Chapter 4 #3
"Grant mentioned you were left…," Devon said carefully. “…your grandfather's gun collection?"
"Fifteen guns. All meticulously maintained, all with paperwork documenting their history." Gabe's laugh was bitter. "David kept them all these years. Said in the will that he didn't know if I'd want them given what my grandfather did, but he thought I should be the one to decide their fate."
The bartender appeared with three more bourbons, and Devon waited until she left before responding. "That's a hell of a thing to inherit."
"I don't want them," Gabe said flatly. "But I'm terrified of what happens if I get rid of them.
What if a collector buys them and turns them into a macabre trophy?
'The guns that belonged to Jasper Callaway's enforcer.
' What if they end up on the black market?
What if selling them profits someone who romanticizes what my grandfather did? "
"You could destroy them," Bryson suggested.
"Could I?" Gabe looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "These are historical artifacts, whether I like it or not. My grandfather murdered a man, but that doesn't erase the fact that these guns are part of this valley's history. Dark history, but history nonetheless."
Mason arrived, sliding into the booth. "What'd I miss?"
"Gabe's wrestling with some difficult choices," Devon said, then gave Mason a quick summary.
"That's rough, man." Mason had moved to Stone Bridge nearly ten years ago after meeting Sandy on a golf trip, and while he'd learned the town's history, he didn't carry the same weight of it that the locals did.
"For what it's worth, I think there's honor in not profiting from it. Maybe donate them to a museum? Let them be educational rather than glorified? I bet Emery could help with that.”
"Maybe." Gabe didn't sound convinced. He pulled out his wallet, fumbling with it before extracting a worn photograph. "But that's not the only thing that's been messing with my head."
He set the photo on the table. Devon leaned closer, studying the image. A young woman—had to be Gabe's mother based on the resemblance—stood wrapped in the arms of a man Devon recognized even in his twenties. David Callaway.
"I found this when I was helping my parents clean out their attic a few years ago," Gabe said quietly. "Stuck in a box of my mom's old things. I don't know why I took it. Don't know why I've kept it hidden in my wallet all this time."
“I guess I knew your mom dated David,” Bryson said before taking a sip of his bourbon.
“She never hid that fact. It was before she met my dad, obviously. But she never liked to talk about it, and I've never asked." Gabe traced the edge of the photo with his finger. "But look at them. The way he's holding her. The way she's leaning into him. That's not casual. That's..."
“Puppy love,” Mason finished, waving his hand over the image. “It means nothing. You should see the photographs I have of my ex. You’d swear I was in love with the crazy woman.”
“The one that’s in prison?” Bryson asked.
“The same one.” Mason leaned back as the waitress slipped another bourbon onto the table.
“It’s just weird looking at it.” Gabe's voice cracked slightly. "And I can't stop thinking—what if I'm the third child?"
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Devon exchanged glances with Bryson across the table.
"Have you asked your parents?" Devon asked.
"How do I ask them that? 'Hey, Mom and Dad, am I actually David Callaway's son?
'" Gabe laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"My parents have been married for thirty-five years.
They're happy. They've built a good life.
If my mom had a relationship with David before she married my dad, that's her business. But if I'm his son..."
"It would explain why David left you something in his will," Mason said.
"Or it could just be that David was a decent man who wanted to return something that belonged to my family," Gabe countered. "A gesture of closure or respect or whatever."
"When was this picture taken?" Bryson asked, pulling it closer to examine.
"I don't know. There's no date on the back.
My mom's not wearing any identifying jewelry, and there's no background to help place it. Her hairstyle and color have been the same since she was in her early twenties. I’m assuming it was before they moved away, which was before I was conceived, but years after the incident.” Gabe took a long drink.
"I've stared at this thing for hours trying to figure it out. "
"You could get it dated," Devon suggested. "Photo experts can sometimes narrow down timelines based on the film type and processing methods."
"And then what? Confirm that it was taken right around the time I was conceived?" Gabe shook his head. "That doesn't prove anything. Just makes the questions louder."
Devon watched his friend struggle, seeing the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. "Do you want it to be true?"
Gabe opened his mouth, closed it, then took another drink before answering.
"I don't know. David was a good man. Better than my grandfather, certainly.
But my dad—the man who raised me—he's the best father I could have asked for.
Finding out he's not my biological father.
.." He paused. "That would break something.
Even if he knew all along, even if my parents had some arrangement, it would change everything. "
"Not necessarily," Mason said. "Biology doesn't define family. Sandy's got a half-brother she didn't meet until she was twenty. Didn't change how she felt about the siblings she grew up with."
"It's different when you're the one potentially discovering you're not who you thought you were." Gabe stared at the photo. "I've built my entire identity on being Gabriel Maxwell, son of Robert and Anne Maxwell. What happens if I'm actually Gabriel Callaway?"
