Page 59 of A Vintage of Regret
Elizabeth's mouth fell open in a perfect O of surprise, her hand fluttering to the strand of pearls at her throat. "Sweetheart, you shouldn't be alone after hearing... well, whatever that was about."
"We both know exactly where he's spending the night," Erin said, her voice gaining strength. "And if I need company, I'll call Riley."
Elizabeth's face shuttled through several expressions before settling into cold fury. "Not even home a week, and you're already tearing this family apart." She turned, lifting her chin like a queen dismissing her court and swept back toward the country club's entrance.
"There's plenty of room at our place," Walter offered. "Brea and I would be more than happy to have you and the children stay."
Erin smoothed down the front of her dress with shaking hands. "Thank you, but I'll be fine. The kids are already asleep and there are... things I need to deal with." She kissed Riley's cheek, her lips cold against Riley's skin. "Let's talk tomorrow?"
"Call me if you need anything," Riley said. "Anything at all."
"Same goes for us," Bryson added, his voice gentle.
Riley wrapped her arm around Bryson's waist and let her head fall against his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. "This whole thing is insane. I don't know what to think or feel about any of it."
He pressed his lips to her temple, the gesture so natural it made her chest ache with longing. "Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do until Grant tells us what happened."
As guests began to trickle back into the country club, their voices buzzing with excitement over the evening's unexpected entertainment, Riley stared at the spot where Grant's taillights had disappeared into the darkness.
Whatever was happening at the police station right now, she knew one thing with absolute certainty—when her brother walked out of there, the fault lines running through her family would be deeper and more treacherous than ever.
The house was quiet—the kind of heavy, middle-of-the-night—early morning silence where the air felt still enough to hold secrets. Bryson had finally gotten Riley to drift off upstairs, curled into the right side of his bed, hair spilling across the pillow like a ribbon of ink. He’d stayed with her until herbreathing slowed, until her restless shifting stopped, until her tears dried. Only then, had he slipped out.
Now, he sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cooling mug of coffee, the darkness outside fading into the muted gray of early morning. Across from him, Walter sipped from his own cup, reading glasses low on his nose, the half-folded newspaper spread across the counter.
The Boone homestead had been updated into a family estate when Bryson had been a baby. Still, in the early hours, he could feel the bones of what it used to be like—wood beams overhead, faint scents of yeast and oak from the cellar, the clock ticking on the wall in slow, deliberate beats.
Walter set down his cup and studied him. “You look like hell.”
Bryson smiled humorlessly. “Thanks. I’ll have that stitched on a pillow.”
“How’s Riley?” Walter asked, folding the paper and setting it aside.
“She cried herself to sleep,” Bryson admitted. “For her dad. For Grant. For… all of it. I stayed until she let go, but I don’t think I even dozed.”
Walter’s gaze softened. “You’re a good man.”
He looked away, toward the back door, where the porch light painted a dull square on the floorboards. “Some days, I wonder.”
“You wonder too much,” Walter said, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve always been harder on yourself than anyone else could be. I think Riley sees that. Always has.”
Bryson huffed out a breath. “Yeah, and look where that got us.”
“Where it got you,” Walter said, “was older. Smarter. Maybe ready to do it differently.”
Bryson didn’t answer, but his father’s words lodged in his chest. “I do still love her.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“She still loves me.”
His father chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s obvious.”
“She’s not sure what she wants.” Bryson palmed his mug, staring into the liquid. “She’s had an amazing life, and I’m grateful for that. I’d hate it if she were miserable. Outside of my marriage to Monica, my life hasn’t been horrible.”
“No.” His father leaned back, resting one arm on the counter. “But you’ve had a big hole in your chest.”
“She has too, but maybe less because of me, and more because of her family.”
