by Xavier Neal
Somehow I manage to get into a pair of shoes and out the front door to where Nathaniel is waiting for me. His hard face does its best to remain that way even when I miss my footing and land flat on my face.
He quietly offers, “Would you like a hand, sir?”
“No.” Once I’m back on my feet, I toss my hood up to protect myself from the blazing sun, and finish my trek to the SUV.
After the two of us are securely in it, he informs, “Miss Brynley just left for the penthouse. Would you like us to follow?”
“No.” I work to swallow the lump of sorrow blocking my vocal chords. “To the cemetery.”
He acknowledges my instructions with a firm nod.
Leaning against the window, I close my eyes in an attempt to stop my head from spinning.
This is the longest I’ve spent without a bottle near my hands since the news broke. This is the farthest I’ve gone since my reality was altered. Since my perception was destroyed. Annihilated.
My thoughts tumble back to the last time I was placed into the deep depths of darkness.
I had lost both of my parents in a plane crash that was my fault. In a plane crash we never should’ve been in. That spiral was on me. This one is on him.
A low hum hops out of me.
Wonder if I would’ve dealt with the pain so poorly had I known his famed life was a giant fabrication. Wonder if the tears would’ve tasted so bitter or if I would’ve felt relief that I no longer had to be an accomplice to a well-rehearsed act.
The car slows down to a stop, and I grab a glance at their well-maintained graves.
Even in death I’ve kept up his prestigious reputation.
Not anymore.
I climb out of the SUV without waiting for Nathaniel to offer to escort me. Each stomp across the green grass grows my exasperation. My newfound hatred.
As soon as I’m in front of my father’s grave I shout, “You lying son of a bitch!”
Even though I know there won’t be a response, I wait anyway, praying in the back of my mind he’ll zombie himself up just to have this argument with me. Just to defend his unforgivable decisions.
“How could you do this to us? To Mom!” I kick the vase full of flowers at his headstone. “How the fuck could you betray your entire fucking family like we didn’t mean shit? Like we weren’t worth shit! How the hell could you walk around and pretend you were the world’s best father when you wouldn’t even accept all of your children!?” My shaky voice increases in volume. “And now your shitty decisions are ruining my life! You hear that you sack of shit! MY FUCKING LIFE! It’s not yours!” Rage ripples throughout me. “Because you weren’t man enough to be a father I am dealing with the aftermath! I am dealing with your bobble headed daughter who has a vendetta! I am possibly losing the only woman who could ever love a side show freak like me because you couldn’t stay fucking faithful to my fucking mother!” I desperately try to ease my heaving chest yet can’t grip onto any composure. “How could you do this!? Why! Why would you do this? You’re a fucking disgrace, and I hate every minute of every day I have devoted to trying to live up to the perfect fucking persona you pretended to have!”
“Now, that’s enough.”
The unexpected male voice slowly turns me around.
Clark’s eyes narrow at the same time he shakes his head. “Your father never claimed to be perfect. You put that label on him and in doing so there was no way he wouldn’t fail. No man or woman is perfect, Weston. No man or woman is infallible. You made the mistake that is tearing Brynley away from you, not him.”
“How fucking dare you….” I growl.
His shoulders square back at the same time he reprimands, “You will not speak to me that way, Weston.”
“You work for me! I can speak to you however the hell I want!”
“Then I will resign, and you will once more lose someone else you love.”
Clark’s unexpected threat blows me backwards.
“You are behaving like a petulant child. Like an out of control rebellious teenager who found out the man he admired was flawed. It was understandable at first. Now it is ridiculous.” He takes a step towards me. “Your father was a remarkable man in spite of his short comings. He did what any real man does for his family. He protected you at all costs. And while you may not agree with his decisions, he sacrificed more than you will understand to not only maintain the legacy that was handed down to him, but to expand it so you would have even more given to you. He did everything he thought was right and responsible to keep the Wilcox reputation as prestigious as possible. He wanted the Wilcox name to stand for giving, not greed. He wanted the brand to represent prosperity and embrace the responsibility of investing in other’s beginnings, which he believed came with his level of wealth. While your father may have made mistakes, he is no less of a man to be admired. Perhaps you should view his lapse in judgment as something to avoid rather than to throw in his face.”
Knocked off balance again, I feel my body begin to wobble.
“I may not be your father, Wes, but you are my son.”
My eyebrows furrow.
“I have spent more time raising you than I ever did Penny. I have spent more time bandaging your wounds, physical and emotional, than I did the child who shares my blood. Is that right? Does that make me a terrible human being as well? I made a mistake similar to your father’s by choosing to raise you instead of her. Should I be condemned and all the good deeds I’ve done forgotten?”
