Chapter 51
“It’s early in the morning to be drinking,” Eric Gilliam said, easing onto the barstool next to him in the lounge of Hotel Braganza.
Everett stared at the tumbler filled with Bishop’s Reserve neat, then took another sip of the premium rum. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“Sparkling water, please,” his dad said to the bartender, then turned on the stool to face Everett. “Rocco okay with you drinking?”
Everett chuckled. “No. So I’m not going to tell him. Remington’s taking her nursing duties to the extreme, so if there are any bad effects, she’ll have me in the ER before I can say a damn thing.”
“Glad she’s on top of it.” The bartender placed the bottle of Pellegrino in front of his dad, then walked away. “And I’m very happy that the two of you are back together.”
“Me too.”
“The two of you have been through a lot, so I thought I’d take a couple of items off your to-do list.”
“Like what?” Everett raised an eyebrow. Today of all days, the last thing he needed was his father being extra fatherly.
He’d always revered his dad for so many things he couldn’t begin to count.
He’d grown up feeling lucky to have a father like Eric, but not because of the family lineage.
His dad was always present in his life, knowing when he needed a father as a friend and when he needed a father to be a father.
Their relationship was one of the most important in his life.
And that’s why today, it was harder for him to accept.
“The house on the island is going to be too far a commute for Remi, going to work at the farm every day. So, I maneuvered a few leases and got the two of you Penthouse B at Harmony Towers.”
“Are you serious?” Everett asked, but he already knew the answer.
Harmony Towers was one of the newer luxury high-rises in his parents’ Caribbean real estate portfolio.
It was in a prime location in downtown Marluna on St. Basil in the heart of the St. Basil Entertainment District.
“Remington’s going to love living there. ”
“I thought so. Perfect location. All the restaurants and clubs of St. BED at your fingertips and only a twenty-minute drive to Black Spade Ranch.” His dad leaned closer. “What’s bothering you, son?”
Everett shook his head. He didn’t want to get into it, but he knew when his dad wasn’t going to let an issue go. Resisting the conversation would be harder than having it.
“Do you know what today is?”
Eric frowned, tapped his phone to look at the date, then let the device go dark. “Should I?”
“Your other … son … is being laid to rest today.”
His father didn’t flinch. “I’m a father to only one son. That’s you.”
Everett rolled his eyes. “So, you’re not going to acknowledge him even now that he’s dead.”
“There was never a DNA test to prove anything.”
“He ran one on me.”
His father took a long swig from the bottle of sparkling water. “Doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything. He was my half-brother?—”
“He was as despicable as that conniving mother of his,” his father said. “That bitch drugged me to get me to sleep with her, then thought she could cash in on my money with her spawn. I wasn’t falling for it.”
“I can’t believe you cheated on Mom.”
“What part of I was drugged did you miss?” Anger flashed in his father’s blue eyes.
Eyes that were the same deep blue as Bobby’s.
“I wasn’t having some affair with Greta.
She threw herself at me all the time back then, but nothing and no one would’ve ever made me cheat on your mother.
That’s why she resorted to tricks to make it happen. ”
“Does Mom know?”
“Of course,” his dad looked insulted. “I have no secrets from your mother. Like you have none from Remi.”
“She’s going to the funeral. She wants me to go too. Thinks I need to for closure or whatever.”
Eric rested a hand on Everett’s shoulder and squeezed once. “Then trust her and do it. Remi loves you. If she sees something you need that you can’t see for yourself, don’t ignore that.”
Everett stared into the amber rum, hating how much sense that made.
“I’ll work on the arrangements to have your things and hers moved into the penthouse,” his father said, shifting back into problem-solving mode. “There’s a marina close by. You want a boat?”
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
“Consider it done.” Eric stood from the barstool.
“Dad …”
“Yes, Everett.”
“Thanks for telling me the truth.”
His father nodded, then turned and walked out of the bar.
Two hours later, Everett crossed the wide field toward Santa Esperanza Cemetery.
The cemetery sat on a grassy rise overlooking the sea, its whitewashed walls and old stone monuments glowing beneath the late afternoon sun.
Rows of above-ground tombs stretched toward the water, some polished and gleaming, others weathered by salt air and time.
Bougainvillea climbed over sections of the wall in wild bursts of magenta, too bright for a place built to hold grief.
Beyond it all, the Caribbean glittered blue and endless, beautiful and serene.
He should have been there earlier.
That thought had followed him from the bar to the cemetery gates, through every excuse he’d tried to make along the way.
His presence would have made the memorial harder for Greta. People would have stared. Some would assume he had come to support Remington. Others would wonder if there was more to it.
All of those reasons had sounded practical until he’d heard them clearly for what they were.
Excuses.
