Chapter 186

Chapter 186
Ryan's POV

The months blurred together. Monday through Friday in Denver, maintaining the fiction that this was normal, that I was fine, that losing my wife and living apart from my son was just another business challenge to be managed. Friday evening through Sunday afternoon at Silver Peak, stealing whatever moments I could with William and Lily.

The breaking point came on a Sunday afternoon.

I was in my study at Silver Peak, halfway through a bottle of bourbon I'd told myself I was just going to have one drink from, when my phone rang. The nurse.

"Mr. Carter? I thought you'd want to know—William just rolled over. Front to back, all by himself."

I was on my feet before I'd fully processed the words, the bourbon forgotten. "I'll be right there."

I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding. William's first major milestone. The first real sign that he was growing, developing, becoming a person.

And I'd almost missed it because I was sitting in my study drinking.

When I reached the nursery, the nurse had William on his play mat. "Show your father," she cooed, placing him on his stomach.

I knelt down, watching. William pushed up on his arms, wobbled, then—with a look of intense concentration—rolled himself onto his back. He looked surprised by his own accomplishment, then broke into a gummy smile.

"Good job, buddy," I said, my voice rough. "That's my boy."

But even as I said it, I was thinking: Lily should be here for this. She should be the one watching this. Not me, alone, reeking of bourbon at three in the afternoon.

After the nurse left, I sat on the floor next to William and watched him practice his new skill. Roll. Rest. Roll again. Each time a little smoother, a little more confident.

He was growing up.

And I was sitting in my study drinking, trying to pretend my life hadn't fallen apart, maintaining a fiction that was helping no one—least of all my son.

This has to stop, I thought, the same thought I'd had three months ago. But this time, it felt different. More urgent. More real.

Because William wasn't going to stay five months old forever. He was going to keep growing, keep hitting milestones, keep becoming a person. And every day I spent in this holding pattern—pretending everything was fine, drowning my feelings in expensive scotch, telling myself I'd deal with it later—was a day I was choosing to miss.

Just like I'd missed so much of Lily's pregnancy. Just like I'd missed the early signs that our marriage was crumbling. Just like I'd missed everything that actually mattered until it was too late.

I picked up my phone and called Samuel.

"Ryan?" He sounded surprised. "Everything okay?"

"No," I said. The admission felt like ripping off a bandage. "No, everything is not okay. But I'm going to fix it."

"Fix what?"

I looked at William, who had given up on rolling and was now trying to eat his own foot. "I need you to do something for me. It's going to sound crazy, but I need you to trust me."

"Okay," Samuel said slowly. "What do you need?"

"I need you to start looking for a CEO."

Silence. Then: "I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me. I want you to start researching executive search firms that specialize in family business succession. Quietly. Don't tell Eleanor. Don't tell the board. Just start putting together a list of firms and candidates."

"Ryan, are you—are you stepping down?"

"Not immediately." I watched William discover that his foot was attached to his leg, his expression one of delighted surprise. "But I'm starting the process. I need to know what my options are. How long it would take. What it would look like."

"This is because of Lily." It wasn't a question.

"This is because of William," I corrected. "And because I've spent three months lying to myself about what my life is now, and I'm done. I'm done pretending that I can keep doing this job and be the father—the person—I want to be."

Another pause. "Okay," Samuel said finally. "Okay. I'll start looking into it."

"Thank you."

After I hung up, I sat there with William for a long time, watching him explore his newly discovered ability to move through space. He was so small still, so dependent on the adults around him to keep him safe and fed and loved.

And I'd almost missed this moment because I was too busy drowning in self-pity and eighteen-year-old scotch.

No more, I thought.

I stood up, went to my study, and poured the rest of the bourbon down the sink. Then I opened my laptop and started researching CEO succession planning, trusts for minor children, anything and everything that might show me a path out of this cage I'd built for myself.

It was going to take time. Maybe years. And I didn't know if Lily would still be there at the end of it, if she'd care that I'd finally done what I should have done from the beginning.

But for William—for my son, who was learning to roll over and would soon learn to crawl and walk and run—I had to try.

Even if I was three months too late.

Even if I was always going to be too late.

I had to try.