I unclenched my fists. “Go on.” I needed to hear him out. It was my one chance.
“The debts were piling up—already by the funeral we’d missed a mortgage payment because the shop had closed. People’s jobs were at stake. And the business couldn’t take on another designer and cutter.”
“Primrose could have done the design,” I said, instinctively trying to find a hole in his theory.
“Maybe, but trying to find a gem cutter? And someone who could actually run the business? I know you wanted to be that person but, Dexter, you were . . .”
I was young. I knew that. But I was a fast learner.
“You were broken,” he said. It wasn’t what I’d expected. “You were inconsolable in your grief.”
“My parents had just died,” I snapped.
“Our parents, Dexter. Our parents. I lost them too.” He sighed and shook his head. “You weren’t in a position to take on a failing business and neither was I. The offer Sparkle presented paid off all the debts and gave us both a little money—”
“The money wasn’t important. I didn’t give a shit about having money.”
“I thought it would give you a start if you wanted to launch a business yourself. The last thing I wanted was you to start off in life with a concrete block chained to your legs. It would have pulled you under.”
“I’m a fighter,” I said. “You knew that.”
He sighed and nodded. “I know but then? You were drinking. You wouldn’t—couldn’t engage. You wouldn’t even talk about the funeral plans.”
I thought back to that time. It was just a dark pit of horror I thought I would drown in. If it hadn’t been for Beck. And Gabriel. And all the guys. I’d forgotten, but they’d taken shifts and stayed by my side, drunk with me, listened as I ranted. But my real blood brother hadn’t been there.
“The funeral wasn’t important,” I replied. “Their business, their legacy was important.”
“I agree,” he replied. “But what was their business? It was their work ethic, their love for what they did, their talent.” He paused and glanced out of the window. “You’re their legacy.”
His words were like a sucker punch to my gut. All I’d wanted my entire life was to be the son they would have wanted me to be. To have the business they should have had. I’d wanted to honor them. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it? You could have told me about the debts and—”
“I tried, Dexter. You were just . . . you were grieving. And you didn’t want to hear about the possibility of selling the business.”
“Of course I didn’t. Mum and Dad were gone. I didn’t want to lose their business as well.”
“Which is completely understandable. Neither did I. You think I didn’t want you to run that business? To carry on their name? To do what you’d always dreamed of? Of course I did. But it was impossible. The business was teetering on the brink, and without Mum and Dad it would have gone under. There was no doubt about that. I had to think of the jobs that would have been lost when the business collapsed. Sparkle agreed to keep everyone on. And I had to think about you. How would you have felt if I’d let you go into that business and it had failed? How much guilt would you have felt? I know you’re angry, but I wanted you to have a good life—not one marred by a huge failure right at the outset. And the way you were consumed by your grief—I was afraid. Afraid for you. Afraid of the consequences of whatever decision I made.”
What he was saying sounded completely . . . right. Not just true or accurate, but right, like finding the perfect uncut stone after seeing hundreds and hundreds of not-quite-perfect alternatives. My instinct always knew instantly that it was just right. I’d created explanations for David’s behavior that never felt like an exact fit. But what he was telling me now was the entire truth.
I’d felt angry at my brother for so long, I didn’t know how to feel any other way. But the anger was no longer directed at him. Instead, as he spoke, I turned that anger around and pointed it back at myself. There was no wild conspiracy to cheat me of my legacy, no selfish, quick decision that made life easy for David.
Why had I thought so badly of him for so long? I’d held on to so much futile fury. So much bitterness. For too many wasted years.
I swallowed, trying to clear the regret from my throat. “Why Sparkle?” I asked. “Of all the people.”
“That was . . . tough. I asked the solicitor to see if anyone else was interested. But realistically, Sparkle was willing to pay far more than the business was worth. They were guaranteeing the jobs of the people who had worked for Mum and Dad. And it left some money for you to use to start again. I asked myself time and time again what our parents would have wanted me to do, and to this day I still think they would have told me to take the money.”