Chapter 60
Chapter Sixty
FAMILY REUNION
Max
After seeing my father, I sent an emergency text to my brothers and Granddad.
Within hours, they all converged on Los Angeles.
Ansel abandoned his recording studio in Berlin, landing his Gulfstream at LAX.
Cameron left his patients in Africa, enduring a twenty-hour coach flight.
Roman simply drove up from his Verde Resort in Palos Verdes, while Asher stepped away from the LAMA auction where he'd been bidding on a Basquiat. Kalen flew in from Australia, his private jet touching down just after midnight. Connor merely walked off his Burbank set. Silas flew in from France, where he’s been engrossed in multiple acquisitions of rare royal jewels.
Not one of them hesitated when they heard our father wanted to see us after all these years.
Granddad's house feels different tonight with Celeste at my side. Earlier, she'd hesitated at the door.
"Max, I don't belong at a family reunion," she whispered.
I placed my hand on the small of her back.
"You're my wife, remember?" Technically true, despite the divorce papers Elody forced her to file—papers I intend to have dismissed immediately.
What Celeste doesn't know is that I'm planning a proper wedding this winter.
One where we're both smiling instead of looking like hostages.
As we settle around the table, I catch her eye. "Different from our last dinner here, isn't it?"
She winces. "God, when I started rambling about healing crystals, I was certain your grandfather would show me the door." Her eyes narrow playfully. "Then you swooped in to save me. Curious timing."
I laugh, surprised she'd read me so well even then.
She knew I'd planned to sabotage her that night but changed course mid-dinner.
I'm still not entirely sure why I changed course.
All I know is that if I'd continued making her look unsuitable to Granddad, I'd never have fallen in love with her—and my father might never have found his way back to us.
My dad occupies the center seat at the table while my brothers enter the dining room one by one. A tense silence hangs in the air as each brother greets him in his own distinct way—no two reactions alike.
Roman stands back from the reunion, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Dad while the rest of my brothers crowd around.
The family hothead—our own Sonny Corleone minus the Lawman revolver but with enough exes to form a firing squad.
Cameron goes in for the hug first, all heart as usual, embracing Dad with tears streaming.
Kalen offers a stiff embrace, face unreadable, while his identical twin Connor follows with the same hug but adds a warm smile.
Ansel and Asher mirror Connor's approach exactly—embrace, smile, step back.
I mentally tick off the scorecard: seven brothers welcoming Dad home, one holding out. Roman, of course. Figures.
My father's face drains of color. I want to reach for his hand, but I'm not sure he'd welcome the gesture.
Granddad rises at the head of the table, his six-foot frame casting a shadow across the polished mahogany.
He locks eyes with Dad. "Well," he announces, voice cutting through the clink of silverware.
"The prodigal son returns. Michael, perhaps you'd care to enlighten us all about your extended absence. "
I wince. Nothing like a public execution before dessert.
Celeste catches Dad’s eye and offers a reassuring smile, which he returns weakly.
Wine glasses glint at every place setting—an unspoken Kensington ritual.
I watch Dad eyeing the Cabernet being poured around him, his knuckles white against the tablecloth.
The collision of all his estranged sons plus alcohol could send him spiraling back to his old ways by midnight, and honestly, who could blame him?
Dad's Adam's Apple bobs before he speaks.
"Well." He fidgets with his water glass.
"I suppose I should be thankful nobody's slipped arsenic in my drink or tried defenestrating me yet.
" I force out a laugh—not because it's funny, but because I can't bear the silence that would follow if nobody laughed.
Nothing is worse than trying to make a joke and have nobody laugh.
On cue, my brothers join in with halfhearted chuckles.
All except Roman, who sits like a statue, jaw clenched, arms folded across his chest.
Dad lowers himself into the chair. "I should mention I've been attending AA religiously.
My sponsor Greg will get a call after dinner, though he'd know if I slipped up—I rent his converted garage.
" His eyes drift to the tablecloth. "Quite the fall, isn't it?
