Chapter 149
Bryce POV
"I was sorting through customer files when my phone buzzed. Ethan's name flashed across the screen, and I felt a twinge of surprise. My brother rarely called these days.
"Bryce speaking," I answered, maintaining the professional tone I'd adopted since leaving Finch Designs and taking an entry-level position at Meridian Marketing.
"Bryce, it's me." Ethan's voice sounded tense. "We need to talk. In person."
I glanced at the stack of reports on my desk. "Can it wait? I'm in the middle of something."
"No, it can't." The firmness in his voice caught my attention. "There's something important I need to tell you, but I'd rather not do it over the phone."
My mind raced through possibilities.
"Fine," I relented. "Where and when?"
"Café Lumière after you finish work. I'll be waiting."
Before I could ask for details, he hung up. I stared at my phone for a moment, then set it aside. Whatever Ethan wanted to discuss, it could wait until I finished these reports.
---
The café was busier than I expected for a weekday evening. I spotted Ethan immediately, sitting at a corner table near the window, absently stirring his coffee. He looked up as I approached, his expression unreadable.
"You're late," he said as I took the seat across from him.
"Traffic," I replied, though we both knew it was a lie. I'd deliberately taken my time, a petty habit I hadn't yet broken. "What's so important that we couldn't discuss it over the phone?"
Ethan set his spoon down carefully, as if buying time. Then he looked me directly in the eyes.
"Oliver was born last night. Mother and child are both doing well."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Oliver. My son. Born. The words registered individually, but my brain struggled to connect them into a coherent thought. I felt an unexpected tightness in my chest, a complex swirl of emotions I wasn't prepared for.
"I see," I finally managed, keeping my voice steady. "Well, that's good."
Ethan's eyebrows shot up, and I could see disappointment settle across his features. "That's it? That's all you have to say about your son being born?"
"What would you like me to say?" I picked up a menu, more to have something to do with my hands than from any interest in ordering.
"I don't know, maybe show some emotion? Some interest?" Ethan's voice rose slightly. "You just found out you're a father."
"I think that's enough," I said coldly, setting the menu down. The waiter approached, but quickly retreated when he sensed the tension between us.
Ethan shook his head, his jaw tightening. "You know what? I told Father this was a waste of time. I said you wouldn't care, but he insisted you had a right to know." He leaned forward. "If I'd known this would be your reaction, I wouldn't have agreed to tell you at all."
Something in his tone made me look up. There was more than disappointment there—there was genuine anger, and something else I couldn't quite place.
"Regardless of how you feel," Ethan continued, pulling out his phone, "this is Oliver."
He slid the phone across the table. On the screen was a photo of a newborn, wrapped in a blue blanket. His eyes were closed, his tiny face peaceful in sleep. Something shifted uncomfortably in my chest.
"He looks a bit like me," I admitted, studying the small features.
"But he looks more like Evelyn," I added quickly, sliding the phone back. The resemblance to my ex-wife was unmistakable—the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips. I felt a strange pride mingled with regret, a combination I wasn't prepared to examine too closely.
Ethan took back his phone, glancing at the photo with an expression that could only be described as tender. "It really hurts to see how little interest you show in your son," he said quietly.
"I never wanted to have a child with her," I replied, though the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
"Evelyn married you blind," Ethan snapped, his eyes flashing. "She must have been out of her mind to ever love someone like you."
His words stung more than I expected, awakening a suspicion that had lingered at the back of my mind for years.
"Ethan," I said slowly, watching his face carefully, "do you like Evelyn?"
I expected denial, perhaps outrage. Instead, Ethan met my gaze steadily.
"Yes, I am," he said simply.
The admission landed like a physical blow. I'd suspected, of course—had seen the way he looked at her, how he always defended her, even against me. But hearing him say it so openly sent a surge of unexpected jealousy through me.
"How long?" I demanded, my voice tight.
"Does it matter?" Ethan's gaze didn't waver. "I've never acted on it. Not while she was with you."
"And now?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.
"I believe I deserve to be with Evelyn more than you ever did," he said, a quiet conviction in his voice. "I would have treated her with the respect she deserves."
I wanted to be angry, to lash out at him for coveting my wife—ex-wife, I corrected myself mentally. Instead, I felt a strange hollowness. Because he was right.
"Have you told her?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"I have," Ethan nodded. "We talked about it. I told her how I felt."
"And?" I prompted when he didn't continue.
"And nothing," Ethan sighed. "I just want her to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted for her."
His sincerity was like salt in a wound. I looked away, unable to face the decency in my brother that I had always lacked.
"I saw her yesterday," I found myself saying. "Before the baby was born."
Ethan looked surprised. "You did?"
"Yes. I apologized for everything. She wouldn't accept it." I traced a pattern on the table's surface, avoiding his eyes. "I don't blame her."
"What did you expect?" Ethan asked, but his tone had softened.
"Nothing." I sighed. "I just needed her to know I was sorry. For what it's worth."
We sat in silence for a moment, the ambient noise of the café filling the space between us.
"If I could do it all over again," I said finally, the words painful to voice, "I wouldn't let Evelyn fall in love with anyone. Not even me."
Ethan's expression shifted, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "If we could do it all over again, I would have fought for her from the start."
Our eyes met, and something passed between us—understanding, perhaps. Or acknowledgment of a shared loss.
"I believe you would have," I admitted.
To my surprise, Ethan smiled, a genuine smile that reminded me of when we were boys, before competition and resentment had come between us. He extended his hand across the table.
"Truce?" he offered.
I hesitated only briefly before taking it. "Truce."
His grip was firm, his eyes clear. "If you want to see the baby, you should. Deborah wouldn't mind, I think."
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I would. The thought of seeing Evelyn with her new family, with the life she'd built after me, was still too raw.
As we paid our bill and walked out into the evening air, I felt strangely lighter. The weight of unspoken truths had been lifted, leaving room for something I hadn't felt in a long time—the possibility of moving forward, even if the path ahead was uncertain.