truth I’ve known since the second I ended that call. When other emotions threaten to take the forefront, I pinch the bridge of my nose as if it’s a headache and not regret that makes me do so.