Perfection of Suffering (The Shadows of Wildberry Lane Book 1)

by M. Sinclair

  He continued, running a hand through his hair and looking at her house, “It’s the best option, King. Any time you want to put the other plan into action, fine, but we’ve let this go on for way too long. I’m done not stepping in.”

  I may not agree with his tactics, but the man wasn’t wrong, exactly.

  “Are all of you insane?” I finally voiced. “All of this shit is her decision, right? You can’t just tap her phone, mate. That’s fucked up.”

  Right? That was a fucked up thing to do, last time I checked…

  The twins both offered me an amused smirk and shook their heads as King and Yates both offered me a blank look as if I’d spoken a different language. Had I? Maybe I’d slipped into Gaelic because of my frustration and confusion…

  I felt a surge of protectiveness that I’d never experienced before run over me, imagining what Yates was saying about her in a hospital bed. Fuck that shit. My fingers twitched as I tried to not run them through my hair in frustration. I think this woman had cast some type of spell on me—it was the only explanation for my irrational way of thinking.

  It made more sense that she had magic, that she was some ethereal fairy that I couldn’t help but be pulled to, than the thought that I was obsessed with a woman I’d met less than an hour ago. Maybe I was jet lagged and needed some sleep. That also made sense.

  “This shit is not her decision,” Yates insisted, frowning at my words. “I’ll carry her little ass to the office every day if that is what it takes to make sure she is healthy.”

  “This isn’t the right way to handle it,” King pointed out, “but he’s right. We have to do something, even if it is something to move her in the right direction to being more open with us. We can’t handle this properly unless she tells us what the fuck is going on.”

  “What do you suggest we do then?” Yates asked, putting his hands out in question.

  “I think you need to drop this job bullshit, first of all. You don’t get to take up her entire day,” King growled.

  Shaking my head, I inhaled on my cigarette, and my gaze flickered up to the window I’d seen her in before. Why did I feel like this year was going to be really different than usual? As if everything was about to change?

  Because of Dahlia. She was already changing everything.

  Chapter Five

  Dahlia Aldridge

  I stood in front of my antique bedroom mirror, smoothing my fingers over the pale yellow sundress I’d chosen to wear for dinner tonight. My white slip-on sandals sat near the door and matched the headband I’d used to push my dark hair away from my flushed face. After a moment, I decided to slip on a pair of sunflower earrings and nodded at my reflection, happy that I didn’t look like the hot mess I felt on the inside.

  Our dinners were always a relaxed affair, but I still wanted to look nice, something that had nothing to do with stupid Yates and his cocky yet unfotunately sexy smile.

  Having dinner together wasn’t unusual in the least. In fact, it was usually more than just the two of our families, especially during the summer season where we could easily put barbeque on the grill out back. I had to admit, I was a bit bummed that the summer was nearly over. I loved the holidays, but there was something magical about the summer on Wildberry Lane.

  Speaking of which… I walked over towards my sizable desk which faced out towards a large window and ran a finger along the green and cream colored calendar that I kept next to my laptop. My smile grew in eagerness, realizing that tomorrow was the start of the annual charity golf tournament that my family hosted on behalf of Gates Unity. I had absolutely no idea how the heck it had slipped my mind, considering it was such a big deal. Not just for me, either—no, this was a big deal for the entirety of Camellia.

  In all technicality, the match itself wasn’t until Saturday, but tomorrow would be filled with a myriad of important things to do, including preparing for the event and greeting out-of-state competitors. I probably didn’t have to attend any of the events—my parents never insisted on it—but I usually enjoyed meeting all the international golfers that attended the arrival brunch at the clubhouse, and then seeing my boys all dressed up at the opening gala was something I would absolutely never miss out on.

  I blamed my need to stare at them in all their tuxedo glory on the ‘artistic’ side of my brain that wanted to capture their beauty… that’s what we were going with.

  Saturday would follow with even more fun, and no, it had absolutely nothing to do with the golf aspect of the event. I mean, would I enjoy myself as I drove around on a golf cart, drinking champagne and going hole to hole with our entire Wildberry Lane crew? Absolutely. This event was far different than most I’d attended throughout the country.

  Unlike most matches, this one wasn’t played truly for the sport. No, this was far more about networking. It was why not only pro golfers came to it, but international business associates and political ambassadors. Up until three years ago my father had spent his time making sure to network, but now he mostly hung out with my mom and I as the younger generation made those important connections. I knew it was important for my boys to do so, and honestly, if I had even an inkling of interest in the business or politics, it could have been very useful for me.

  Too bad I found both of those rather boring.

  Could I talk international politics with the visiting guests? Absolutely. Could I debate trade policies? Yes. Did I want to? No. No, I absolutely did not. I would much rather take pictures of my Wildberry Lane family, creating a collection that could remind me of all these amazing moments if I ever lost my memories.

  Then again, my true fear wasn’t actually losing my memory.

