“I know.”
He stared at his coffee.
“He liked having me nearby because I never corrected him.”
“That is not loyalty.”
“I know that now too.”
He apologized without asking me to make him feel better.
I respected that.
Tyler took longer.
His identity had been built around Richard’s praise almost as much as mine had been shaped by his contempt. When Tyler was removed from West Point, Richard told everyone it was a medical paperwork issue. Tyler allowed the story because it was easier than admitting he had failed fitness requirements repeatedly.
Months after Richard retired, Tyler showed up at my apartment.
I nearly closed the door.
“I need ten minutes.”
“You get five.”
He nodded.
He stood in my living room without sitting.
“Dad made me hate you.”
“No. He encouraged it. You participated.”
Tyler swallowed.
“Fair.”
That surprised me.
He continued. “Every time I failed at something, he compared me to a version of you he said was weak. It made no sense. He would tell me I was the real Bradley while also using you as the standard I was never supposed to admit existed.”
I stared at him.
“I did not know that.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the floor.
“When Vance called you ‘my asset,’ I realized Dad did not actually know your life at all. And neither did I.”
“You still do not.”
“No.”
“Most of it will stay that way.”
He nodded. “I am not asking.”
