There’s a place between life and death that no man
should ever wander into, and Gage Barrington had
set up camp there.
The rattle of palms stirred in the treetops as Gage
stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and made
his way along the walk on Charleston’s East Battery
Street. He felt two things the moment he got the news of
his father’s death: How is it possible that I’m still breathing
and, right after that, why would I want to?
He stopped in front of an iron gate and turned to face
Charleston Harbor. The sea shimmered in a wash of
pale morning gold. He took a deep breath, catching the
scent of Confederate jasmine, ever present in the balmy
January days of the Lowcountry. People on the narrow
streets and cobbled walks jogged or strolled casually
along. Even with all the warm life surrounding him,
the steady blowing sea wind felt cold in his heart. His
thoughts turned toward his father.
Breck Barrington had been a single-minded man. The
driving force of his life seemed to be the preservation
of his blue-blooded ancestry and all the status that
kind of life ensured. The successful management of his
investments had guaranteed the prominence he craved;
as for immortalizing the Barrington name, Breck looked
to his son, Gage, to accomplish that end. But Breck’s
son had a strong will of his own and had resisted the
purposeful planning of his life by his father.
The local news reports had simply stated that business
tycoon Breck Barrington had died suddenly of a heart
attack. Gage knew differently; his father had died from
a severed heart. He also knew he had been the one to
hold the sword that had swung the fatal blow.
Gage had been away on Terrapin Island when the
call came with the news of his father’s death. Located
off the coast of South Carolina, Terrapin Island was the
one place where Gage seemed to keep the black dog
of depression at bay. After a brief time on the island,
typically, he could get back to the family business and
carry on as usual—but not this time. This time he had
decided to tell his father about his plan to leave
the family business and branch out on his own, leaving
Charleston and his partnership with his father for good.
That conversation had taken place three days ago; those
were the final words he’d spoken with his father.
Guilt began to seep into him as he stepped through
the gate and neared the door to his childhood home.
He stopped, his foot poised on the first step of the stone
stairs. His mind raced, wondering what would face him
beyond the heavily carved door.
The question was answered when the front door
suddenly snatched open and a concerned Myra
Barrington appeared. Then, with a glad cry, she flew
down the stairs and into her son’s arms.
“I’ve been so worried about you!” She turned her
face up to meet the azure blue of her son’s eyes, more
pronounced in a face washed by the South Carolina light.
His firm angular jaw was set, and the broad expanse of
his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world.
“You didn’t answer your phone. We didn’t know what
to think. Evan-Cerise is here. She’s been beside herself
with worry.”
A feeling of dread crawled up Gage’s spine, but he
turned his face to hide the growing trepidation as he
held his mother close. With a reassuring squeeze, he
released her, leading her into the house and into another
era. An era without the patriarch, Breck Barrington.