Page 52 of Van Cort

He sighs and leans back on the sectional, looking out his penthouse window rather than at me.

“I had no intention of coming back home after leaving for Harvard, but I did. For her. I went back to that cliff every time and spent hours trying to find a way of rectifying what I’d done.

There wasn’t an answer. As far as the world knew, it was just an accident.

She’d gone hiking on her own, slipped, fallen.

But I knew, and you knew, and you hated me for it, and then you left to deal with that however you have done.

I understood that, but we didn’t even talk about it. ” Talk?

“What did you want, Rhett, a little fucking chat about you killing her because you’re a selfish cunt?

” He doesn’t even react, just carries on drinking coffee, as if none of my spite hits home like I need it to.

“I was too fucking shocked, angry and hurt to talk about it. She was alive and calling my name one minute, and screaming then dead the next. Because of you. I never would have done that to you.”

“But you did, West. Or you might as well have done. You can’t imagine the insanity that took hold when she chose you.

I don’t even want you to, because to understand it, you’d have to have lived through what I lived through.

Survived what I survived. And you didn’t have to because of me.

” He frowns and puts his coffee down. “But the real issue on that cliff, having had all these years to think about it, was you.”

“Me? It was you, Rhett. You let her go and-”

“Sit down. Listen.” I don’t. On principle. He can’t just demand I do something anymore. Not when it comes to this discussion, anyway.

Eventually, when he realises he can’t force that move, he chooses to go stand by the window and stare out of it. “Are you interested in understanding your part in it? At all? Because I need you to, West. For River’s sake, I need you to understand and take some accountability.”

“I didn’t have any part in it. You did it. Not me.”

“Do you remember what you said to me on that cliff? You said that I couldn’t take it out on both of you because of something I chose, that you didn’t ask me to protect you, that I just did.

Do you remember that?” Vaguely. What I mainly remember is watching him let go of her because he refused to lose to me.

And then listening to her scream and die.

“That was my love, West. That was every part of me loving and saving you. It was every inch of my being thinking of you before me. Did I ever ask for thanks? No. But the one goddamned time I needed your help to solve a problem, or you to take some pain from me, and you chose to let me suffer instead. You chose that response. At no point did you say no to her, or refuse her, or give a damn about the years of pain I’d given for you. ”

Frigid air seems to fill the room around me, as if a ghost just crept into the space and whispered memories and thoughts I wasn’t prepared for. “That’s what sent me over the fucking edge, West. Not her, you. If you didn’t know that then, you do now.”

I look at his back, recognising the same breath rate heaving in and out of his chest as mine.

It takes me back to seeing him that first time after Father beat him, to his bruised skin and his bloodied face.

I’d dismissed that, until that day on the island with Andie, anyway.

Somehow, I’d forgotten his selflessness, too.

“So, yes, of course I’m sorry about her death.

I have been sorry about that for twenty years.

But I’m not sorry that I gave you and her every chance of happiness while I took the brunt of our father for you.

I’m also not sorry that she gave me the chance to find some fucking sanity in the middle of that, because you gave me nothing other than your contentment, and she was all I had left to use.

So, if you need to say something or attempt to get over the past in some way so we can move forward, get it said now. I’m listening.”

He turns to look at me, waiting for whatever I’m going to say or do. I don’t have any response, though. I’m too lost in memories and looking at things differently, remembering things differently.

“Nothing?” he asks. “No snipey comeback?” I wish I did have one, but at the moment, and in the middle of this crap, I’m just a ball of unvented energy.

Part of me wants to keep it inside, keep it swirling and churning, but without much more thought, I don’t stop my fist from lashing out.

It lands hard into his jaw, whipping it sideways and forcing him a few steps back.

He slowly turns back, a look of sheer fucking disgust on his face, and slides his hands in his pockets. We’re not fighting about her, it seems.

“You fucking deserved that. She was really special, Rhett. She was.” He nods, agreeing. “And whatever you say, you were wrong. You shouldn’t have let go of her. If you had a problem with me, I should have taken it. Not her.” Another nod.

“But she wasn’t River, was she? She wasn’t a woman, and we weren’t men, either.”

Swallowing down the guilt and confusion that’s beginning to make me feel sick, I rein back what’s left of my temper for now. “No. I suppose not.” Maybe later I’ll have thought that through enough to question any logic he just found in killing someone. Or maybe not.

“Okay. I need an answer today, then.”

I lift my gaze from the floor. “An answer to what?”

He turns and walks to a sideboard, sliding open a drawer. The leather-bound marriage contract that I originally brought to him when I first arrived is pulled out and brought over to me.

Pushing it at my chest, he forces my hand on it to hold it, and then covers mine with his.

“Your heart’s under our hands, West. It’s good and mostly whole and everything mine should have been.

Instead, I’m left with scars and fissures I’m hoping to repair.

She’s giving me that hope, and you in some ways. ”

“And you think you deserve that?”

He backs away from me, and I watch him smile the same smile he used to in the brief, sober moments of happiness we did have together. Life was good and we were free then. We had dreams, wants.

“Probably not. But I am in love with her, West. You, too, if you’re honest. We can be more than we once were.” He turns and heads for the kitchen.

“I’m still not sure you understand what the hell love actually means,” I call.

“I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?” he replies, as he disappears around the corner. “You have until three this afternoon to let me know which way this is going.”

Right.