by Sara Desai
“So that’s it.” Liam poured from one of the open bottles. He thought he’d feel sad or even angry with Brendan, but he was numb inside. “The end of an era.”
“Or the beginning of a new one. It depends how you look at it.” Brendan took his glass. “I know you were worried about the employees. I’ll make sure they’re all taken care of. There will be more than enough money after the sale to be generous.”
“I appreciate it. Some of them have been around for over twenty years. I can’t even imagine how it felt to hear the distillery was shutting down. It must have been quite a shock.”
“Kind of like finding out your brother left town with your mom without telling anyone what was going on,” Brendan said with a hollow laugh.
Whoa. Liam’s breath left him in a rush. Where did that come from? He’d come home thinking maybe there was a chance he could repair his relationship with his brother, and giving up the distillery had been a big part of that, but it was clear Brendan still carried a lot of resentment. “You didn’t see her that night.”
“I was at college over thirteen hundred miles away.”
Liam drained his glass, one hand fisted on his knee. “I didn’t have time to call you. She was in bad shape. And it was my fault. She’d given me money to rent a tux to take Daisy to the prom and—”
“Daisy?” Brendan froze, his hand on his glass. “That story about knowing her in the past was legit?”
“Yes. We reconnected at a tech conference. She’s Sanjay’s little sister.” Now that Brendan was actually talking to him, he didn’t want to share that it had started exactly as Brendan had suspected, because it was now that mattered, and now that was real.
“Stuff happened the night of the prom that meant I didn’t get the tux back to the rental place in time,” he said. “They couldn’t get in touch with me, but the owner of the store knew Mom, so he called the house. Dad answered the phone . . .”
“Oh Christ.” Brendan’s jaw tightened.
“He went ballistic because she’d given me the money without asking him.” His voice wavered, cracked. “Bren, I can’t even tell you what it was like to walk into the house and see her like that, lying in a pool of blood.” His hand closed around the glass, squeezing it so hard his knuckles turned white. “I thought she was dead.”
“Jesus.” Brendan muttered under his breath. “She was always doing things like that, always trying to help us out when she knew she would suffer for it.”
“He wouldn’t have known about it if I’d returned the tux on time.” Liam’s shoulders slumped under the weight of his guilt. “That was the last straw. I wasn’t going to let him touch her again. I told her she had to leave because the next time I saw him it was going to be him or me, and I didn’t want to spend my life in jail. I think she knew the next time would be the last. She agreed to go. We packed up the car and I drove her to a hospital out of state and arranged for Aunt Jean to come from Florida to get her. Then I came back for my motorcycle and got the hell out of the city while he was still passed out.” His chest heaved, and he poured another drink. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the whole damn distillery to erase his memory of that night.
“I didn’t know it had gotten so bad,” Brendan said quietly. “Mom called to tell me you’d helped her get away. I was so relieved she was finally free of him, but I have to admit I resented you for doing what I couldn’t do, and for getting out when I knew I’d have to go back and help him run the company, and you and mom wouldn’t be there.”
“Since we’re sharing . . .” Liam drew in a shuddering breath. “I resented you for doing nothing to stop him when we were young, and then for blowing out of there for college and leaving me alone with a man who thought I was a worthless, no-good piece of shit.”
Brendan’s breaths came faster, heavier. “I’m not you, Liam,” he snapped. “I don’t have your strength—facing him down at thirteen was something I didn’t have in me. But I did what I could. I hid his bottles, watered down his liquor, and took his keys. I’d ask Mom to take me shopping just to get her out, or I’d take you to the playground. I would ask him to watch a game, throw a ball in the park, or I’d just try and talk him down, even though spending time with him was the last thing I wanted to do.”
Liam’s glass slipped from his fingers, thudding softly on the bar as he tried to process everything Brendan had told him. After all these years of thinking his brother had been sucking up to their father, he’d been trying to protect him and their mom in his own way. He took a deep, pained breath and closed his eyes. “Bren . . . I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t,” he said, not unkindly.
