Page 25 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Even if I want to.

He lets out a breath, then clasps my shoulder in a firm squeeze. “Good to have you back, even if it’s just for the week. Give Liam a squeeze from me. Hope to see him and Max soon. Love you, brother.”

“Love you too,” I say, returning the gesture as he heads out of the office, closing the door softly behind him.

Dad leans back in his chair, a warm smile breaking through the tension of our heated discussion.

“How’s Liam doing? I’d love to see my great-grandson sometime soon.”

“Good… great,” I answer, though the familiar ache of guilt that I’m not doing enough for him tightens deep in my chest.

I hate leaving him behind when I travel. I know my brothers and sister would love to spend time with their great-nephew, and Dad would dote on him if he had the chance. But the thought of someone recognizing us, snapping a photo of him, and dragging his innocent little face into the media circus keeps me from bringing him here.

It’s one of the biggest reasons I’ve delayed moving into politics as long as I have. I’d thought that I could fight this thing brewing against my family and Colt without moving into a citizen facing role but after too many years at it, that hasn’t been the case. I wanted Max to grow up. Have a chance at a normal life. WhatI’d never anticipated was once I’d graduated fromyoung, single fatherI’d be quickly promoted toyoung, single grandfatherand find myself raising that grandson.

So, I keep Liam safe in the Hamptons, away from the city, away from the spotlight that comes with being related to me and now, safely with Georgia.

It doesn’t mean I don’t have intense guilt about it all.

“I’m thinking of bringing him down to visit for the election in a month,” I say, though I wasn’t planning on it originally.

My dad sighs and sits back, raking a hand through his hair as if he doesn’t like that answer but he lets it go. “And how’s my grandson, Max?”

I swallow and pause, mostly because I know where this conversation is headed. My dad, providing me with another lecture on why I should have never moved him to New York when he was ten years old. Trust me, I tried everything to steer him away from repeating my mistakes—having a kid way too young with the wrong person—but he went and did it anyway.

That’s the thing about kids, you can try to show them what you did wrong, think you’re setting them up for success as you explain the way they should behave, but no amount of involved parenting or careful coaching can stop them from making their own choices. At some point, they become their own people which means they are responsible for their own decisions and the consequences of those.

I still love him more than anything, and our bond is strong, but I get why he’s always on the move. Why he felt he needed to finish school on a different continent. Being a father at twenty steals your youth and he’d expressed how unprepared he felt, not wanting to let Liam down. I’m proud of him for staying in his life, even if it’s from afar for now. I know he’ll come back someday and I’m grateful I have the means to take care of him in the meantime.

“He’s still finishing up school in London. Should be done in the next month. I’m not sure what he’ll decide to do next.”

My dad shakes his head, rubbing his beard again like he always does. He’s a good man. Loves his kids. Loves his grandkids and great grandkid but sometimes, he treats me different from the rest of his children. He’s always had different expectations for me, even as a kid and I suppose that’s part of why I’ve worked so hard to make him proud. I often wonder if his disappointment in me started when I told him I’d gotten my girlfriend pregnant so young. Maybe he feels like he let me down in the same way I feel misplaced guilt for letting Max down.

“Max always loved growing up here in Whitewood Creek. I can’t help but think moving him to New York City twelve years ago might’ve been what sent him off the rails.”

I flex my jaw.

Clench my fists underneath his desk.

There it is.

I’m grown enough to make my own choices about my son, but also, I’m sure there’s a thread of truth to that which makes it sting even worse. It’s just another layer of guilt weighing on me, wondering if I’m screwing things up for my son and grandson, while trying to fix everything at the same time. It’s like spinning on a hamster wheel. I have no idea of what I’m doing even matters.

“He’s a good kid. He’s focused on his degree. I’d hardly consider that ‘going off the rails.’ Plus, he said he’d be back for the holidays to visit. And if the election goes smoothly, I’ll be living permanently here then, too.”

Dad stands up, smiling as he outstretches his hand to me. I match his stance and shake it. “You’re right, he is a great kid. Your home’s still standing. Regan goes in and cleans it every other week to be sure the dust doesn’t settle. We’d love to have you, Max, and Liam all together living in it again. The last piece of the family finally coming home once we get our Colt back. We’re proud of you, son. Truly. Even if your siblings and I give you grief sometimes, we believe in you. Whether you win this election or not, we’re getting Colt out, and we’re opening this brewery. The people of Whitewood Creek stand with us, whether the local government does.”

I nod because he’s right. If there’s one thing about Whitewood Creek, we protect and support our own.

“So, did you find a replacement for Eleanor yet?”

“Yeah,” I say, shifting on my feet. “The new Governor of Florida recommended someone. She nannied for their family over the past five years.”

He raises a brow. “Is she a sweet, old lady like Eleanor?”

I shake my head, knowing he’s about to dig until he gets something on Georgia, so I figure I’ll give him the bare minimum.

“Her name is Georgia Cameron.”

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