Page 96 of The Sculptor

For a second, I think Astor will take me up on the offer, but then he crosses his legs and sits back, making himself comfortable. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately.”

I wave him off. “You being here wouldn’t have changed anything.”

I still would have fucked all this up.

“No,” he agrees, “but we could have talked about Jude—about the pain you’ve hidden from us all these years.”

I shake my head. “It was my burden to bear.” I was the one who agreed to the horrendous plan where we thought we could birth a baby alone.

Astor chuckles, but it sounds like a nice replacement for saying I’m an idiot. “Duke, when Vance was spiraling and blacking out from stress, what did you do?”

“It’s not the same thing,” I argue. “He was suffering from PTSD.”

“He was,” Astor agrees. “But so were you. Yet, you let Father spread a lie about why you couldn’t sleep. Why you couldn’t hold down a relationship.”

I close my eyes. “The lie kept her out of it.”

“Is that what you think?” he asks, like he can’t believe I would say something so stupid. “That keeping up a lie was the healthier option than addressing the issue at the source?”

“Don’t talk to me like you didn’t do the same thing,” I snap. “You aren’t perfect either.”

“No, I’m not. But like you did with Vance, someone intervened and helped me see that holding on to a secret was killing me inside.” He adjusts in his chair and puts his elbows on his knees, his gaze set on me. “Humans aren’t meant to be alone. We can’t do it. We aren’t built to sustain ourselves.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say. “We’ve all been alone and did fine.” I don’t need my brothers thinking they have to solve my problems. I can handle it just fine.

“Is that what you call this?” He motions to scattered paper on the floor. “Is this your definition of fine, Duke? Because I have to say, I would think ‘fine’ would be us finding Remington before he developed a smoking habit.”

I scoff. “He still would have smoked to spite us.” Let’s not pretend he’s an angel.

“You’re probably right, but still. We wouldn’t be here—I wouldn’t be here, watching my little brother battle the voice that tells him he fucked up.”

“I did fuck up. I should have known he was my son.” I look up at the ceiling and let out a laugh. “I’ve had daily conversations with this kid. I’ve cracked yo mama jokes and told him about Ramsey—his mother. They were so close to meeting.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Christmas Eve! He was right there. She was sitting at my house, waiting for the son she longed for.” Emotion wells in my eyes, but I fight it off. “All I had to do was bring her over there. She would have known, Astor. She knew! She drew him, for heaven’s sake!”

“Let me get this straight,” Astor says, his face stoic and calm. “You were supposed to recognize a son that you thought had been dead for eighteen years?”

“I should have been suspicious,” I argue. “When I learned he was alive.”

“But you didn’t know he was alive.” Astor cocks a brow. “You knew there was a possibility he was alive, but you didn’t know for sure.”

I feel exhausted just having this conversation. “I should have known, Astor.”

He nods. “I’m sure you’re right, because when I was eighteen, I would be able to recall the distinct characteristics of a blue infant that I was performing CPR on. Tell me, brother, did you even get to hold him after you revived him?”

It feels like a knife to my chest. “For a moment, but then I handed him to Ramsey.”

“And when Ramsey had him, did you feel anything other than adrenaline?”

“I don’t remember.”

Astor offers me a patient sigh. “Exactly. You were operating in fight-or-flight mode—you were running off pure adrenaline. Your brain wouldn’t have retained small details because in a time of crisis, your brain was only focused on one thing… bringing that boy back.” He leans in and puts his hand on my shoulder. “You had one job, and you did it flawlessly. You saved your child. The rest of what happened is irrelevant.You saved your child.You did not give up on that boy then, so when I ask you this, know I ask it with love, but why are you giving up on him now?”

Like he could shake me, Astor squeezes my shoulder. “You were a parent when you gave up your life—your scholarship—to have that boy. You then demonstrated what a loving parent you were when you supported him and his mother at the cabin. And if those two things aren’t evidence enough, you breathed life back into that baby with every bit of determination you possessed. Most teenagers wouldn’t have known how to do CPR or known how to deliver a baby in the first place. But you did. You studied. You prepared.”

He drops his hand and exhales. “Duke, you’re more of a parent than Vance and I could have ever been. Just because you didn’t have the typical introduction to fatherhood doesn’t mean you’re any less of a father than anyone else. Not being able to recognize a son you grieved is not an excuse to not pursue that mouthy little shit of yours.”

I grin, feeling a little better that Astor doesn’t think I’m as shitty as I feel. “He is a mouthy little shit, isn’t he?”

Astor laughs. “Most definitely. Really, Vance and I should be the ones feeling stupid. We should have recognized that only you could create a child of that magnitude.”

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