CHAPTER 29: AUSTERLITZ — Part 2
I found Kendall twenty minutes later.
The Roy estate had a tennis court. Ancient. Probably hadn't been used in a decade. The net was sagging. The lines were faded. Surrounded by trees that had grown to block most of the light.
Kendall sat on a bench at the edge of the court. Staring at nothing. Posture collapsed. The picture of defeat.
I approached slowly. Didn't announce myself.
Just walked over. Sat down beside him.
Silence.
The estate grounds were quiet. Just wind in the trees. Distant sounds of the house. Our breathing.
I didn't speak. Didn't offer platitudes or jokes or anything.
Just sat.
Minutes passed. Five. Maybe ten.
Finally, Kendall spoke. "He'll never see me as enough."
His voice was hollow. Empty of fight.
"He doesn't see any of us as enough," I said quietly. "That's his failure. Not yours."
Kendall laughed. Bitter. Broken. "Easy to say. Harder to believe."
"I know."
More silence.
Then: "When did you get like this?"
I looked at him. "Like what?"
"Like... this." He gestured vaguely. "Calm. Capable. The person who stays functional when everything's on fire. The person who says smart things instead of cruel jokes."
"The stroke," I said. Same story I'd told everyone. "Catching Dad. Watching him almost die. It clarified things."
"What things?"
"That being the joke wasn't serving anyone. Least of all me." I paused. "And that maybe proving myself to Dad was less important than proving myself to myself."
Kendall stared at the defunct tennis court. "How do you do that? Stop caring what he thinks?"
"I didn't say I stopped caring. I said I changed priorities." I kept my voice even. "His approval still matters. But it can't be the only thing that matters. Or I'll spend my whole life chasing something I'll never catch."
"Yeah." He rubbed his face. "Yeah, that sounds... accurate."
We sat. The wind picked up slightly. Autumn leaves scattered across the court.
"You want to know something fucked up?" Kendall asked.
"Always."
"Part of me agrees with him. About being soft. About second-guessing everything. About not being strong enough." He looked at me. Eyes red. "What if he's right? What if I'm just... not capable?"
The Empathy Engine showed me the depth of it. The self-doubt that ran like a river through everything Kendall did. The voice that sounded like Logan but came from inside.
"You held the company steady for five weeks while Dad recovered," I said. "That's not nothing."
"It's not enough."
"For him? Maybe not. But that says more about his standards than your capability."
"You sound like a therapist."
"I sound like someone who's tired of watching this family destroy each other for sport."
Kendall looked at me. Really looked. Searching for something. "You mean that."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because you're my brother. Because we're stuck in this together. Because maybe if we actually supported each other instead of competing, we'd all be less miserable."
He laughed again. Less bitter this time. "That's very un-Roy of you."
"Good."
We sat. The bench was uncomfortable. The air was getting cold. Neither of us moved.
Kendall reached into his jacket. Pulled out a flask. Cheap metal. Probably bought at a gas station.
He unscrewed it. Took a drink. Offered it to me.
I took it. Sipped. Whiskey. Bottom shelf. Burned going down.
I handed it back.
"Remember when we used to play here?" Kendall asked. Gesturing at the court.
"No."
"Really?"
"Roman's memories are..." I stopped. Careful. "Fuzzy. From childhood."
"Oh." He took another drink. "We did. When we were kids. Before everything got... complicated. We'd hit the ball around. Badly. Neither of us were any good. But it was fun."
"What happened?"
"Dad decided sports were a waste of time. Had the court closed. Moved us to business training instead." He stared at the sagging net. "We were nine and eleven."
Nine and eleven. Children. Redirected from play to profit before they'd even hit puberty.
"That's fucked up," I said.
"That's Roys."
We passed the flask back and forth. The whiskey was terrible. We drank it anyway.
"The teaching thing," Kendall said eventually. "You still serious about that?"
"Yeah."
"When do we start?"
"This week. Once we're back in the city. Away from this." I gestured at the estate. The therapy. The family dysfunction.
"What are you going to teach me?"
"How to ask the right questions. How to spot bad data. How to read people." I paused. "How to trust your gut when everyone's telling you you're wrong."
"You can teach that?"
"I can try."
He nodded. Took another drink. "Okay."
The dinner bell rang from the house. Distant. Formal.
Neither of us moved.
"We should go back," Kendall said.
"Probably."
"I don't want to."
"Me neither."
But we stood anyway. Because that's what Roys did. Went back to the dysfunction. Performed for each other. Pretended everything was fine.
I offered Kendall my hand. Helped him up.
He looked at me. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"For not leaving me out here alone." He pocketed the flask. "For sitting. For listening. For... being different."
"I'm trying."
"It shows."
We walked back toward the house. Side by side. Brothers, for a moment, instead of rivals.
I knew it wouldn't last. Tomorrow we'd be back in Manhattan. Back to corporate warfare. Back to competing for Logan's approval.
But right now, on this defunct tennis court, sharing cheap whiskey and honest conversation—
Right now was enough.
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