This was his last chance to stand in the same place as Bobby Zaniewski, knowing what they had been to each other. They were brothers, whether either of them had wanted the truth or not. The word still sat wrong inside him, jagged and heavy, but denying it wouldn’t make it less true.
The public memorial had already ended by the time he reached the cemetery. The crowd had thinned to the few invited to the graveside service.
The Stingray team stood like a wall between Greta and Remington.
Sebastian had Gabrielle tucked close against his side.
Rocco stood with Jemma, his posture loose but his eyes alert.
Britt was near Lachlan, her sorrow unmistakable and so close after losing her father.
Kane huddled near Adonis and Tatiana, all of them struggling with the strain of grief.
A few of Bobby’s mistresses had the audacity to show up, clustered together in black dresses and dark sunglasses, their whispered drama carrying farther than they realized.
Two men Everett vaguely remembered from summers on St. Felipe lingered near the back, older now, heavier around the jaw, but familiar enough to place as Bobby’s high school friends.
Remington stood several feet away from the others.
The men had made sure she wasn’t alone, but distance still marked her place in the gathering. Being Bobby’s widow, recently cleared of murdering him, left her with no natural place in the circle of grief around his casket, especially when everyone knew her heart had always belonged to Everett.
Everett hated that he hadn’t been beside her from the start, even if it would’ve made everything more awkward.
The guests formed a loose semicircle around the casket, split by an open gravel path that gave Everett a clear view of the man inside.
Bobby lay against white satin, hands folded, face composed into a peace he had never carried in life. Death had softened the hard lines of him, taking the smirk and smoothing away the bitterness. With his blond hair neatly arranged and his features stilled, he looked almost angelic.
Almost.
The preacher stood near the head of the casket, voice low as he brought the service to its close. Everett caught only fragments about mercy, rest, forgiveness, and the hope of peace beyond this life.
Words Bobby might have needed.
Words Everett wasn’t sure he had earned.
The preacher closed his Bible and offered the guests one last chance to say goodbye.
It was now or never.
Everett drew in a breath, stepped onto the gravel path, and walked toward the casket.
Conversations died around him. He felt the attention shift, felt the questions sharpen in the silence, but he kept his focus on Bobby and refused to search the crowd for Greta, Remington, or the Stingray team.
He stopped beside the casket.
Memory blurred over the man in the coffin until Everett could see every version of Bobby at once: the jealous teenager, the bitter adult, and the half-brother who had known the truth long before Everett did.
Sadness rose before Everett could brace against it.
It wasn’t grief for a relationship they’d shared. It was grief for the one that had never been allowed to exist.
“I wish you’d told me,” Everett whispered. “If you had, things would’ve been different between us. I know it.”
Bobby’s still face gave him nothing.
Everett swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “I’ll never know if I could’ve been the bridge to connect you to our father.”
The wind moved softly over the cemetery, carrying the scent of salt, flowers, and cut grass.
“Rest in peace, Bobby.”
Remington came to him before he stepped back. Her hand slipped into his, warm and steady, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.
She didn’t say anything.
She didn’t need to.
Everett tightened his fingers around hers. Relief settled in slowly, not enough to erase the sadness, but enough for him to know Remington had been right. Coming here had mattered.
He turned with her, ready to cross back to the opposite side of Greta, when a ripple of sound moved through the crowd.
A gasp.
Then another.
Whispers rose, overlapping and confused.
Everett looked toward the cemetery path.
Ike walked toward the casket dressed entirely in white. He moved with the same power as always, every step controlled, every inch of him impossible to ignore.
But his face was wet with tears.
He passed the Stingray team without acknowledging anyone. Gabrielle made a small, broken sound and moved forward before Sebastian caught her around the waist. He held her against him, murmuring something Everett couldn’t hear, while she stared at Ike like the ground had vanished beneath her feet.
The crowd parted without being asked.
Ike reached the casket and stood over Bobby for a long moment. Whatever was in his hand was small enough for his fist to hide. Everett couldn’t tell what it was until Ike leaned down and placed it beside Bobby.
A folded photograph.
Ike’s fingers lingered on it, then curled once against the satin lining before he straightened. His shoulders rose and fell with a breath that looked like it hurt.
Greta watched him with a hand pressed to her mouth.
Ike turned to her, and for one long second, neither of them moved.
Then Greta stepped into his arms.
Ike held her tightly, his face crumpling as she clung to him. The chill that moved through Everett had little to do with Greta or Bobby. It came from watching Ike, the man who had always seemed untouchable, break apart in front of all of them.
Then he released her, gave her one final look, and walked away from the cemetery without explaining himself or asking anyone to follow.
Everett glanced toward the Stingray team and saw the same shock reflected back at him. Everett understood the look because he felt it too.
Ike was back.
And nothing would ever be the same.