18. Bobby
18
Bobby
Dark Clouds or Silver Lining?
When I stumble downstairs, bleary-eyed, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hits me first. My eyes catch my father, who is sitting stiffly at the far end of the living room.
“Dad,” I nod.
“Good morning, Robert.” He raises his mug at me.
We’ve barely spoken since I arrived, and he’s left me alone for some reason.
Maybe Henry told him what happened.
I make a beeline for the coffee pot. Since I walked out on Claire, a pang of longing, sharp and unexpected, attacks me internally. I’ve had fantasies of driving back, seeing her face, hearing her voice–the only visions that keep me going these days.
I pour my coffee and my usual escape tactic–vanishing immediately–doesn’t work this time.
“Come have a seat, Son.”
I just want to go back into my room, bury my head in my pillow, and mourn Claire. My outburst the other day felt final, like we’re done on all levels.
"I’d like to go upstairs, Dad."
"There's something we need to talk about, Robert."
After all this time, seeing him again feels...strange. I've built him up in my mind as this emotionless, uncaring force, but the man before me looks tired. Dark circles rim his eyes, his face drawn and pale.
Is he sick?
"What?" I turn to face him but keep a safe distance.
"What’s this whole thing I hear about the Carters," he begins, his voice tense. "It’s an idiotic thing to avoid coming home for."
A surge of rebellion from years of pent-up frustration flashes in my head. "Yeah, well, you shouldn’t waste your time speaking to this idiot then, right?" I turn to walk away.
"Wait," he commands, his voice low and stern. I don’t stop approaching the winding staircase until he speaks again.
“Wait, Robert.”
This time, something in his tone, a hint of vulnerability maybe, stops me in my tracks. He clears his throat, the sound raspy.
"Look, I…I shouldn't have called you an idiot."
A concession like that is a first–even a grudging one at that. Compared to the years of relentless criticism, backhanded compliments, and thinly veiled disappointment, it's a huge shift.
A humorless chuckle escapes my lips. "Did you just apologize?"
He sighs, a heavy sound that seems to age him further. "Just… give me a minute to talk, alright?"
I walk back in and settle down at the kitchen table opposite him. As I stare at him, a mix of emotions rolls through me–anger at his manipulation, the gnawing guilt for pitting me and Henry against each other, the sting of regret for falling for his plan hook, line, and sinker, and a strange, simmering pride for finally standing up to him.
“Is this about coming to work at Sawyer Medicals?”
He sighs and knocks on the table. “Would you just listen, Bob?”
"Whatever you're planning," I start, my voice laced with steel. "Pitting me against Henry won't work this time. We're not kids anymore."
He looks at me, his gaze hard to decipher. "Is everything I did wrong that you can’t even give your father a chance?"
His words hang in the air. He’s my father and the truth is that he pushed me, always too hard. But he also instilled in me grit, and the determination to succeed. He's given me opportunities, thrown me into the fire, and let me learn from my mistakes. He's mentored me in his own hard, gruffy way, but there were times when he also showed love and care, corrected mistakes, took us both on his fishing trips, and provided for our needs, but those memories feel faded—almost unreal.
Now, sitting across from him, the silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words and a dawning realization.
He sighs, “I want you to tell me what you’ve got against me. I think we should start from there.”
"Dad," My throat feels raw. "I understand that you don't want the company to go belly up, and you see us as the future, but half the time, you act like we’re both toys you can play around with long enough before you choose the one you prefer."
He nods slowly, running a hand across his mouth to show his suppressed worry. "Part of it's true, Son," he admits. "I just wanted you boys to be prepared. But listen, I don't deserve credit for how far you've come. You built yourself up, Bob. Grit and determination, that's all you."
An unexpected lump settles in my throat. Is he…complimenting me? The man who's spent years nitpicking my every move, who's used guilt and manipulation as his primary parenting strategies, is offering a shred of praise?
"Why tell me this now?"
“Because I want a chance with my sons,” he sighs, a weary sound that seems to age him further. "I don’t want you to walk out that door and never look back." He looks me straight in the eye, his gaze raw and vulnerable. "That scares the daylights out of me. I need you back home."
His words hit me like a sucker punch. All this time, I've assumed he’s just irritated by my absence because I’m no longer under his thumb. It’s the first time he’s ever framed it like this.
"I can be your son outside of Sawyer Medicals, Dad," I murmur. "That’s where we both don’t agree."
"Listen to me, Robert,” he cuts me off, his voice firm. “You are a Sawyer, whether you like it or not. This will always be your family, whether you choose to be a part of it or not. And the Sawyer name? There will come a day when you'll realize its worth, even if you don't want to admit it right now."
The stubborn old man still won’t budge. I curse under my breath, frustration bubbling over. "I worked my a—. I worked hard for the name not to matter, Dad. I’ll continue to work hard and show I can be successful, with or without the name. But the moment I’m back here, I’m back under your control."
My jaw clenches as I end the words.
"Bob, I don't want to control you," he says, his voice sincere. "I just want to support you."
"I don't need your support," I retort with defiance.
He shakes his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yes, you do. And you should stop being so stubborn and take it. Because what's happening with Sawyer Medical right now is part of your work, Bob. You want to help people and make a difference—this is a way to do that on a larger scale. This isn't just about the company, Son. This is about us, your brother, trying to unite as a family."
