Page 16 of A Vintage of Regret
And everything hurt.
The weight of it all crashed down on her at once—her father’s death, being home after twelve years, seeing Bryson. The perfect storm of everything she’d been running from. Her chest tightened, and suddenly she couldn’t get enough air. The grief, the guilt, the overwhelming familiarity of a place that held too many memories—it was suffocating.
She fell back on the bed and grabbed her phone with shaking hands. Quickly, she found Mateo’s contact information.
“Riley?” his voice was on instant alert. “Did you get in okay? Is everything alright?”
“I can’t—” The words came out broken. “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I don’t know how. Dad’s gone, and he was always the one who I talked to about stuff like this. And I saw Bryson. I don’t know what I was thinking. As if time was going to make that wound go away.”
“Breathe. Just breathe. In and out. Nice and easy,” Mateo said. His voice was calm. Soothing. It was a side of him she didn’t often see but so needed.
She closed her eyes, focusing on anything but being in Stone Bridge.
“Better?” Mateo asked.
“I’m not jumping out of my skin.”
“Just remember you’re there for your dad. Because you loved him and he loved you, and that’s bigger and more important than anything else. You’re not the same person who left. You’re stronger. You’ve built a life, traveled the world, you’ve become exactly who you were meant to be.”
“But seeing Bryson? It shook me.”
“Of course it did, and that’s okay. But you don’t have to be anything other than yourself. You don’t owe anyone explanations or apologies.”
She blinked open her eyes and stared at the ceiling. “What if I fall apart?”
“There are worse things in the world,” Mateo said. “You’ve got this. And if you don’t, you’ve got me to remind you to smile.”
She chuckled. “You’re obsessed.”
“Damn right I am. Now get some sleep. No need to let exhaustion make things worse.”
“Thanks for everything. I owe you.” She ended the call feeling more centered. Mateo was right—she wasn’t the same person. She could do this.
She had to.
Bryson tiptoed down the hallway toward the security office before pausing at his father's open office door. He poked his head in. "Dad? What are you still doing awake?"
His father sighed. and dropped his pen. "Looking over some shit for the revitalization committee.” Snagging his reading glasses off the bridge of his nose, he tossed them on his desk. “I should've never volunteered when Sean stepped down."
Bryson leaned against the doorjamb. "I asked Sean why he’d walked away, because it seemed strange to me. He loves thistown and has always enjoyed giving back. He said he didn’t completely give it up. That he was still on the Wine and Tourism committee. But that it was time he stepped down from the board. That he’d served for years and he wanted to spend his time doing other things—like traveling with Riley."
"They were always so close, even after she left." Bryson's father leaned back in his chair. He ran a hand over his mouth and down his chin, as if he could wipe the grief away. “Sean and I used to sit out at the fire pit, and he’d tell me about the trips he’d take when she’d come back to the States.”
Bryson felt that old, familiar ache settle in his chest. He’d treasured every detail Sean had shared regarding Riley’s adventures, hungry for any connection to the life she was living. Hearing about them had been both a comfort and a torment—proof she was thriving, but also a reminder of how far away she’d chosen to be. “Sean certainly lit up with pride when he talked about Riley and everything she’s accomplished.” Not wanting to continue the conversation, he pointed to the mounds of paperwork. “That doesn’t look like fun.”
"Can’t say that it is. This committee is filled with lots of big personalities, chest pounding, and gossip. Most meetings, my leg is rattling, and my eyes are glued to the time."
"So, why are you spending extra time at home on committee work?"
"There’s a lot going on with efforts to increase tourism and boost profitability. We've filed for state and federal grants and conducted private fundraising over the past two years to revitalize the old buildings on the west side of town. We've sunk some money into that project." Bryson's dad waved his hand over the stack of papers on his desk. "Only, I'm not so sure these numbers are adding up. I mean, they do, but they don't. There's a mistake in here somewhere, and while Grant actually agreed, he was adamant he'd be one to find it and fix it."
"You're going through the books?" The question came out sharper than Bryson intended. "I'm sure that's gonna piss off Grant."
Bryson's dad chuckled. "Grant doesn't know. Only two of us do, and honestly, I don't have all the information, making this even harder."
"Why are you doing it if not everyone knows?"
"Mayor Jessip’s paranoid. He wanted someone he trusted to look at the books."
