T
he drunker he became, the angrier Cap felt. At Tess. At his father. At himself for allowing himself to lead a life that wasn’t his.
He gazed around his shop—at the tables and chairs and bookshelves that he had crafted with his own two hands. A dull, throbbing headache began to creep up the back of his neck, so he poured another inch of bourbon into his glass and drank it down.
Cap had thought that telling Tess his darkest secrets would help free him from all the lies. He had hoped that in sharing his deceit, she would understand why he had become what he became.
But Tess didn’t understand. Not at all. She wanted him to tell Butch and Wade the truth, which was simply something he would never do.
He poured more bourbon.
As his brain grew duller, Cap wondered if Tess might take it upo
