Page 107 of Gold Rush

“You have?”

“Oh, yeah. I grew up believing there was the wrong way or there was Arthur Kensington’s way. No exceptions. Made a mess of my relationship with him and with Crew for a long time.”

“What changed?”

“What changed?” He tugs the brim of his ball cap down with his left hand, balancing his beer on his knee with his right. “Nothing? Everything? It felt like being on a hamster wheel. I was always running, trying to get everything done, and there was never any end in sight. But it was hard to stop. Easier to keep moving. Keep trying. I got older. I got tired of being pitted against my brother. I met Hannah. I acquired a new perspective, I guess. One with a lot more nuance.”

“And your dad? Did he … understand that?”

Oliver exhales. “My dad has two sons, two daughters-in-law, and five grandkids. If you asked him what his greatest achievement was? One company. Kensington Consolidated is his legacy. There’s no separation between the personal and the professional for him. He doesn’t believe in distractions or rearranging priorities for people. Kensington Consolidated isn’t a business; it’s his purpose. And he should be proud of it. What he accomplished with the company was extraordinary. It’s the reason I have the life I have. And if I’d lost Hannah when Wren and Rory were little, the way he lost my mom …”

He pauses, taking a sip of beer.

“I have sympathy for him. But ambition isn’t an excuse for being an absentee parent. Neither is loss. They’re explanations, but they’re not excuses. So, no. I don’t think he fully understands. But he’s tried to. He stepped aside as CEO. He doesn’t say he’s disappointed or offer unsolicited advice about company decisions. Would we have a better relationship if I’d continued making the exact decisions he did? Undoubtedly. But that’s not why you’re supposed to have kids—to populate the planet with miniature versions of yourself.”

I nod. “My dad … he’s never been absent. The opposite. He’s over-involved. He wants to have a hand in every choice I make. He pushed me to go to law school. More than pushed—he basically forced me to go. I went, and I did really well, and he’s doubting I passed the bar. He’s constantly waiting for me to mess things up, even when it’s associated with something he approved of—especially when it’s associated with something he approved of—and it’s exhausting. Like I lose either way.”

“Have you told him any of that?”

“I’ve tried to. He knows I want him to back off. I have messed up, and he had to bail me out from mistakes. It’s not like there’s no precedent to him expecting disappointment. For a long time, it felt easier to leave that as the default between us. But I get so sick of it, you know? Sick of always having to be on guard, of waiting for him to cut me down again. So, it’s … yeah, it’s a mess.”

“I wish I had some brilliant insight that would fix everything, Flynn. But my best advice is, be as honest as possible. Let him see how his attitude affects you, even if your instinct is to pretend everything is fine.”

“We’re not speaking right now actually.”

My parents weren’t at the Kensington Consolidated gala. Not that I saw at least. Which should have been a relief—and was—but was also strange. Did they not come because they were respecting my boundaries? Did they just happen to have a conflict? I can’t find out without speaking to one of them.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Oliver says sincerely.

I shrug. “It’s been fine. Peaceful.”

“I can’t say I wouldn’t have tried the same strategy if I hadn’t had to see my father at the office every day,” Oliver says. “But keep in mind: The longer you wait to say something, the harder it can be. Don’t let the silence last too long if you can help it.”

I nod.

“And if you need to talk to someone else, I have season tickets for all of New York’s sports teams. So, we can really do this anytime.”

I smile. “Thanks, Oliver.”

He smiles back, then glances at the field. “What do you think of Corbin Gallen?”

I settle back in my seat, following his gaze. “I think he’s overdue for a homer.”

Oliver tilts his beer at me. “Here’s hoping.”

34

Iclose my bedroom door. Shut all the blinds before crawling onto my mattress and nestling among the oversize pillows that match the patterned comforter.

Wren answers the video call on the third ring. She’s seated on her bed too—I can tell by the collage of photos I know she has pinned above the headboard.

“Hey! You …” Her face moves closer as she squints at the screen. “Where are you?”

“I’m in my bedroom.”

“Why is it so dark? Do you and Flynn have some sort of sex cave? Where is Flynn, by the way? I wanted to update both of you on the watch saga with Sawyer.”

“He’s at a Yankees game with Dad.”