When I realize the question isn’t rhetorical, I quietly reply, “No.”
“It is time to let the past rest, Weston.” His words are followed by a solemn smile. “Move forward and be a better version of your father. Of me. Be there for your future wife and child in ways we weren’t. Accept…all parts of your family and build a future. Prove you are worthy of Brynley, your company, and your name.”
The lump in my throat expands to the point tears are torn from my eyes.
There’s no denying that Clark’s right. That I need to pick my shit up and move on. To put an end to the lamenting of his personal choices. Even if I don’t owe it to myself, I owe it to all the people who have been by my side for the past ten years. To all the people I call family. To the people I will call family. I am going to become a man that they can be proud of. I am going to become the man they can love and trust. And maybe…maybe I’ll become a man I don’t mind staring back at when I look in the mirror.
I stroll out into the living room to show my mother and Evie the dress I’ve managed to squeeze into. “I look like a pregnant sea horse.”
Evie hides her snicker behind her hand while my mom merely shakes her head. “You do not.”
Pointing to the small bump protruding from my stomach I gripe, “I have a fucking pouch, Mom. I absolutely look like one.”
“Yes. You have a baby bump-”
“Which is ridiculous! Because now none of my clothes fit!”
Not like they were exactly loose before, but at least I could get them on and off my body without the assistance of the Jaws of Life.
“You know, it’s the male seahorse in many cases that carries the babies. Humanity should take a lesson.”
“I’d gladly carry our baby if I could,” Wes’ voice unexpectedly invades the conversation.
All eyes cut to him, and I instantly regret the way my body melts at his presence.
It’s like it’s already managed to forget the neglect we’ve been suffering through in multiple ways.
My eyes drink in the crisp black suit he’s filling out so well and the dark blue dress shirt that gives the casual, yet formal look the evening’s event calls for. I admire the way he’s shaved. The hint of cologne wafting my direction. His eyes that seem prepared to grovel in new ways.
He slides his hands into his pockets at the same time he attempts to give me a smile.
I hate him.
I love him.
I wanna punch him in the fucking face.
Instead of acting
on that decision, I slide my hands onto my stomach. “Did you know many seahorse species actually switch mates at like a moment’s notice? Maybe that’s the page out of their playbook I should take.”
“Brynley!” My mother hisses.
Wes’ eyes never divert from mine.
His willingness to stand his ground excites and infuriates me in the same swift spin. “What the fuck are you doing here anyway? Liquor stores aren’t closed yet.”
“I should go,” Evie mutters loudly.
“We should go,” my mom echoes, which successfully grabs my attention.
“Wait. No! You two were helping me find something to wear….”
“Stop being stubborn and wear one of the loose-fitting evening gowns Evie picked out for you,” Mom commands. Afterwards she steals a glimpse of Wes, ending the conversation with, “And talk to your fiancé, Brynley. Actually talk.”
“You mean the thing he should’ve done to me like a month ago?” I snap loudly. “You mean the thing we do only when he fucking feels like it? No thanks. I’m good.”
“Bryn-”
“It’s fine. I’ll find something on my own. Shouldn’t be too hard since it’s basically my new fucking way of life.” The harsh implication that more or less attacks everyone in the room is proceeded with me turning on my heels and storming back to the bedroom.
A bit of a low blow considering my mother has come to check on me every chance she’s had over the course of our separation. Apparently, she’s been somewhat stuck as the buffer between her boyfriend and his more or less adoptive son. They’ve been putting her through the ringer to the point it only makes me want to punch Wes more.
Inside our bedroom I begin to tug myself out of the dress I knew better than to put on.
Someone needs to design an entire line of sexy pregnant women cocktail dresses because this is bullshit. Just because I have a little bump or…growing bump, doesn’t mean I should have to wear a burlap sack.
There’s a light tap on the open door behind me.
Once I’ve managed to get out of the contraption, I glance over my shoulder in question.
“Can we talk?”
“Why? Did your liquor bottles finally get tired of talking back?”
The flash of hurt in his eyes forces me to look away.
I drop my focus to the laid-out gowns splayed across the bed.
“You haven’t been taking my calls.”
He finally remembered how to dial the day I threatened to walk out of his life forever. I didn’t answer then or any in the days since. Why should I? He didn’t have the fucking respect to answer when I called? He’s been making my pregnant ass run back and forth to check on him. To make sure he didn’t end up in a liquor infused grave. Shouldn’t he have to put in some fucking work? Shouldn’t he realize that just because he says jump doesn’t mean I won’t reply with a fuck you?
“Or my texts.”
My face scrunches at the purple dress option.
Fuck, even I wanna make grape jokes about me from just looking at it.
“And you’re not wearing your ring….”