When Liam opened his eyes again, Brendan was staring into space, holding his glass loosely in his hand. “I tried to protect you, but you didn’t seem to need me. All the verbal abuse he threw at you just rolled off your back.”
“If it had, I’d be with Daisy right now.” Liam’s voice was thick and hoarse. “I heard every negative word he said about me. I felt them. I carry them with me, and I can’t let them go.”
“He didn’t think you were worthless, Liam. Just the opposite.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He didn’t want to hear a story about his dad that wasn’t exactly like the one in his head. He’d spent too long hating the old man, too long trying to prove something to someone who didn’t care.
“He envied you because you were everything Grandpa had wanted him to be, and you were a constant reminder that he’d let his father down. You were smart, strong, brave, loyal, and honest. Not only that, he couldn’t control you because you didn’t put up with his shit. When he couldn’t break you with his fists, he tried to break you with his words. Grandpa told him once that you were a better man, more worthy of his legacy at thirteen than he would ever be, and he intended to leave the distillery to you. That’s what set him off the night he broke your arm.”
Worthy. Because of who he was, and not what he’d done. The goal he’d been pursuing all his life had been inside him all along.
Emotion welled up in his chest. They’d never been an affectionate family so the closest he could get to a hug was to clap Brendan on the shoulder. “Thank you for telling me. For everything.”
“And you.” Brendan turned away, but not before Liam saw his eyes glisten.
“They’re starting now,” Joe called out from the door. “Bulldozer is on its way to the rickhouse. You want to watch?”
“Tell Jaxon I’ll be right there,” Brendan said.
“He’s not with me.” Joe stepped inside, frowning. “I haven’t seen him since Liam arrived.”
Brendan’s breath hitched and he rose quickly from his seat. “I sent him out to see you.”
“I’ll take a look around,” Joe said.
“You don’t think he would have gone into one of the buildings?” Brendan made his way quickly toward the door with Liam close behind.
“Jaxon’s not like me,” Liam assured him. “He doesn’t break the rules. He might just be playing nearby—probably in the field with his plane . . .”
“Liam . . .” Brendan’s voice trembled.
“We’ll find him, Bren.” Nausea roiled in his belly and he feigned a confidence he didn’t feel in the least. “Don’t worry.”
Ten minutes later, after a quick search of the parking lot and the distillery grounds, they met up with Joe.
“I checked the malt house, the mash tun, and the stillroom. He’s not there.”
“I need to call Lauren.” Brendan pulled out his phone, his hand shaking.
“You’ll just scare her,” Liam said. “It will take her over an hour to get out here and she’ll be totally panicked when she’s driving. Let’s look again. If we don’t find him in the next ten minutes, then give her a call. I’m sure we’ll find him. He’s only five years old. How far could he go?”
A tremendous crash s
tartled him and he looked over just as the wall of the rickhouse crumbled.
“Jesus Christ. Didn’t anyone tell them to stop?”
All the blood drained from Brendan’s face. “What if he’s inside?” His voice rose to a panicked pitch. “I can’t lose him. I didn’t think after Dad I could love anyone, but Jaxon and Lauren, they’re everything to me.”
Liam had never thought he could love anyone, either. Family had meant only pain and hurt, betrayal and disappointment. But then Jaxon had been born and his walls had started to crumble. After his dad died and he’d reconnected with his grandfather, a sliver of light had reached his heart. And then he’d met Daisy again. She hadn’t measured his worth in the amount of money he had, or the number of letters after his name. She liked him for who he was and how he made her feel. She had opened him up to a world of love and laughter, hope and happiness. And he had let her slip away.
“You won’t lose him. Not if I have anything to do with it.” Heart pounding, Liam ran over to the bulldozer and waved at the driver to stop. He told the contractor to stand his men down and raced into the partially fallen building.
