Page 13 of A Vintage of Regret
The words spun in the space between them, raw and heavy.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows as if even the vineyard could sense the weight of what had been revealed.
His father's expression didn't shift at first, but Bryson saw the shock in his eyes. The sadness for his child etched in his parted lips. "My God, son. I… we… your mother and I had no idea."
"Riley didn't want anyone to know. Said it was hers to carry. Plus, she was so angry at me over Monica. Over that kiss. We were kids… scared and stupid. I was just finishing up my first year of college. Things had been so up and down. We fought all the time about the future, and it wasn't looking bright for us."
His dad flopped back, arms dangling on the sides of the chair… stunned.
"The whispers about me and Monica had been swirling. It was frustrating, and it was even harder for Riley because she and Monica were friends. Everything was compounded by the fact that Monica and I went to the same university. We did see each other, and while I tried to avoid her, it was impossible." Bryson ran a hand over his mouth. "Right around the time Riley learned she was pregnant, Monica came at me hard. She made her move, next thing I knew, we were in a lip lock. I ended it quickly, but not quickly enough because someone took a picture, and the rumors spread even faster."
"That's a lot for an eighteen-year-old to deal with. And I mean both you and Riley."
"Riley, she was already spinning out of control." Bryson stared into the fire, his voice low. "The thing with Monica just pushed her further away, and I couldn't leave school. There was this baby, and yet we were on the brink of being over, and then the baby was gone, and then so was Riley. No way to fix that."
Walter pushed himself out of his chair. Quickly, he closed the gap in two strides. Before Bryson could react, his father wrapped his arms around him—not the awkward, obligatory embrace ofholidays or goodbyes, but the fierce, protective hold of a parent who just realized his child had been carrying an unbearable weight. “I'm so sorry that you had to go through all that alone," his father said, his voice thick with emotion. "All these years, and I never knew. I should have seen it. Should have been there for you.
Bryson’s chest split open—not the sharp kind of break of fresh pain, but the slow, inevitable crumbling of the walls he’d built to hide this secret. He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone else carry even a fraction of what he’d been shouldering.
When his father finally pulled back, tears welled in his eyes. “I love you. I know I can’t make this better, or right. But I will always be here for you.”
"I know." Bryson’s jaw worked as he struggled to keep his composure. The relief of finally telling someone warred with the guilt that had become his constant companion. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to stem the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm him." I don’t know how to face her. What to say to her or how to act. Her father just died, and I'm also reeling over that."
The fire popped softly, as if exhaling the last of the secret that had finally been set free.
"All I can say is, be a safe place for her to land. Twelve years is a long time. Fundamentally, you're the same man, but people grow, and they do change."
"And she won't stay," Bryson said softly.
Three
The airport doors slid open, and Riley stepped into the thick California air, the weight of her duffel bag tugging on her shoulder, though it was nothing compared to the heaviness sitting squarely in her chest.
It had been a long flight—longer still, given what waited on the other side. Grief clung to her like humidity, making every breath feel dense. But it wasn't just the ache of her father's death that made her stomach churn.
It was also knowing who she was about to see.
Bryson Boone.
There hadn't been a single day in the last twelve years that she hadn't thought about Bryson. She'd never had to wonder what he'd been doing because her father had always filled her in with those details. All of them. The marriage. The divorce. The few short relationships he'd had over the years. And of course, Bryson's one true love… Stone Bridge Winery.
The man had been born to that single patch of land. And almost literally, as his mother had gone into labor while taking a morning stroll through the property with his dad. All the Boone children were connected to it, but Bryson had a uniquebond with the vines that couldn't be broken. Not even love could challenge it.
Something she’d had to come to terms with a long time ago.
Quickly, she shot a text to Mateo, letting him know she’d landed safely. It was strange how their friendship had morphed from tour guides, to buddies, to besties at warp speed and all because she hadn’t been able to keep it together yesterday when Bryson had called.
Thank God for Mateo. He’d saved her from sitting on that rock, crying into the dark night, alone.
Tucking her cell in her pocket, she scanned the area, spotting Bryson before he saw her. Standing by the passenger side of a dark blue truck, one arm resting casually against the doorframe, his head turned slightly as he scanned the crowd.
He looked older.
Not aged—just more solid, more sure of himself. His jawline was more defined, and silver threaded lightly through the dark strands at his temples. His posture was still relaxed, but something in it—something in him—seemed taut, coiled.
When his gaze landed on her, the rest of the world stilled.
Their eyes locked, and for a beat, neither of them moved—they just stared at each other as if they weren't sure what to do next.
