71. The Sins We Inherit
CHAPTER 71
THE SINS WE INHERIT
NATE
I'm sitting in the car, knuckles white against black leather, watching the neon sign above Furlo's flicker like a dying heartbeat. Each breath feels like swallowing glass, sharp and cold against my throat. The parking lot stretches before me, a canvas of shadows and regret.
My phone illuminates the darkness again—Nora. The voicemail notification blinks accusingly, her words from earlier echoing in my mind: "I'm with you, Nate. No more hiding."
The truth sits heavy in my chest.
I can't drag her into this anymore.
She deserves better than someone who carries destruction in their DNA. She broke through every wall I built, only to find herself in the middle of my personal hell. That's my specialty—corrupting everything pure that dares to touch my life. Maybe it's the universe's twisted way of saying I don't get the fairytale ending. No girl, no dreams, no shot at redemption. Just my father's legacy of rage wrapped in designer suits and trust fund guilt.
Another call lights up the screen. I throw the phone onto the passenger seat, watching her name fade to black. It feels like watching my last chance at happiness slip through my fingers. The night air hits me as I step out. There's a sick irony in heading into another bar, choosing another fight—becoming everything I swore I'd never be. But this—this familiar dance of anger and self-destruction—is the only home I've ever known.
The bar door creaks open, and the thick wall of stale beer and cigarette smoke wraps around me like an old friend. That's when I see him—Scott Sullivan himself, hunched over the bar like some regular working man drowning his sorrows. A woman leans close, her laughter carrying across the room, her manicured hand resting on his arm like she can't feel the poison beneath his skin. Something primordial awakens in my chest. This bastard, playing an eligible bachelor while systematically destroying everyone who shares his blood. Mom, me, and now Jake—we're all just collateral damage in his grand performance of life.
I move toward them, each step weighted with two decades of fury.
"You look like a smart girl," I say, my voice slicing through the ambient noise. The woman startles; Scott doesn't even flinch. Just sits there, tumbler in hand, waiting for the show. "The guy you're thinking about fucking is a piece of shit with a wife and two sons he pretends don't exist. Isn't that right, Dad ?"
She gathers her dignity along with her purse and disappears into the crowd. Scott's pathetic, "Kelly, wait!" follows her retreat.
"Are you fucking serious?" The rage burns familiar paths through my veins. "You've got some serious nerve sitting here while your real life's a fucking train wreck."
"Lower your voice," he slurs, bloodshot eyes struggling to focus. "I don't need a scene."
Of course. Drunk and high in his thousand-dollar suit, straight from his moment of triumph at Eden's gala to this dive bar. And I'm supposedly the family disappointment.
"A scene?" I lean close enough to taste the whiskey on his breath. "You haven't seen one yet. You've already destroyed Mom's life. Mine. And now Jake? Was that part of the master plan? I told you to walk away and never come near us again. But you just couldn't help yourself, could you?"
His jaw tightens, eyes going glacial. "And what are you going to do, son?" The last word drips with contempt.
"You only have one son, remember? And it sure as hell isn't me. You're a fucking disgrace," I spit, hating how my voice betrays me, hating how after all these years, he can still reduce me to that terrified nine-year-old boy.
"And you're my biggest disappointment." The words slide off his tongue like a practiced script.
"Your insults don't cut like they used to." But even as I say it, an old wound throbs—that desperate need for approval I've never managed to excise. "Nothing you say hurts me anymore."
His smirk is surgical in its cruelty. "You know what your problem is, Nate? You think I'm the villain while your mother's some kind of saint." He leans closer, words burning like acid. "You might want to fact-check that story."
Confusion slices through my anger. "Don't talk about her to me. You lost that right years ago."
He responds by downing his drink, wielding silence like another weapon. The fury builds in my chest, drowning out everything good, everything I've fought to become. All of it eclipsed by his toxic shadow.
"You hate me," my voice cracks, and I despise myself for letting him hear it. "You've always hated me. What the fuck did I do to you that was so bad?"
His only answer is another swallow of whiskey, and somehow that cuts deeper than any insult. Because even now, some broken part of me still wants answers. Still needs to understand why I wasn't enough.
The silence stretches dangerous and thin, until something ancient and dark breaks loose inside me.
"I wish it had been you instead of David. At least he knew how to be an actual father." The words tear free like barbed wire, carrying years of accumulated poison.
Scott's face twists into something inhuman. "Then maybe your mother should've fucked him instead." His laugh scrapes against my nerves. "Who knows, she probably already did."
The words detonate in my chest, and suddenly my hands are moving on pure instinct, fingers curling into his expensive collar. I slam him against the bar with a sound that echoes through my bones.
"Every ounce of hate you have for me? It's doubled when I think about how much I despise you," I roar, voice shattering. Each word is a bullet I've been saving, each syllable weighted with memories of broken furniture and my mother's tears. "Every time you hurt her, every time you tore us apart, did it feel good? Was the control worth your one-way ticket to hell?"
Scott laughs, and I see myself through the years—at eight, hiding in closets; at twelve, standing between him and mom; at sixteen, nursing split knuckles and a broken heart. Every version of myself that he created pulses beneath my skin.
"I should have never let her keep you." He spits the words like venom, and for a moment, I'm that little boy again, desperate for love that would never come.
I raise my fist, years of rage compressed into five knuckles, but suddenly there are hands pulling me back.
"Nate!" Jay's voice cuts through the red haze. He drags me away with surprising strength, and I let him because some small part of me knows—this isn't who I am. This isn't who I fought to become. "You don't need to go to jail right now, man. Walk it off."
Scott stumbles up, adjusting his suit like armor, his sneer a perfect mirror of my childhood nightmares.
The bartender's voice cuts through. "Get out, Sullivan, before I call the cops."
I watch him leave, chest heaving, body vibrating with aftershocks of rage and something deeper—grief for the father I never had. Jay's hand on my shoulder pulls me back to reality.
"How'd you find me?" The words scrape past my lips.
"Nora called," Jay says simply. "Said you were in a bad way after seeing your dad. I figured you'd follow him here." Jay squeezes my shoulder, grounding me. "For what it's worth," he says, voice low and sincere, "I've always thought your dad was a piece of shit. And you've never been anything like him."
I nod mechanically, but the words can't compete with the voice in my head—his voice—telling me I'll never be enough. Never be worthy. And now he's got Jake too, molding my brother into his image while I stand here, drowning in the same old rage that's been my only constant companion.
"Come on," Jay says. "Let's get you back to your girl."
The words slice fresh wounds.
My girl.
The truth settles like lead—she's not mine. She never will be. Not with this anger inside me, this curse running through my veins. I've spent so long trying to be anything but him, and tonight proves what I've always feared: I'm my father's son after all.
And that's exactly why I have to let her go.