From closing eight-figure international deals to stocking organic produce and sleeping twenty feet from someone else's laundry room.
" He smooths a wrinkle from his napkin. "But there's a strange peace in simplicity I never found back then.
Nothing compared to life with Catherine, though.
She anchored me. When cancer took her...
" His voice catches. The clink of silverware stops, leaving only the sound of breathing around the table.
Cameron's voice cracks. "Dad." His knuckles whiten against the edge of the table.
"You don't have to beat yourself up for us.
I can't speak for everyone, but Christ—twenty-two years and I still remember how you carried me on your shoulders at the pier.
How you were before Mom's casket went into the ground.
I see it in your eyes—you think you're some kind of coward.
You're not." His breath catches. "I've spent 22 years of my life praying you'd come back. And now you're here."
Roman slams his palm against the table. Wine glasses rattle.
"Bullshit." The word hangs in the air like gunsmoke.
"Cameron, you're handing him absolution he never earned.
He abandoned us. All of us. No note. No calls.
Nothing." His eyes bore into Dad, voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
"I don't speak for everyone, but look around this goddamn table.
They're choking on words they're too afraid to say. What you did destroyed us."
Dad lowers his head for a moment, then gestures toward my other brothers.
"Thank you for speaking up, Roman," he says, his voice steadier than I expected.
"I'd like to hear from the rest of you too.
My sponsor keeps telling me that buried feelings only fester.
" He spreads his hands, palms up. "So let me have it.
All of it." His gaze settles on Cameron, whose jaw is still clenched tight.
"You were right about one thing, Cameron.
I'm through running away. I love you boys more than you'll ever know.
I haven't earned back your trust yet—" his voice catches, "—especially yours, Roman. But I'm here to try."
Connor clears his throat before speaking.
Despite his Oscar and the confident characters he portrays on screen, at family gatherings he's just Connor—the shy, introverted brother who'd rather lose himself in novels than ride waves.
Back in middle school, he'd stutter through conversations, eyes fixed on his shoes.
It wasn't until Granddad nudged him toward that school production of Our Town that something shifted.
"Acting gave me permission to exist in the world," he once confided over beers.
"I could pretend to be someone who knew how to talk to people until eventually, I could actually talk to them.”
"Dad," he says now, voice steady. "I'm somewhere between Roman and Cameron on this. It's good to see your face again, but I need to understand why we stopped seeing it for so long."
Dad nods. "Right, right." Then he takes a deep breath as he launches into the when and why of his disappearance.
His voice cracks when he mentions Mom's name the first time.
By minute fifteen, his hands tremble slightly around his coffee mug.
At thirty minutes, he's pulled his AA sobriety coin from his pocket and is turning it over and over between his fingers.
Roman sits with arms crossed, jaw tight, gaze fixed somewhere above Dad's left shoulder.
But when I glance at Connor, he's leaning forward, elbows on knees.
The same posture he had in Glenn Kelly's room at Oceanside Recovery last month, when he'd driven three hours just to sit there every Saturday.
Kalen's eyes have that same hollow look they carried at Jason's funeral last year—his bassist Jason’s casket lowered as Kalen clutched the tambourine Jason always played.
Connor catches my eye and gives a small nod.
Kalen's hand finds my shoulder. They don't say a word.
Connor rises and moves beside Dad’s chair, crouching down and resting his hands on the armrests.
“Dad, I forgive you. I know about addiction—my best friend is in rehab. I won’t dwell on what led him there, but it was dark, full of demons.
I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I wish you’d made different choices for us, but I understand why you made them.
You didn’t want our role model to be someone struggling with addiction.
And Granddad stepped up for all of us. So I’m with Cameron—you have nothing to be ashamed of.
But if you feel yourself slipping, you have my support, and Cameron’s, and Max’s.
” He glances around the table; Kalen nods.
“Mine as well,” Kalen says, swirling his wine. “Connor’s friend is in rehab; mine died of an overdose. I know how it goes. Count me in for any support you need, Dad.”