Page 258 of Burn Bright

I’m not sure I expected kindness and understanding when I’m still barely making sense of myself. So to receive that from Xanderwhen he had every right to ice me out—yeah, I’m surprised I was able to concentrate on the exam enough to pass.

I can’t predict the future. Just see the one I really want, and I think we’re going to be friends again.

It’s what I contemplate on an eight-mile hike. Same trail I trekked in the Catskills with my Uncle Ryke, which was the same night I boarded a greyhound bus. It didn’t take me to Alaska or all the way across the country. The bus got me to the Midwest, then to a private runway and to a pilot who I met through a series of acquaintances that no one would be able to follow.

I doubt they would’ve ever found me without Charlie. The past seven days, he’s crossed my mind a lot more. Though, he’s not on this hike.

It’s just me and our dad.

Backpacking on nature trails isn’t really my father’s forte, but he’s far from unathletic or clumsy. Honestly, I doubt he’s ever tripped in his life.

I’d call him a “social hiker” because when it becomes a group activity, he’ll join, no problem. He’s in incredible shape. I used to wake early just to workout with him when I was a teenager. He’d jog on a treadmill and have Bloomberg playing on TV, but when I was in the home gym, he’d let me put onPlanet Earth.

As we journey across the soft earth in pursuit of the fire tower, I glance over at his clean-cut features that’s graced magazine covers. His perfectly styled wavy brown hair, his superhero-strong jawline, his calm deep-blue eyes. He has one earbud in, the other free to hear me if I talk.

I haven’t said much. All the leaves have fallen. A light layer of snow dusts the ground. It’s the first week of December, and the frigid air fills my lungs in a lively way.

“What are you listening to?” I ask him.

His lips curve upward as he passes me his loose earbud.

I fit it in my ear and laugh. His grin spreads. It’s Led Zeppelin. “Ramble On.” Not exactly the classical instrumentals that most expect Connor Cobalt to leisurely jam out to. It’s only now that I fully acknowledge my love of rock music is because of him.

That maybe I have more similarities with my dad than I’ve let myself comprehend.

When we reach the top of the fire tower, my dad isn’t admiring the expansive evergreen-lined view. He’s watching me like I watch him. The bluebird and the lion. I smile to myself, thinking of Harriet.

And I shake my head a couple times. “I always wondered how I could be your son.”

“I know you did.” Skin pleats between his brows. “That’s also where I made a misstep. I was too focused on how you felt like you didn’t fit in. It made it more difficult for me to see that you were dealing with an obsessive-compulsive disorder.”

I nod as realizations sink in. “Because why would I obsess over trying to protect my family from myself? When I spent half my youth questioning whether I even belonged in the first place. But it never meant I didn’t love you all. I love everyone too much, probably.” My eyes flit up to his, knowing on the flipside that my dad loves very little and infrequently. Just like Charlie. “Maybe Charlie’s right—maybe I should have more armor. Feel less.” I pull my beanie off, then skate my hand through my wavy hair. “I’m irrational. Sensitive. Naïve. Overly emotional.”

“Passionate, vulnerable, generous, self-sacrificing. These aren’t flaws, Ben.”

“They’re traits that weaken, Dad.They’re ones you don’t possess. Which makes me the mostfragileextension of you. Of this family.” I extend my arm toward his chest. “You can’t disagree with that. You know it’s true, and look, I’m not sayingI’m upset at the idea. I know it’s who I am. I’ve always known. Just as I’ve always known who I am isno oneyou could ever relate to.”

“Is that what you think?” His frown deepens.

Now I’m frowning. Could I be wrong? “You relate to Charlie. I’mnothinglike Charlie. These are facts.”

He steps closer, skimming the length of me. “I do relate to Charlie, but I’m not Charlie, and Charlie isn’t me. We havevastlydifferent approaches to how we live inside this world.” He glimpses out at the snow-capped trees, gestures a couple fingers for me to follow him, and we end up near the glassless frame of the fire tower. Where gusts whip back at our bodies through the open window. “More than one thing can be true at once, Ben.”

I watch him gaze out. “Like what?”

He rests his self-assured eyes on mine. “You can be fragile, and you can also be the mostimportantextension of me. Of our family.”

“That’s hard to believe,” I say, even as his certainty, his control, his composure washes over me.

“Why?” His brows furrow. “We protect tender hearts like yours because they arevital.Necessary. Not everyone should be made of steel. You challenge me. You make me see things I would never see otherwise. I admire your passion, your virtue, yourfervor.You roar at injustice. You hurt for others. You give and expect nothing in return. My life—it would bedulland gray without you, mon fils courageux.”My brave son.“You paint my world with color, and I could not bear to lose you. Just as I couldn’t bear to change who you are.”

I intake a slower breath. I’m too choked to speak.

I’d thought that I was the runt they dragged along because they loved me, because they wouldn’t cut any of us loose, but I never thought my father valued me. Not for my beliefs, not for my vulnerabilities, not for my differences—I thought, ifanything, I was a negative cost. A sort of liability of the Cobalt Empire.

Not once did I consider I was a boon. It’s made me wonder if he’s told me this before in a plainer way, and I just never took it in. I never believed I could be an asset or a gift. I simply made peace with the fact that I was the worst of us.

“Why am I like this?” I ask, still choked up. I blink away the burn in my eyes. “When you tell me I’m important, I question it. When people like Coach Haddock tell me I’m NHL potential, I find reasons to disbelieve them.”