“I am calling to see when this little mid-life crisis of yours is going to wrap up.”
His lip twitched. “Do you expect me to expire before I’m eighty, Father?”
“Quarter life.”
“One hundred and twenty?” Rhys snorted an unamused sound in the back of his throat. “Do you even know how old I am?”
It was an honest question he found himself wanting to know the answer to.
“You could have bought a Lamborghini or something,” his father suggested.
“I could have bought a Bugatti,” he countered. “I didn’t want a car.”
“Do you think that moving to Myers Bluff and chasing after that McMillian boy is the answer to your problems?”
The accusation stung, and Rhys righted himself on the bed, absolutely hating how small his father made him feel. “Callahan is engaged.”
“Did he finally find himself a nice girl?”
“A man,” Rhys said softly. “He’s engaged to a man. The one from the ribbon cutting.”
His father made a disgusted sound. “Better him than you. Better than himwithyou.”
Rhys sighed. “You know Sebastian is involved with a man, right?”
“He’s the youngest,” his father said, as if that was explanation enough for Sebastian’s newfound bisexuality.
“And I’m the oldest.”
“And you’ll marry right or not at all.”
Rhys could hear the edge in his father’s tone, the threat in his words. This was a conversation they’d had many times over his life, the first being right before Callahan had graduated from St. George’s University. An entire lifetime ago, it seemed.
“I hope it pleases you to know the St. George name ends with me.”
“You’ll come around,” his father hedged, the same tired promise.
“What do you want?” Rhys asked. “It’s early.”
“I told you. I want to know when you’ll be back.”
“I don’t have plans to come back,” he said. “I like it here. I like the distance.”
“I know you better than you think, Rhys, and I know you are not going to throw away the entire empire you’ve built just because you’re tired of it.”
“That’s not what I’m tired of.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t expect you to understand. We’re not the same.”
That drew a sharp laugh from his father that had Rhys pulling the phone away from his ear in disgust. “You can think that.”
“Iknowthat.”
“I expect you back before the new year.”
“Calendar or fiscal?” Rhys taunted, even though his face was marred with misery.
“Don’t forget your place, Rhys.”
The phone beeped as the call disconnected. He’d been dismissed. As usual. His phone rang again before the screen had time to go black, and he inhaled sharply, anticipating whatever follow-up barb his father decided to shoot at the last minute.
