by Xavier Neal
“The truth is simple, Weston.” His clipped tone shuts my lips tightly. “Your parents loved one another. They loved you. Let that be enough.”
“That is not enough!” Anger sends my hand flying, objects on my desk crashing to the floor. He glances down at them as if instinctually fighting the urge to pick them up. On a low rumble, I demand, “Go.…Find me that fucking paperwork and stay the hell out of my sight until otherwise commanded.”
Clark gives me a polite nod and disappears back the way he came.
Rather than deal with the mess on the floor I cross the room past the conference table for the stash of whiskey I keep on hand in the corner bar. I pop the lid to the crystal decanter and pour a portion of the amber liquid into the nearest glass. Without hesitation, I toss it back, anxious to have the burn soothe my unsettled nerves.
Who the hell does Clark think he is? How the hell can he protect someone who is no longer living? Someone no longer around to put this fucked up situation in better perspective than what it seems?
Another groan of irritation sails through my veins, and I pour a second shot into the glass. The distinct flavors coat my senses yet spiral my mind further down the rabbit hole of madness.
Does this company even rightfully belong to me? If I’m not the sole heir shouldn’t my sibling be entitled to something? Maybe not any of the shares, but a settlement? A million? Two? Ten? A billion? And if I write that fucking check, how does that make me any better than the man who cheated on my mother then locked the secret away for decades?
Thoughtlessly, I pour another round into the glass, dark memories of the relief I found at the bottom of the bottle calling to me like the somber, sirens they are. I gulp it down. And another. And another. And another until the questions in my mind are momentarily silenced.
I exhale a deep breath, eyes focused on the contents in the bottle.
My so-called legacy.
My so-called family.
Lies.
Everything.
Everyone.
Is there anyone I can trust? Has there ever been? Is the woman I love actually pregnant with my child, or is this another fucking cover up in the works? Does Monica indeed know more about my family…our family than I ever have?
Outrage slams into my stomach, and I hurl the glass at the wall. Liquid drags itself down the wall in a slow taunting nature.
I grab the decanter and prepare to drink straight from it when I’m interrupted.
“What the hell happened in here?” J.T. asks from the doorway.
Slowly, my body turns to face him, noticing his empty hands. “Where the fuck are the boxes?”
“In the car-”
“Why aren’t they in here yet?”
“I just walked in-”
“Then just fucking bring them in here!”
His mouth cracks open tempted to argue when a growl seeps free.
He turns on his heels to retrieve the information, and I steal several swallows from the decanter.
“Whoa, didn’t know it was this kinda party,” Brynley’s voice suddenly invades the room.
Lowering the decanter, I divert my eyes to hers. The concern in them only calls to me to drink more. To finish the contents. To hide from the possibility of being made an even bigger idiot than I already was today.
“Rough day at the office?”
I lean against the edge of the conference table, decanter sailing towards my lips. “You could say that.”
After I’ve had another sip, she cautiously questions, “Wanna talk about it? I mean I can’t drink with you but-”
“No.”
Brynley’s crystal stare poorly hides the pain of rejection. “What about the meeting with that blog bitch? Did she-”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
And until I have answers, concrete answers, there is nothing to say. She doesn’t need to know the details when I barely have them. She doesn’t need to see what a broken fucking family I apparently come from. She doesn’t need to witness as it tries to break me again…you know…since once wasn’t fucking enough.
She folds her arms firmly across her chest. “Do you wanna talk at all?”
“No.”
The word covered in resentment shoots her eyebrows into the air.
I ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head to let her into this situation. To treat her with love and remind her that regardless of whatever it is I discover in these old boxes or files or whatever the fuck is waiting for me to rifle through, I will never be like the man I looked up to. I will always be faithful. I will always love her with everything I have, even if it’s just tiny shattered pieces.
Disgust and disdain melt together in my mouth, and I quickly take another gulp to shove it down.
J.T. and Nathaniel stroll into the office with stacked boxes in their hands.
“On the conference table,” I command coldly.
“What is all of that?” Brynley quickly questions.
“It’s not your concern.”
My answer receives me a rightful scoff. “Since fucking when?”
“Since I learned my entire fucking life is one giant fucking tabloid scandal!”
J.T. attempts to calm me down, “Wes-”
“It’s fine,” Brynley says from behind gritted teeth. “Let the big bad wolf huff and puff and go fuck himself.” She offers me her middle finger and sweetly says to my best friend, “I’ll be watching Kirk and Spock argue while Wes silently stews over the fact he will not be boldly going where no other man shall ever go again any time soon.”
She sneers, spins, and stomps out towards the living room.
