“What do you mean?”
“You’ve always had big ideas.” Dad smiled, the chair creaking under his weight as he angled toward Cade. “Even when you were a kid. You’re a go-getter. A prankster.” He laughed. “As evidenced by all the times I bailed you out.”
He didn’t need reminding. But his dad was smiling. Cade frowned. “You thought that was funny?”
“Creative more than funny.” Dad shook his head. “My point is, you always shot for the moon. You love big. You feel big. You put yourself out there, for better or for worse. This is one of those ‘worse’ times.”
Cade stared at his hands, not even realizing he’d clenched them in his lap. He let go, watching his skin flood with color again. “I let you down a lot, growing up. I don’t want to do that again.”
Dad removed his glasses. “You’ve most certainly never let me down.”
“Come on. You had to practically bribe the principal to keep me from getting expelled.”
“That man was a joke.” Dad smirked. “He couldn’t see past his angel-child’s halo to realize there were horns on the kid’s head.”
Cade stilled. “So you knew Justin was the real issue? Why didn’t you let on?”
“It’s called diplomacy. I navigated the situation so that it was best for everyone. Besides, I couldn’t let you think that was the way to solve your problems—even if I did think that kid deserved a fist in the nose.”
Huh. “I always thought you were disappointed in me.”
Dad waved his hand through the air. “It was bad timing…on election year if I remember right.” He met Cade’s gaze. “Butneverdisappointed.”
“But I’m a Landry.” Cade hadn’t intended to give himself the speech, but someone had to do it. “Doesn’t not running make us look bad? I’m not stepping up to fill your shoes. I’m failing the family name.”
Mom swept through the room, a red coffee mug in hand. “Here you go.” She proudly presented it to Cade, clearly oblivious to the tension in the room.
Cade looked down into the nearly transparent brown liquid and managed to hide his shudder. “Thanks, Mom.”
“I’ll let you two keep talking.” She slipped back into the kitchen.
Dad watched her go, his expression pensive. “Like all parents, I’m sure there are things we could have done differently. I hate that you feel like you have to hide how you feel because of our name. Like with this campaign. Choosing not to run is not failure. It’s just a little surprising—I thought that was your ultimate goal all along, when you came home from Yale and didn’t pursue law.”
Cade stared into his mug. “While we’re on that subject…you should probably know I didn’t change careers by choice.” He looked up, determined to say it to his father’s face. “I didn’t pass the bar.”
Dad nodded. “I know.”
“You—what?” Cade stared at his father, who looked completely serious. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I figured you didn’t want me to know, or you’d have told me yourself.”
Cade blinked at him. “Are you serious?”
“That’s a hard test.” Dad shrugged. “Not everyone passes the first try. Doesn’t mean you’re a failure. The bigger issue is why you didn’t just try again.”
Because failing twice felt like tenfold.
Dad’s expression sobered. “Look, son. You have choices here. If you want to run for mayor because you’re interested in the job, I’ll support you. If you want to keep doing what you’re doing, that’s fine too. We’ll find another candidate. But the last thing I want is for you to wake up with your own stress-related health problems in a few years.” He winced. “Learn from my mistakes.”
“It might be too late for that one.” Cade risked a sip of coffee, wincing at the watery texture. “I’ve had some anxiety flare-ups lately, and I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle all of this.”
“No one can handle everything.” Dad replaced his glasses. “The question is—what do you want?”
Cade’s throat tightened along with his grip on his mug. A drop splashed over the side, landed on the couch. “I’m not sure what I want.”
No, that wasn’t true. He wanted Rosalyn to stay in the Bay. He wanted to help bring the town back to its full potential. He wanted tohelppeople. “You know, one of my most vivid memories is when you were inaugurated. I was ten, and I had this red-and-blue striped tie.”
“I remember.” Dad smiled. “Your mom spent a week picking out your outfit. I think she stressed over it more than mine.”