  No, my fear was that all of this, my extreme luck in having an amazing family that surrounded me with love and affection, was going to eventually run out. That I was going to end up with nothing except for my photographs to remind me of how much love I had once felt. My eyes moved towards the large stack of photo boxes I had, all of the printed photographs kept neatly in date order, accumulated over the course of years now. Few were of me, which was the exact way I preferred it. Of course, I also had them backed up to a hard drive as well… but there was something so satisfying about holding a photograph between your fingers. At least I thought so.

  My family had always been extremely supportive of my passion. Heck, my father had even offered to ‘hire’ me for the tournament because he thought everyone should see what he called my ‘talent.’ I knew he truly meant that, but I wasn’t sure it was actually talent, because I didn’t have any true professional skill.

  I just enjoyed capturing moments and possessed the right technology to do so. When I said no, I think he may have been a bit disappointed, but he asked each year, so I’m positive he assumed he could convince me by next year. I was truly glad that he supported what I did, but I also enjoyed taking the pictures I wanted, drinking Dom Pérignon, and listening to my mom and her friends gossip. I knew it seemed silly, but the small amount of girl time was a nice reprieve from the constant force of masculinity that my boys filled my life with.

  Plus, my dad had the ability to make any rules that he wanted when it came to this event, so I knew he wouldn’t give up on it.

  Ivy Grove Country Club was an exclusive, professional-grade golf club that was owned by not only my family, but Yates’s and the twins’ families as well. It had quickly become a focal point for our small, affluent town sometime around the 60s when my grandpa had decided to make the original purchase. Before then, it had been simply a stretch of land with some poorly marked holes in it, but the Aldridge family had brought it into its ‘golden era,’ as my grandpa still to this day recounted.

  The Aldridge family had been here nearly as long as the Ross family—far over a century—and it was one of the reasons the name carried so much weight. My father had not only been best friends with King’s father throughout most of school, but when he’d met the twins’ and Yates’s fathers in their fraternity at Yale, they hadn’t hesitated to co
me back here to raise their families. That was when Wildberry Lane had been built up and established. I wasn’t positive how exactly Stratton’s family had come into the mix, but they’d been a fundamental part of the community and had sort of capped off the closeness of our small group.

  With that being said, it wasn’t all that surprising that my father hadn’t hesitated to split up the property with both of his best friends once his father had transferred the country club’s ownership to him. King had never asked his father why he hadn’t joined in on the deal, but I knew that they were pretty heavily invested in their trade deals overseas, so maybe it had something to do with mixing business and pleasure? Honestly, I could have asked for far more details than what I’d somewhat accumulated over time, but I figured if anything was important, they would let me know.

  Once taking ownership, though, the three families had rebranded Ivy Grove into what it was today. A professional club with extremely strict rules, covering everything from who could accompany members to what you could wear inside of the property. It was regarded as one of the best courses in the country, and for those that were members, you also had access to some exclusive benefits, especially during the summer season.

  At night, and only available during the summer, there was a ‘no guest’ rule, and the property became far more private. It became a place to unwind, and considering the absurd membership fee, it made sense that there was a level of privacy that was assured to all guests. I mean, the country club had some amazing facilities, from the clubhouse restaurant that featured a Michelin star chef to the luxury pool, tennis courts, and golf course… but to pay a half a million dollars for an initiation fee? I still felt like that was somewhat insane.

  Maybe everyone around me was just crazy.

  Normally the club closed around five, but during the summer season, members were able to carry their party on far into the night. However, for one weekend a year, everyone that was part of the tournament was invited for an evening gala on the night before the tournament and a much more exciting event the night after.

  That was the part I was most excited about.

  In the far back of the property, there was a stunning man-made lake that my father had built up with a massive fire pit and stone benches, and following the charity match each year, the entire space would come to life with drinks, music, and laughter, and for just a few hours, all the stiffness associated with our town and the club itself was gone. I think it was probably one of my favorite events all year, and I hadn’t been all that surprised when my father had agreed to hold it, because despite the strict business standards of the club, my dad was pretty chill.

  He was also a total dork, and I was very hesitant to believe Yates’s father, who claimed that my dad was a ‘shark’ in the boardroom. I mean… this was the guy who still kept a comic book collection in his office that he had inherited from his own father. The guy who dressed up with me every single Halloween, going from office to office at his workplace, just so I could trick-or-treat safely. Yeah, I suppose that made me a bit spoiled, right? I mean, it wasn’t like I wasn’t thankful! He had literally worn a dragon costume to work and hadn’t blinked an eye about doing so in front of everyone that worked for him.

  I’m pretty sure that earned him a ‘best dad ever’ award or something.

  That didn’t even include the fact that I knew he and my mom had both been partyers at Yale. I’d come across a photo of them sitting on a couch, clearly at a party, with joints in their hands and smiling at each other like total lovesick puppies. It had literally been both adorable and hilarious. My mom hadn’t been happy about me finding it since I’d been only fourteen at the time, but now my father had it framed in his office… so clearly not that upset.

  If my mom was upset about something, everyone, and I literally mean everyone, knew. Not because of her, either. No, that was all my dad. So it wouldn’t be in his office if she had that much of an issue with it.