Despite the gaping hole in the wall, the room was cool and quiet, the empty casks still standing in rows. Now, more than ever, it reminded him of the inside of a Spanish galleon, and he remembered telling Jaxon how he’d played pirates here when he was a boy. He looked down the longest row to the wall at the back and knew in an instant where to find his nephew.
“Brendan!” He shouted over his shoulder. “I know where he is.”
Together, they ran to the back of the rickhouse and found Jaxon crouched behind the old Murphy cask with a sharp stick in his hand. Biting back a sob, Brendan hugged Jaxon to his chest.
“What were you doing here?” he scolded, although his voice was shaking. “We were looking everywhere for you.”
“Your name was missing.” Oblivious to the panic he’d caused, Jaxon pointed to the cask that bore the names of all the Murphy men. “I wanted to carve it into the wood. I thought if your name was there then you wouldn’t knock the distillery down and when I grew up it could be mine.”
Brendan stroked Jaxon’s hair, and sighed. “I’d like to save it, too, but the distillery is old and falling apart, and we need to sell the land to save our company.”
“Can’t we fix it?” Jaxon asked. “You and me and Uncle Liam could work together. We could keep just this piece. I want to be a Murphy son.”
Brendan met Liam’s gaze over Jaxon’s head, and his lips pressed together in a slight grimace. “I’d like that, bud. I was always jealous that your Uncle Liam got to spend his time here with your great-grandfather. But he’s going to be living in New York, and I have the car business to look after . . .”
“But I can help.” Jaxon’s lower lip quivered. “I know all about the distillery. Uncle Liam showed me. And you hate your work. I heard you tell Mom.”
Liam ruffled his hair. “Sometimes adults say things they don’t mean.”
Brendan sat heavily on the old wooden floor. “And sometimes they mean what they say. He’s right. I hate it. It’s not what I wanted to do with my life. I joined the company to help Dad create a new family legacy, but in the end . . .” His voice quavered dangerously. “It was an empty shell. He’d taken everything of value and destroyed it.”
Until this moment, Liam had always thought Brendan was happy to follow in their father’s footsteps. It had never occurred to him his brother had dreams of his own. He touched Brendan lightly on the shoulder. “What about making this your legacy? Sell the company and get the distillery up and running again?”
“You don’t know how many times Lauren and I have talked about walking away . . .” Brendan shook his head. “But I couldn’t do it alone. It’s too big of a task.”
Liam’s pulse kicked up a notch as an idea formed in his mind. “What if I joined you?”
“You?” Brendan’s voice rose in disbelief. “What about New York? The partnership?”
“You’ve made me realize that I won’t find my self-worth in a partnership title if I haven’t found it first in myself. And I think that journey for me begins here with you and Jaxon and Lauren and Daisy.” He pulled out his grandfather’s knife and handed it to Brendan. “Jaxon’s right. There’s a name missing.”
Brendan took the knife, ran his thumb over the worn wooden handle. “Jaxon had a good idea about selling off some of the land and keeping the distillery. We could use the money to partially fund the refurbishment . . .”
We. A small word with so much meaning. It meant forgiveness, love, and acceptance. It meant closing old wounds and moving forward.
It meant home.
• 31 •
“SURPRISE!”
Daisy groaned as she closed the front door. Not again. She’d been looking forward to a quiet dinner with her dad and Priya before spending the evening preparing a revised pitch deck for Tanya. With Mia and Josh back in the office and a huge list of new responsibilities, it wasn’t easy to get any work done.
She dodged Layla’s nieces, who were chasing each other through the house, picked up two stray squeaky toys and put them in Max’s basket, tidied the enormous pile of shoes in the hall, and picked up three plates of half-eaten jalebis to take to the kitchen.
It was chaos as usual.
Jana Auntie was at the stove cooking pork vindaloo, and Lakshmi Auntie was rolling naan on the counter. Taara Auntie was stacking plastic containers of brown soup in the fridge, and Salena Auntie and Hari Uncle were arranging plates of appetizers while Mehar Auntie practiced dance moves in the hallway.