I stare at him. My pent-up anger from over the years slowly recedes, replaced by bewilderment. His features hold a vulnerability I've never seen before. And behind his words, I hear something echoing, a faint whisper of what I’ve wanted for years—a chance for us.
He stands up slowly, his movements stiff, and places a hand on my shoulder. "Bob," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "You've earned this. Come back, not as the CEO, but as…well, in a part-time role. Keep working on your projects with TenderCare and the other places you're involved. We'll provide the funding and anything else you need. This way, you can continue making a difference where your passion lies while also helping Sawyer Medicals. Think of it as a… a trial run. See if all of us working as a family thing can actually work ."
My gaze darts down to his hand resting on my shoulder. The gesture, once a symbol of control, now feels inviting, almost pleading. A sigh escapes my lips. Letting go of the past is proving to be the hardest part.
"I don't want to be beholden to you, Dad," I mutter, the words heavy on my tongue.
He squeezes my shoulder gently. "This isn't a favor, son. It's me trying to pay back. Trying to make amends for all the times I pushed you and Henry to the very edge. I apologized to him, too, you know."
A flicker of surprise crosses my face. My stoic, unyielding father has weariness in his eyes, and it's hard to deny the sincerity in his words.
"I messed up, Son. As a father, I royally screwed things up. And I need this chance. Help me, help Henry. We need you back, Bob."
He holds his arms out for a hug, a gesture so foreign to our relationship that it almost takes my breath away. I just stare at him for a long moment, then I step forward and wrap my arms around him. It feels awkward initially, but the longer I hold him close, the more I feel a strange sense of peace.
***
After Dad leaves for a meeting, I walk down the familiar hallway, a lightness in my step I haven't felt in years. It's as if talking to Dad, finally unbottling the years of unspoken feelings about family and confessing my feelings to the woman I’ve loved for so long, has somehow released a pressure valve within me.
Pushing open the lounge doors, I find Henry perched on a barstool, a glass of amber liquid swirling between his fingers. He glances up, his features breaking into a wide grin.
"Well, look who finally decided to join the living," he booms, clapping me on the shoulder with a force that almost sends me stumbling back. "You look like a man who needs a drink."
I chuckle, leaning against the counter. "You could say that again."
"Dad spoke to you?" he asks with a knowing smile.
"Yeah," I admit, sinking onto the stool beside him. "We talked."
He raises an eyebrow. "The Liam Sawyer apology tour? Enough to make any man feel a bit…shaken."
We both laugh, the sound echoing in the cavernous room. He reaches onto a shelf behind the bar, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and setting it on the table with a soft thud. Two glasses follow in quick succession.
"So," he says, his gaze settling on me. "What's the verdict? Taking him up on his offer?"
"Yeah," I admit. "Want to see how it goes," I trail off. I feel suddenly optimistic, hoping things will actually work out with my family.
Henry nods, swirling the drink in his glass. "Yeah, I get it. It's a lot to unpack."
A comfortable silence descends upon the room, punctuated only by ice cubes clinking against the glass. After a long sip of his drink, Henry speaks again.
"Anything else on your mind, bro?" he asks, his voice gentle.
I hesitate. Does it show that much?
“Is it that obvious? Pfft. I need a better poker face.”
I didn’t realize that the 'I'm hopelessly in love with my fake-ex-girlfriend' neon sign was flashing.
He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. "You might be the stubborn one, Bob, but I know my little brother better than he thinks, even if we haven't exactly been close these past few years."
The words sting, a gentle reminder of the chasm that has grown between us. We sit in silence for a moment longer, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on me.
"Look," I start, then stop. This isn't easy. Mentioning Claire feels like throwing salt on a fresh wound, a constant reminder of the pain of missing her.
As if sensing my turmoil, Henry surprises me by asking, "This about the woman back in Dallas?"
My head snaps up, meeting his gaze. "Yeah," I whisper, a sad smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "I miss her, Henry."
The memories flood back—her laughter, her warmth, the way she made me feel seen, understood. A pang of longing rips through me.
His gaze softens. "You still love her, don't you?" It’s more a declaration than a question.
Another beat of silence, thick with unspoken emotions. "Yeah," the words settling on my tongue like lead. "But she probably wants me to let go anyway."
"What if she doesn't?" He lifts an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?"
He takes a slow sip of his drink, then sets the glass down with a sigh. "Look, I sent some folks back to Dallas to pack up your things and all." A wry smile plays on his lips. "Claire reached out to me."
My heart hammers against my ribs, a sudden surge of adrenaline coursing through me. "Reached out? Said what?"
"She said she's on her way to Florida. To see you." His voice is neutral, but I can sense the carefully masked concern in his eyes. "I was going to handle it…discreetly," he adds quickly, gauging my reaction. "If you didn't want to see her."
Disbelief washes over me, a tidal wave of emotions threatening to consume me. "You mean…she's coming here?"
A hint of amusement flashes in his eyes. "She’ll be here this evening from what she told me."
My stomach tenses. At first, I feel relief, then a sharp pang of guilt, then excitement. She's coming here. To see me. Suddenly, the confines of the lounge feel suffocating. The air is stale, the walls closing in.
"Henry," I rasp. "We need to go."
Henry stands up and claps my shoulder. “Okay, lover boy.”
I need to get out, to find her, to see her face, hear her voice. I can’t stop the nervous energy bubbling in the pit of my stomach.