Page 78 of One Wild Wish

“We know,” he said.

Rachel. It must have been Rachel. To warn them? To sabotage me? But the truth rang clear this time. She would have told them for me. To save the winery, hoping I’d find my way back there. My ribs nearly suffocated my heart.

“I didn’t do it,” I said. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t follow through. Mainly because of Rachel. I bowed out of the contest and have done a lot of thinking the past week. Realized I played a part in what happened with our family. I’m still furious with you both, not sure we can move past it, but I’m tired of running.”

Neither of my parents spoke. My father sat like a king on his throne.

My mother’s lips thinned by the second. Then she hissed, “George.”

His eventual comment: “You are a coward.”

I shot to my feet, one second from barreling out of there. “A coward mislabels wine to save his ass. A coward goes to hit his son because he lost land. A coward never apologizes for being an absentee parent.” I jammed my fisted hands into my front pockets.

He sucked his teeth. “This is how it is? A son yelling at his father? It is disrespectful.”

“This isn’t 1950, and maybe you deserve to be yelled at. Shaken, in fact. Anything to open your eyes and see me. I am my own man. A damn good one, at that. No thanks to you.”

He matched me glare for glare. “Your mother did not teach you to talk like this.”

My mother was clutching the arms of her chair, gaze flitting between us, forever letting her boys fight their own battles.

My father was right, though. She’d taught me to sit straight and respect women and defer to my elders. My pappous. She’d handed me the building blocks of life and trusted I’d make something of myself. I’d done that, at least. Rachel wouldn’t have fallen in love with a disrespectful failure.

“You’re right.” I extricated my hands to cross my arms. “I had a wonderful mother and grandfather, and a lot of what I am today is because of them. The stubborn side of me, the part that almost married the wrong woman to prove a point, is all you.”

I was on my feet, towering over him, but his glower made me feel two feet tall. Like nothing had changed. Like he’d continue to dominate my life. Force me back into my rut, the place where I’d work a dead-end job and ride my bike to forget the world. The place where Rachel and I couldn’t be together, because she deserved more than a man just existing.

Then my father did the unthinkable. He said, “I am sorry,” and I rocked on my heels.

He pushed out the words, his stubbornness unabated, and it should have been enough. I’d waited two years for his apology, but it barely made a dent.

“You are my son,” he went on. “I have always been hard on you. Pushed you. You are smarter than your brother, and I knew you could do more. But you were stubborn, too.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I replied, but my frustration dissipated. He’d never told me I was smart before. Never praised my intelligence or shown pride in my accomplishments.

When I’d earned my Master Sommelier title, he’d nodded and said, “Good.” I’d spent a year building a pile of flash cards a mile high, living and breathing wine, licking wet stone and eating under-ripe melon to develop my palate. He’d given me one fucking word.

Hearing a compliment now nearly knocked me over.

Still, the air between us was far from clear. “You told me I was a mistake and cut me out of the winery, and all you can say is it was because I was smart? Because you needed to push me? You’ll have to do better than that, or I’m walking back out that door.” Which wasn’t how I wanted this meeting to end. I was tired. This constant strife was a drain.

My energy waned until I sat on the couch, the cushion collapsing under my weight. We needed to resolve things, one way or another.

He grumbled under his breath, and Alena Giannopoulos kept her vigil, leaving us men to duke it out. That simple act had me grinding my molars.

Until my father coughed. The phlegmy sound lasted a good ten seconds. I frowned at my mother, who left and came back with water. That call a while back, she’d mentioned to Rachel he was unwell. He’d been attending the gym, that much I knew. But the rest? He could have cancer and I wouldn’t be any wiser.

Suddenly, I wanted to know. Find out if he was ill and do something to help. He wasn’t getting any younger.

Once he recovered, he faced me. “What I said was wrong. You are my pride. My heart. What I did, I did because I love you. That Sophia girl was trouble. If it meant stopping that wedding, I would do the same again.”

Still bullheaded as always, but the anger I’d nursed for years bled out. With Sophia today, the why of his actions had become clearer, but hearing him say it hit home. As did hearing the word love. Not a term my father used loosely. He loved me enough to hurt me. Fucked up, maybe, but I was worried I’d end up like him, cold and unfeeling. In truth, he felt a lot more than he let on. He wouldn’t win Father of the Year, but I was emotionally exhausted. If forgiving him meant coming up for air and finding my way back to Rachel, I’d take his olive branch.

“I’m sorry, too—for my part. Dating Sophia was me lashing out at you, which wasn’t okay. If I’d married her, it would have been for the wrong reasons and I would have regretted it. I actually saw her today.”

Another flash of anger clouded his face. “You should not see her. Rachel is the sort of woman a man marries, not that Sophia girl.”

I was the last person he needed to convince. Unfortunately, I let that ship sail and broke my compass. “You don’t have to worry about me reconnecting with Sophia. I just needed to sort some things out. And yes, Rachel is amazing. I love her and plan on fighting for her, but it’ll take a miracle to get her back.”