“Is this party for Dad and Priya’s wedding?” The sangeet was in two days, but she hadn’t heard about any planned get-togethers before then.
“Make way!” Priya wrestled a giant pink bakery box through the back door. “I’ve got another dessert. I’ve been trying new piping techniques, so this cake might be over the top for a meet-the-fiancé night, but I don’t think anyone is going to complain.”
“‘Meet the fiancé’?” Daisy racked her brain, trying to think which of her cousins were on the marriage market.
“I’m back!” Layla walked into the kitchen with Sam behind her. “Who needed the cayenne?”
“Over here.” Jana Auntie held out a hand. “I heard he likes his vindaloo extra hot.”
Vindaloo? Extra hot? Daisy’s skin prickled in warning.
“This is so exciting!” Mehar Auntie clapped her hands and spun around, almost knocking the box from Priya’s hands.
“Mehar! Go outside and dance with the girls,” Jana Auntie said. “They’re rampaging through the house. I think they might have broken the furniture in Daisy’s room. When I went in there to find them, everything was in pieces.” She gave Daisy a sympathetic look. “We’ll make sure it’s all fixed up for you. They must have been jumping on the bed. I can’t believe they would be so naughty.”
“It’s okay, Auntie-ji.” Daisy grimaced. “I was trying to redecorate, and it . . . all came apart.” She looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Dad?”
A smile spread across Priya’s face. “Out for coffee with your fiancé.”
“My fiancé?” Daisy’s knees trembled and she grabbed the counter. “What are you talking about?”
“Limb!” Salena Auntie pinched her cheeks. “Limb is coming to meet the family.”
* * *
• • •
LIAM trusted his instincts. Growing up with an abusive alcoholic meant that he had learned to read the subtle signs of impending danger. A tense phone call. A heavy footstep. A raised voice. He knew all the triggers, and he knew when to make himself scarce.
His instincts had screamed at him to make himself scarce before he’d walked into the small café around the corner from the Patels’ house. But one smile from the man who had been like a father to him, and he knew he’d made the right decisio
n when he’d called Mr. Patel the previous day and asked for a chance to explain.
Mr. Patel stood to shake Liam’s hand. “I was glad to hear from you. I owe you an apology. My behavior at the hospital wasn’t good. I should have heard you out, but it was all such a shock.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Liam said. “I’m the one who was in the wrong. Daisy was on my motorcycle.”
“And you saved her.” Mr. Patel shook his head. “There will be no more talk about it.”
A waitress came to take their order, and they talked briefly about Mr. Patel’s trip to Belize and Liam’s work as a VC until they’d been served. Liam sipped his coffee, unsure how to begin.
Taking pity on him, Mr. Patel gave an encouraging nod. “So, you wanted to tell me what happened the night of the prom . . .”
Liam poured out his soul, telling Mr. Patel the full story about the accident and his decision to leave San Francisco. He left nothing out except Sanjay’s involvement. He’d made a promise, and that part of the story was Sanjay’s to tell.
He didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d walked into the café, but tears, spilled coffee, and Mr. Patel jumping up to pull him out of his seat for a hug wasn’t it.
“Liam . . .” Mr. Patel choked on his words. “I knew you were a good boy. I knew you had an explanation. I won’t say I wasn’t hurt, or that my heart didn’t break for Daisy, but now I understand.” He pulled away, still holding Liam by the shoulders, his teary eyes intense. “What you did . . . the sacrifices you made . . . I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own son.”
Liam swallowed past the lump in his throat. Christ. Where were the damn napkins? Why had he agreed to meet Mr. Patel in such a public place?
While Mr. Patel apologized to the server who had come to mop up the table, Liam sank into his seat, grateful for the chance to gather his thoughts. Beyond his wildest dreams, he’d been offered forgiveness, sympathy, and understanding. He was worthy. It should have been enough. But there was one more thing he needed.