Page 18 of A Vintage of Regret
"I don't have too many regrets, but I always wanted to spend more time with my dad. These last five years, we did get together more, but now, it doesn’t feel like enough.” Her hands trembled as she brushed a few strands of hair from her face. The words were barely a whisper, but they hit hard. He felt the weight behind them—the grief embedded into every syllable.
"He was so proud of you," Bryson said gently. "He told me once he didn't blame you for leaving. That sometimes love means letting someone go, even when it guts you. And your relationship with him was always solid. Distance never changed that."
She turned sharply. "Did he really say that?"
“He did.” But Byson also knew some of those words were meant for him as much as they were to ease the pain in Sean's heart that he didn’t get the chance to see his daughter on a daily basis like he saw his other children.
Silence settled again, broken only by the sound of a breeze rattling the vines. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and stared at the rows of grapes. "Where did you find him?"
"Riley, you?—"
"Please. I need to know."
He wished she hadn’t asked. The image of Sean slumped against that post was something Bryson would carry forever, and he hated the thought of passing that burden to her. But he could hear the desperation in her voice, the way she needed to piece together her father’s final moments, and he couldn’t deny her that. "Right over there.” He pointed. “Against that post."
Slowly, she inched closer to where Bryson had first spotted Sean. The moonlight followed her as if she was guiding it on a journey. She paused just shy of where Bryson had laid him downon the ground, her arms dropping to her sides, her shoulders slumping. "Did you know right away that… he was gone."
"I suspected when I began CPR," he whispered, keeping his distance, unsure of whether he should wrap his arms around her or let her grieve alone. A sense of dread and helplessness washed over him, snaking through his body like the vines growing from the dirt. "I didn't stop trying until the paramedics arrived."
She covered her mouth, lowered her head, and sobbed.
He inched closer, but she shot her hand up, stopping him abruptly. His heart dropped to his toes. "The last thing he said to me was that he loved me."
"Those are good words to have."
She shifted, turning her head. Her tear-filled eyes glowed under the sky. Nothing but sadness and regret etched in their blue depths.
All he wanted to do was shoulder that for her. Be the rock she needed. But he didn't know how to do that for her. More importantly, he had no idea if she’d even want that from him.
"He knew about the baby, you know," she said, abruptly shifting topics to their shared past hanging over them like a storm. "About the miscarriage. He heard me crying the day it happened. I begged him not to tell anyone."
The words hit him like a physical blow, stalling what little breath he had left. He’d never planned to tell her about Sean’s visit—about the things Sean had said in pain and anger. But she deserved to know that her father hadn’t just kept her secret—he’d also made sure Bryson understood the weight of what had been lost. "He kept that promise, except for letting me know that he knew."
She looked up at him. "What?"
"He wasn't too happy with me." His voice dropped. "He showed up here when I'd come home that weekend because you'd called and told me what happened. He was a little tipsyand a little pissed off. Said that it was my fault because I loved the winery more than I loved you."
Her lips parted in shock. "He said that?"
"He did." He swallowed hard. "And the worst part was, I couldn't argue. Not then. Not with the way things ended… with what you'd said that weekend."
"I didn't mean it," she whispered. "About not wanting the baby. About being glad I'd lost it."
"I can't say those words didn't cut right through my heart. Or that you leaving didn't drive those words deep into my soul," he said, wanting to take her into his arms, but he held back. "However, considering everything, I know you didn't mean them. And I certainly didn't mean what I said in return. It was cruel, and I'm sorry."
"I know." She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, rubbed, and then dropped her arms to her sides. "Does anyone else know? Did you tell your family?"
Byson thought about lying, but he couldn't—not to her. "Just my dad and only recently."
"Wow," she said softly. "This isn’t a secret I want let out of the bag. And not because I'm ashamed or would care what others think anymore. It's not about them. It's private, and I can't stand gossip. This town can be relentless with it."
He could hear the exhaustion in her voice, the same bone-deep weariness he’d been carrying all these years. They’d both been prisoners of this secret, just in different cells. "It sure can. And my dad's not going to say anything. It's just that I'd held it in for so long, and I needed to do something with it."
"I can understand that."
Something shifted in him. He’d braced himself for anger, for accusations, for all the blame he’d heaped on himself over the years. Instead, she gave him what appeared to be absolution, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to accept it.
The silence between them shifted—thicker now. He took another step forward, close enough to see her eyes.