  And yes, if you were wondering who suggested the event be added to the schedule a few years back… it was me. I hadn’t expected it to be quite as popular as it was now, if we were being honest, because at the time, I’d sort of just been looking for a reason to continue to hang out with my boys later into the night and possibly impress some of my classmates whose parents were members of the club.

  I know, different times for sure. But then again, thirteen-year-old Dahlia cared way more about making friends than I did now.

  “Are you almost ready to go?” my mom called out in passing, and I shouted back a ‘yep’ before walking back towards the mirror.

  Turning to the side slightly, I smoothed a hand over my stomach, paranoid the dress was too tight on me. Paranoid that I looked bad. My fingers played with the end of my hair nervously as anxiety prickled up the back of my neck, making me feel almost light-headed. I used to think it was low blood pressure, but considering the bile rising in my throat, I was pretty sure it was just me fending off the constant panic attacks that threatened. Any excitement for tomorrow vanished as my eyes moved over towards the scale I kept near my bathroom door.

  Giving in, I walked over to the digital scale and stepped on. I was just checking. It was the last time today. I promised.

  Breathing out a sharp exhale, I hopped off, seeing nothing had changed in the past hour. I needed to prepare myself for eating in front of others without having a total freak out and letting them realize just how much of a nut job I was. My hand rubbed the back of my neck as I tried to not reflect on just how bad all of this had gotten.

  I knew I wasn’t getting any better.

  In fact, I was possibly getting worse.

  My entire life, I’d been completely comfortable with my weight. It had never been an insecurity of mine. Hell, I’d had a lot bigger worries for most of my life. Even when other students had started to comment about me not ‘fitting in’ with the Wildberry Lane group, I’d felt good about myself overall. Sure, I sometimes felt out of place, but can you blame me? I mean, I was adopted into one of the wealthiest families in the country—I felt like I’d literally won the lottery. Not just in fortune, but in love. I had parents who legitimately wanted to keep me. Who wanted me around.

  But none of those insecurities had really messed with my physical self-image. No, that had happened our senior year in an uncontrollable spiral that still had yet to be interrupted. All because I hadn’t expected them. No one had.

  Abby and Max Brooks.

  When they had first started at our school, transferring in from California, the twins had seemed like genuinely decent people. I quickly learned that was a guise, though, after both of them failed at working their way into hanging out with our families. Then their ugly side came out.

  Max quickly became bitter that King wanted nothing to do with him, despite having played lacrosse together for one season. I didn’t blame King—people were always trying to get on his ‘good side’ so that they could profit from his family’s connections.

  More than that, though, was that Max was sort of a creep. I know that sounded harsh, but too many times I had found myself in uncomfortable positions with him, one of which King had walked in on.

  I think that was when King went from being annoyed with Max to legitimately hating him. I’d never seen him that mad, and I wish I could tell you I’d been surprised when Max was absent from school for the following two days, coming back that Monday with a busted lip, acting like nothing was the matter. It shouldn’t have made me so happy how protective he was… screw that, I absolutely loved it. There was nothing I could do to change that.

  Maybe protective men were my kink? Was that a thing?

  Yet, for all the trouble Max was, it was absolutely nothing compared to Abby. The woman infuriated me. It may have been in part because I knew she wasn’t after ‘friendship’ with my boys. Now, I knew they wouldn’t give her the time of goddamn day and never had, but it didn’t stop my frustration with her from growing. I had no right to tell her to back off from ‘my guys,’ but
I essentially had done that this fall.

  I’d told her to leave ‘us’ alone, but she knew what I’d meant. I had felt embarrassed at my outburst because it had been at lunch when we’d been eating outside enjoying the autumn weather, and almost everyone had been paying attention to us at that point, but my guys had backed me up… so I didn’t overthink it. Especially since they would have done the same for me. It was what we did—we looked out for one another.

  There just happened to be a difference in the reason why.

  Still, despite all of that, I’d gone into the holiday season feeling like they both somewhat understood that they needed to back the heck off. Then the anonymous messages started to come in.

  First they appeared in my school email. Then my private email. Followed by my social media accounts, from Facebook to Instagram. This was all before my phone began to be bombarded with the same type of messages.

  It didn’t matter the time of day.

  At the beginning, I’d been able to ignore them, rolling my eyes at the rather uncreative name-calling that ranged from ‘slut’ to ‘whore.’ But that was before the pictures began arriving. Pictures of me eating at a restaurant with my mom, the sender placing a pair of pig ears on me during editing. It was stupid and drawn-on, but effective in unburying that small seed of doubt in my chest. There were others as well, ones where I was just walking and the sender highlighted everything wrong with my body. Well, wrong in their eyes, at least. Large red circles would cover my stomach, and arrows would not so subtly point out what they hated about me.

  There hadn’t been a breaking point for me, not at first. Instead, it had slowly started to wear on me, a subconscious sliver of insecurity that I hadn’t even realized was growing into something far more deadly and toxic. I stopped eating in public almost altogether, not wanting to give them more ammo than they already had. I wish I could tell you that had been the end of the ‘adjustments’ I made to my eating habits, but it had only been the start.