Page 107 of Dissonance

My blunt nails dig into my palms as I listen.

“I thought you blamed me,” I admit.

His head snaps to me. “For what?”

“For…all of it. Cal was—” I stop. I pick the bottle back up, just to have something to do with my hands. “He used to follow me everywhere, wanted to know everything, what the training was like, what it felt like being away from home, whether it was worth it. I thought he’d grow out of it. Thought it was just…hero worship.” I shake my head. “I didn’t take it seriously enough. Maybe if I had, I could have talked him out of it—”

“Son.” The word cuts clean through mine, firm but not harsh. He lets out a breath through his nose, the sound laced with so much sorrow I can feel it like my own. “If I started handing out blame, I’d be first on that list.”

I swallow, a dull ache behind my eyes starting to pulse.

“Myleen blames me,” I say quietly.

“She blamed me too,” he replies, just as quietly. “That’s part of the reason we got divorced. His mom…That kind of loss…people need somewhere to put it.” He stares at the fire, shaking his head. “But that boy made his own choice. Same as you did. Same as me. And we were proud, all three of us. Serving our country mattered, and that was never a small thing. Calum knew what he was choosing, and he chose it because it meant something to him, not just because of us.”

It doesn’t change anything. My brother’s still gone, and I’m still the one who came home. But hearing it from my father is what I’ve needed for a long time. A balm over the rough and ragged edges I’ve been carrying for years.

“I knew what it could cost.” Dad continues, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, bottle hanging loose between his fingers. “Every deployment, every time you walked out that door, there was a part of me that had to accept you might not walk back through it.” His gaze shifts to me, unblinking, shadows moving over his face, over the scars I’ve known since childhood but only understood later, over the ink covering his arms, tributes to men he served with and lost. “But I still went. And I still let you go, Lockie. Both of you. Because that’s what we do. Because we were proud to.”

My throat tightens, the words settling between us, heavy, but not suffocating.

“I’m sorry I never pushed further,” Dad says, the fire burning down to embers, the night closing in around us. “I knew you were treading water. I could hear it whenever we spoke—the keeping your head up, pushing forward—but I kept our conversations surface level because I didn’t know how to start. Told myself I was respecting your space.” He thrusts a hand into his hair. “I wasn’t. It was just easier.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to go there,” I say honestly. “I assumed you blamed me the same way I blamed myself. Years of that assumption, and I never once checked if it was true.”

“It was never true, Son.”

“My therapist pointed out I wouldn’t be the only one holding on to guilt.” I drag a hand over my jaw. “Thea doesn’t know I’ve been seeing her. There’s a lot she doesn’t know yet.”

Dad raises an eyebrow.

“She probably thinks I don’t want this.” I sigh, exhausted. “At the hospital, I shut down completely. Didn’t say anything, didn’t explain. And then I came here.”

He studies me for a long second. “You left a pregnant woman alone to think the worst? Rookie mistake, Son.”

“I know, and I’m going to fix it,” I say. “Before the baby comes.”

“Do you love her?”

There’s no hesitation when I answer. “Aye.”

That gets a smile out of him. “Then don’t mess it up. Communication. That’s where I’ve always fallen short. Three marriages, and the thread running through all of them is the same. You can care deeply for someone and still lose them to silence.” He looks at me, eyes locking onto mine. “Don’t make my mistakes.”

We sit in comfortable quiet, watching as a new log catches fire in swirls of orange and gold. I lean back and look at my cabin. At the fresh paint on the window frames, the recessed lighting in the alcoves, the nursery window on the upper floor. I picture Thea moving through the space, our daughter snuggled against her as she sings lullabies or whispers stories as she falls asleep.

It’s not finished, but it’s close. Closer than it’s ever been.

“Thanks for coming up, Dad.”

“Don’t wait so long next time.” He nudges his boot into mine before pushing to his feet. “I’m gonna head inside and get some sleep.”

I nod, watching him tidy around the small space. His hand lands on my shoulder, solid and brief as he passes. “Love you, Son.”

“Love you, too.”

His footsteps fade as he heads inside, and I stay where I am. The fire crackles, joining the faint chirp of crickets, the steady ripple of the stream somewhere beyond the tree line. That weight in my chest is still there. It probably always will be, some version of it, but it’s not something I have to outrun anymore.

Chapter Forty-Three