I glance down at my bare hand recalling when I took it off. It was the day I had to say goodbye to Steven. The day I needed him. The day he missed the doctor’s appointment. The day my best friend slept on the couch of this penthouse just in case I woke up in the middle of the night in a fit of tears since I had barely been able to stop crying all day. While some of it was definitely hormonal, most was at the sheer loss I felt about…essentially everything.
Finally, I face him, hands on my naked hips, words spewing like venom, “Why should I? Did I miss the moment you began acting like we were supposed to be married at some point?”
He swallows his obvious sadness.
“You think I should’ve just sat around waiting for you to crawl out of your drunken stupor? That I should’ve just forgotten the rest of the world fucking exists because I didn’t like what was going on in my life? Because I couldn’t handle the currents trying to drown me?”
His mouth twitches to respond until I step closer. At that moment it snaps shut.
“You are not the only person in life bad shit happens to, Wes. Fuck, you’re not the only person in this fucking city that bad shit happens to! You are however the biggest fucking asshole I’ve ever known, and I’ve met enough to make even an arrogant frat boy think about changing his dick head ways.”
Wes attempts to speak, yet my tangent continues.
“How can you be so fucking selfish?!” Dropping onto the edge of the bed, I shake my head. “Do I really mean that fucking little to you? Do we? Because if you don’t want me and this fucking kid, Weston then-”
“Don’t!” He barks to my surprise. “Don’t sit there and doubt how much you fucking mean to me, Bryn.”
“What the hell else do you expect me to do with the way you’ve been acting? With the way you’ve been hiding?”
Wes gives the side of his strained neck a quick rub. “I don’t blame you for questioning what we have. I don’t blame you for yelling. I don’t blame you for swearing to walk out of my life.”
Unsure of what to say I remain silent.
“I know I fucked up, baby. I know I deserve every blow you’re gonna give and so many more. And I’ll take ‘em. Every. Last. One. Because I love you. Because my life without you in it means nothing. I’d rather be broke and struggling to make rent every day if it meant falling asleep with you next to me.” His body doesn’t hesitate to cross over to mine. He lowers himself to his knees and sits back onto his heels. Now directly in front of me, slightly wedged between my legs, he lets go of the tears he’d been holding hostage. “I’m sorry, Brynley. I know that doesn’t change what I did or the damage I caused, but I will spend the rest our lives making it up to you. I will spend the rest of our lives being the man you learned to love in private and have always been proud to love in public. I will spend every waking moment making sure you and our child never have a reason to doubt how much I love you both.” The tears rushing down his cheeks spur mine to make themselves known. “I will never shut you out like that again. I’d rather die first.”
His proclamation pummels the wall I had spent weeks building up. Seeing him vulnerable, on his knees, literally begging at my feet touches every inch of my soul. As much as I wanna throat punch him, especially with him in the perfect position, I can’t. He’s been through enough hell. We both have.
I brush away a fallen tear from my face. “Still not naming this little thing junior.”
Wes’ trembling lips push for a smirk. “I don’t think you’re supposed to call it a thing.”
“Well we don’t know what it is yet, so for now little thing will have to do.”
Another bit of hope appears in his rueful, mismatched stare. “Does that mean…does that mean I didn’t miss that at the appointment?”
“It’s too early to tell.” The reminder of his mistake wrinkles my forehead. “And I swear to God if you ever miss another appointment this will be the only child you have thanks to me castrating you.”
“I’ll hand you the surgical knife.”
“Nope. Butter knife.”
Wes winces but nods his agreement. “Anything else?”
“The drinking-”
“Done.”
“Wes-”
“Spent the last four days detoxing….” He shakes his head slowly. “It was uglier than I remember, and I still have a long road ahead to kick my reestablished dependence on alcohol. Thankfully, Matt was there. He did what he could. J.T. rarely let me out of his sight for longer than enough time for me to go the bathroom. I’ve been in touch with a substance abuse counselor who will be visiting with me once a week. He also advocated me reaching out to you and reminded me I am not in this battle alone. Clark locked the cellar with a key only he has and removed every stitch of alcohol from the main portion of the estate, including the aged bottle of whiskey I wanna toast with at our wedding.” His eyes give my bare hand a glance. “Assumi
ng there still is one.”
My hand lands on his face to persuade his stare to relocate to mine. “Let’s focus on fixing this before worrying about that.”
Wes nods again and leans into my touch.
For a quiet moment nothing is said between either of us. Our eyes simply stay planted in one another’s as if uncertain what still needs to be said or simply just forgiven without further deliberation.
Eventually, he sighs, “The DNA test to prove Monica is my biological sister is this weekend. Will you please be by my side?”