My best friend pins me with a look of disapproval. “Wes-”
“Not. Now.”
Tearing off the lid of the box closest to me with my free hand I am immediately blinded by the sight inside. On top there is a photograph of a much younger version of my father tightly embracing a pregnant woman who is not my mother.
Bile bumps into the booze causing me to immediately begin heaving.This can’t be real. This can’t possibly. Be. Real.
Storming into the employees only area of the institute, I barely make it across the threshold before I let out another frustrated squeak.
“Rough morning?” Calen questions from where he’s sitting at the round table with his lunch.
“You know the saying everything that can go wrong will?”
He wipes his mouth. “Murphy’s Law.”
“Fuck Murphy.” I shove the key into the lock of my locker. “And fuck whoever said when it rains it pours!”
“Gonna guess the last part is because it’s actually raining.”
The glare I toss him is vicious. “Did the soaking wet shirt not give it away?”
He chooses to remain silent, which is absolutely for the best.
After shoving my purse in my locker, I give it a quick scan before letting out another displeased growl.
“New problem?”
“I don’t have a dry shirt.” My head sharply cuts to him. “I don’t have a fucking dry shirt! I don’t have any spare clothes because I took all my shit home this weekend with every intention of washing them yet, where are they? On the floor of our penthouse because I spent the entire fucking weekend trying to pry my fiancé out of his fucking office, who might I add…missed my doctor’s appointment this morning!”
He starts to speak when I let out another pissed off squeak.
“And my favorite blue eyeliner was crushed by Lurch’s big ass foot this morning as we were running out the door!”
Calen cautiously questions, “Why?”
“Why what? Why is he locked away looming over reports and statements and diary entries from a million years ago or why wasn’t he at the doctor beside me to watch my face fall in horror at the amount of weight I’m putting on!?”
“You’re supposed to put on weight, Bryn. You’re pregnant.”
“That’s what the doctor said, and she almost got a shot to her cooch. You wan
na say that again and see if you make it through without a punch to your dick? She’s responsible for making sure nothing is wrong with the little thing inside of me, youe job during this whole pregnancy process is much less crucial.”
His mouth clamps shut.
For the past two and half weeks my life has descended into an unknown wing of hell. When Wes found out his father essentially cheated on his mother and that he might have a potential sibling, he disappeared from the world entirely. J.T. is back to being front and center for the company, making more decisions than ever before. Evie calls me daily to ask for progress updates on getting him to come away from the manor. And as for me? The woman he supposedly can’t wait to spend the rest of his life? I’m lucky if I see his face once a day. He keeps the door locked. He doesn’t pick up the phone. He occasionally answers a text message in some sort of drunken mess. I’m so fed up, two days ago, I told Clark to remove the door from the hinges, and Wes reminded the entire home he was the one who signed their pay checks, so the only orders to be followed are his. It was such a dick move I carved that very word into door. Afterwards, I started sleeping at the penthouse. Everyone keeps insisting he just needs a little more time. A little more space. But how much more? And at what point is enough, enough? At what point do I factor into any of this? At what point do I give my ring back and start planning for a life as a single fucking parent? The one fucking thing I didn’t wanna be? Whoever this man is that Wes has suddenly become is far worse than the one I met. That man was guarded but still longed for love. That man made decisions with the well-being of others in mind. That man was easy to fall for. The monster who is holding hostage the man I’d give up my life for, is merciless. And I’m equal parts devastated and petrified.
“No eyeliner since my Mary Kay order hasn’t come in yet, but wanna borrow one of my shirts?” my friend warmly suggests.
I give him a short smile at the attempt to lighten my spirits. With a quick nod, I run my fingers through my damp locks and put it up in a high pony tail.
Calen doesn’t waste time retrieving the item from his locker. Once it’s in my possession, he turns his back to me, and quietly waits while I make a quick change out of my shirt and into his. As soon as he hears my locker slam shut, he turns back around and asks, “Better?”
Sadly, this is the most relief I’ve felt all morning. Instead of verbally admitting that pathetic truth, I simply nod again.
“Got an extra cookie. Want it?”
The scowl is instant. “How can you eat on today of all days?”
He gives me a short shrug. “It’s a routine work day, Bryn. Just because you don’t like what’s happening in an hour-”
“Forty-two minutes.”
“-doesn’t mean the day stops. There was still a shit ton of paperwork to do. Emails to answer. A meeting with Raquel. Again. I honestly think she’s starting to worry about what to do when you go on maternity leave.”
I roll my eyes. “Right now, I’m worried about going through the damn pregnancy alone.”
Calen motions his head towards the table for me to join him. “Wes really didn’t show up?”
“No.”