"You're still you," Bryson said firmly. "DNA doesn't change who you've become, the choices you've made, the man you are."
"Doesn't it, though? What if being David's son explains things about me? The way I am with wine, my connection to the land, the fact that working with vines has always felt like coming home." Gabe's voice grew more agitated. "What if I've been living someone else's life this whole time?"
"Stop," Devon said, his voice cutting through Gabe's spiral. "You're catastrophizing. You don't even know if this is real."
"The will mentioned a third child. The timing works. My mom clearly had a relationship with David that meant something." Gabe gestured helplessly at the photo. "How can I ignore that?"
"You can't," Mason said. "But you also can't let it consume you before you have any facts."
"According to the will, Winston and Callie have three months to find whoever it is,” Gabe said. “What if they come looking at me? What if they've already figured it out?"
Devon hadn't considered that angle. "Would they tell you if they had?"
"I don't know. Winston barely acknowledges my existence most of the time. Finding out I might be his half-brother?" Gabe laughed bitterly. "That would probably make him hate me even more."
"Or it might not be you at all," Bryson pointed out. "You're spiraling based on a photograph and circumstantial timing. Your parents could have a perfectly innocent explanation.”
"Then why did my mom keep the photo? Why hide it away in a box in the attic?" Gabe's hands were shaking now. "People don't hold onto pictures like this unless they mean something."
Devon reached over and gripped Gabe's shoulder. "Listen to me. Whatever the truth is, it doesn't change the fact that you're our brother. Not by blood, maybe, but by choice. You've been part of the Stone Bridge family for eight years. That doesn't go away."
"Devon's right," Bryson added. "Whatever you find out, whatever happens with this inheritance situation, you're not alone in it.”
Gabe's eyes were wet. "I don't even know if I want to know the truth. Some questions are better left unasked, right?"
"That depends," Mason said. "Can you live with not knowing? Because that photo in your wallet suggests you've been carrying this question for years already."
"I thought I could ignore it. Convince myself it didn't matter." Gabe carefully returned the photo to his wallet. "But then David died and left me those guns and mentioned a third child in his will, and suddenly I can't stop thinking about it."
"Have you talked to Olivia about any of this?" Devon asked.
"How can I? She's still devastated about the miscarriage. She’s been trying to pull herself out of it and she’s been doing better.
The last thing she needs is me having an identity crisis on top of everything else.
" Gabe rubbed his face. "She thinks I'm upset about the guns. Which I am, but not for the reasons she believes.”
"You need to tell her," Bryson said gently. "Keeping this from her isn't protecting her. It's isolating both of you. And maybe call your folks. They’re good people.”
"I know. I just..." Gabe's voice broke. "What if I'm not who she married? What if finding out I'm David Callaway's son changes everything?"
"It won't change the fact that she loves you," Devon said.
"You don't know that."
"I do. Because love isn't about DNA or family trees or any of that.
It's about who you are, the life you've built together, the person you choose to be every day.
" Devon squeezed Gabe's shoulder again. "You're a good man.
That doesn't change regardless of who your biological father is. You should talk to Emery. Being adopted has never defined her family.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the noise of the bar washing over them.
Finally, Gabe spoke again. "I keep thinking about what David wrote in the will.
About wanting this third child to be found and given their inheritance.
What if that's me? What if he knew all along and this was his way of trying to make it right? "
"Or what if it's not you," Mason said. "What if David had another relationship entirely, another child you don't know about?"
"Then why leave me the guns? Why that specific gesture?" Gabe sighed.
"Because your grandfather worked for his father," Bryson said. "Because David was a decent man who probably felt guilty about what happened to your family when everything collapsed. The guns could be exactly what they seem—a gesture of closure, nothing more."
"But what if they're not?" Gabe looked around the table, his expression desperate. "What if I'm supposed to figure this out and I'm too scared to ask the questions that need asking?"
Devon didn't have an answer for that. None of them did.
"All I know," Devon said, "is that you don't have to figure it out alone. Whatever you decide—whether to investigate this or let it lie, whether to keep the guns or get rid of them, whether to ask your parents or not—we're here. The whole family. You understand that, right?"
Gabe nodded, though tears were streaming down his face now. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't be falling apart like this."
"You're human," Mason said. "And you've been hit with a lot all at once. Give yourself permission to feel."
"I don't even know what I'm feeling," Gabe admitted. "Scared? Curious? Angry? All of it at once?"
"That sounds about right for this situation," Bryson said.
They ordered another round, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as Gabe slowly pulled himself together. But Devon couldn't stop thinking about that photograph, about the way young David Callaway had held Gabe's mother, about the timing and the will and the guns.
If Gabe were David's son, it would explain so much. But it would also complicate everything—for Gabe, for Winston and Callie, for the entire valley.
And somewhere in the back of Devon's mind, a small voice wondered, if Gabe wasn't the third child, then who was?