“And this is the same man that made a very sizeable donation to law enforcement organizations to help him cut his trip in half when you sprained your ankle?”
“Same. One.”
He plops down back into his chair. “Is he bipolar?”
“He’s about to be bye bye bye if he doesn’t get his shit together,” I harshly mutter.
“Things that bad?”
“Let’s put aside the fact I’m beginning to feel like my virginity is growing back-”
“Is it itchy?”
“Extremely.”
The shared joke successfully gets a laugh out of me, and Calen proudly winks.
Who needs girlfriends to go get manis or pedis with when I’ve got someone like him? Sure, swapping sex stories is slightly different, and I can never bother him about his shitty brand choice in mascara, but he’s here for the important shit. He listens. He gives me a knock in the head when I need it. He’s dependable, which is something I don’t have a lot of at this time. Hell. It’s not something I’ve had a lot of outside of my mom.
“What’s his problem, anyway?” Calen questions between bites of his sandwich. “He usually can’t get his strings around you tight enough. I mean, not that I exactly mind. It’s been kind of nice to go see a movie or go to dinner without having to worry about the curse of a thousand billionaires being placed on me.”
His lame attempt at a follow up joke shakes my head.
He doesn’t have to worry about Wes bitching, but Evie’s filling those shoes plenty. I swear she has Jenni pulling out every adorable Bryn and Wes photo from the archives possible. The minute Evie complains Jenni is hitting me up to go through my phone to find something for her to work with. Problem is there haven’t been any recent moments between us to capture, let alone tweet about. And staring at photos of him has this way of making me so devastated I become furious and contemplate what else I can destroy to further demonstrate how upset I am that he’s completely locked me out of his life. That he doesn’t trust me enough with whatever it is he’s dealing with. That he’d rather deal with it alone.
“I would’ve asked sooner about all of it, but I know you. You talk about shit when you feel like it….” He swallows the last piece. “Or when you explode. Whichever comes first.” Calen reaches for his bottle of water and has a sip. “I swear your emotions are like what happens when you shake up an unopened can of soda and don’t tell anyone. Just one pop and boom!”
My fist swings playfully into his shoulder.
He chuckles slightly and starts to toss his trash.
“He’s…he’s been obsessing over this-” my voice stops knowing the details aren’t supposed to be shared yet. Interesting how I’m going to extreme lengths to keep his privacy and he can’t even share with me what he’s found with me. “Project. Night and day. It’s all he’s been doing for the past couple of weeks.”
There’s a puzzled hum out of him.
“He’s completely shut me out, Calen.” A defeated sigh pushes my body forward. “I have done everything I can think of to get his attention. Sexual promises. Violent tantrums. Pleading. Begging. Swearing. Crying. I…I honestly don’t know what to do any more.” All of a sudden, tears begin to sting the corners of my eyes without my consent. “I feel hopeless. And alone. And miserable. And unwanted.”
He quickly rushes over and swoops me into a loving hug.
Tears begin to fall more frequent as I squeeze him tightly. “It’s hard enough being pregnant and secretly worrying every night how I’m going to fuck up being a mom, but having no one to talk to about it is the absolute fucking worst.” My chest heaves between sobs. “I’m scared I’m not eating enough and then sometimes I’m scared I’m eating too much. That lying the wrong way is gonna like…crush it’s fucking head or that they’re gonna have to cut me open to remove it like an alien in a horror movie. I cry in the mornings. I cry on my way to work. I cry in the bathtub. I don’t know if it’s these fucking hormones or the fact my future husband suddenly hates me, but it feels like I don’t have anyone around to listen. Even my mother is too busy trying to do her job to really make time for me. And let’s not forget the only other real friend I have besides you is being taken away from me today.”
His arms flex hard at the same he tries to calm me. “Shhhh.…It’ll be okay, Bryn.”
“Will it?!” I cry harder. “Or is that just the bullshit best friend line you’re giving me because you’re a good person?”
Calen leans away to stare down at me. “It really will be okay. I don’t have all the answers. Fuck, I honestly don’t have any. But I do know that you, Brynley Winters, never go down without a fight. It’s not your style. You may take a few punches, endure a few bruises, and wait for the perfect shot, but when it comes to something you love, you’ll fight for it. It’s why Steven’s getting the red carp
et transfer today. It’s why we’re getting the new little guy in his place. It’s why the kid inside of you is going to have the best fucking mother possible, because a real mom always fights for what she loves. Fights for what’s best for her child. Even if sometimes that means fighting with the man who is supposed to marry her.” Rather than leave the conversation open for rebuttal, he suggests, “Why don’t we go to the dock and wait for Steven’s limo?”
