“No, thanks.”
Tom sits and tugs my hand, pulling me to sit down beside him.
We’re at the corner, so I shuffle over, letting go of his hand, I put a good bit of distance between us.
I can see from the look on his face that he’s not happy about the distance, but I need to talk to him with a clear head, and Tom touching any part of me leaves my mind fuzzy and my judgment clouded.
Determination in his eyes, Tom shifts over to me, leaving little room between us. Then, he turns his body toward mine, which presses his jean-covered knee up against my bare outer thigh.
The contact is like a live wire on my skin.
I sigh, and look at him. His eyes are dark, and telling me that if I move, there will be trouble.
I stay put.
He leans forward—forearms on his thighs, hands linked together—bringing him even closer to me. He exhales, and I feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.
“Why am I here, Tom?”
His eyes study me silently for a moment. “I need you to know how sorry I am for the way I behaved. The things I said to you the last time we saw each other were unforgiveable. I’m so sorry.”
I clench my jaw. “Oh, you mean when I bared my soul to you, and you told me—and I quote—‘Take your declaration of love, and tell it to someone who wants it.’ Then, you rode away from me without a second thought.”
“There was a second thought.” His expression turns to granite. “I’ve regretted what I said every moment since.”
“So, why? Why hurt me like that if you didn’t mean it?” The pain from that day is still so raw inside me.
“I don’t know…fear.” He shrugs.
“Fear?” I’m confused and pissed off, and it’s telling in my tone.
Guilt sharpens his expression. “What I’m trying to say is…maybe deep down, I thought if I hurt you, then it would make walking away from you easy. If you hated me, then there would be no going back. I just didn’t factor in how much I would miss you. How empty things—I…would feel without you.” His smile is crooked, heartfelt…rueful.
“I don’t understand. If you wanted me, then why did you push me away?”
Maybe I’m just being dumb here, but I can’t understand his logic.
He drops his gaze. “Because I’m fucked up.”
“No, you’re not.” I shake my head. “You’re emotionally detached but not fucked up.”
His eyes come back to mine. “I’m fucked up, Ly. If you knew everything about me—things I’ve done, the way I’ve behaved—you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“Even after the way you behaved toward me that day, Tom, it didn’t change how I view you. And it’s not about to change with whatever you need to tell me now.”
“I just hope to God you’re still saying that when I’m done telling you everything.” His hand rubs over his hair. He seems nervous, uncomfortable. “The things I have to tell you…my timing really sucks, but to make you understand…well, me…I have to tell you this.”
“So, tell me. I’m listening.” I stare at him, encouraging him with my eyes.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “What happened with Dex today…I understand what you’re going through.”
His eyes move down. After a moment, he lifts them to look at me. I see a vulnerability I never thought I’d see in Tom.
“I know how you feel because when I was thirteen years old, my father committed suicide.”
“Oh God, Tom, I’m so sorry.” I grab his hand, squeezing it.
With what’s happened with Dex, it’s still so raw. And knowing what it felt like to lose my mother, my heart aches for Tom.
His fingers curl around my hand. “With Dex and how you lost your mom…how the press portrayed it…you and I have a lot more in common than you realize.”
“Not a great thing to have in common though,” I say, fingers tugging on my lip.
He takes my hand from my mouth. Holding both my hands, he laces our fingers together. I turn my body into his, his leg positioned between mine, putting us face-to-face.
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not. But there is more to you and me than just that. I just need you to know that I understand how you felt when you were younger after you lost your mom. The press attention…” His gaze digs into the carpet beneath my feet. “My dad wasn’t famous in the sense like your mom, but my family’s name is…recognizable. And the way he died made the press very interested in us.”
His family name?
“Your family name? Carter?” I say, confused, trying to think of recognizable Carters. I don’t get past President Carter, but there’s no way Tom’s related to him. I think.
He gives me a regretful smile. “No, Ly…Carter isn’t actually my surname. It’s my middle name. My surname is Segal.”
I give him a look of confusion. “Segal? You mean, like the whiskey you hate?”
“Yeah, Firecracker, like the whiskey I hate. Thing is…that whiskey I hate technically belongs to me. Well, the company does. My full name is Thomas Carter Segal, the Fourth.”
Hold the fucking phone.
He’s Thomas Segal? Isn’t Thomas Segal dead? Didn’t he die, like, a few hundred years ago?
Don’t be so fucking stupid, Lyla. Of course he’s not that Thomas Segal. He must be his great-great grandson or something.
Holy shit.
Okay. We need to pause for a moment.
To put this into perspective, Tom telling me that he’s Thomas Segal IV is pretty much like him telling me that he’s Jack Daniels’s great-great grandkid.
Jack, Jim, Johnnie, and Thomas—four of the biggest names in whiskey.
And I’ve been sleeping with Thomas.
Well, fuck a duck.
“Okay,” I squeak. “How did I not know this? How does everyone not know this? Because you are famous for being in TMS. Come to think of it, why are you in TMS when you own Segal whiskey? And why do you hate the whiskey you own? And-and…” I’m running out of steam.
He lets out a soft laugh. “That’s a lot of questions, Firecracker.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just confused.” Taking a hand back, I rub my head.
“I know. It’s confusing, and I’m sorry I wasn’t upfront with you from the beginning.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t owe me your family history because you were sleeping with me.”
“Yes, I did.”
Lifting his head, he stares at me, and the force of his gaze hits me straight in the heart.
“There was more to us than just sex from the start. We both knew it. I just chose to ignore it for a long time, whereas you were brave and faced up to it.”
He rests against the sofa, his head tipped back on the rest.
His words have me riveted and following him. Kicking off my shoes, I climb up on the sofa, sitting close to his side with my legs tucked under my bum, my thighs pressed against his. My eyes are on his face, desperate to learn all about him.
He tilts his head my way, sorry eyes on mine. “You deserved to know everything about me from the start, what you were getting into, and I’m sorry I held back like I did.” He drags a hand through his hair. “My past isn’t a warm and fuzzy story, and it’s not one I share. The only people who know my past are Jake and Den. And Jonny, who took it to the grave with him. I only told them once TMS started getting big because they had a right to know the baggage I carry. My past is the kind of news the tabloids love. Fortunately, no one’s ever dug far enough into me to discover it, and I’ve made sure it stays that way. Being the womanizing, bass-playing member of the band keeps people’s interest in me to that level. Who I’m screwing that day gets old after a while. People lose interest.”
He reaches over and brushes my bangs off my forehead. “Do you remember what I said to you when we were at the piano that day?”
The frontline isn’t somewhere I want to be. I like things easy, simple. I get to play, do what I love, get the rewards from it with marginal
cost to myself.
“Yes.” I nod.
“I did like things simple. I didn’t want to be on the frontline…but I do with you.” He takes my hand again. “I don’t want easy if it means I can’t have you. You’re important to me. More important than anyone ever has been. I want you to know me…the real me. I want you to understand me, my life up to this point.”
My eyes close on his words. I feel him move nearer, then, his hand cups my jaw.
I open my eyes. “You’re important to me, too, Tom. I want to understand you. That’s why I’m here, why I’m listening.”
His fingers draw a path across my jaw and down my neck. “As you’ve probably guessed, my great-great grandfather was the patriarch of Segal whiskey. His name was Jean-Pierre Segal. He came over to the U.S. from France in the mid-eighteen hundreds.”
Tom’s French…kind of…
Holy wow.
He just went even higher on the hotness scale.
“Jean-Pierre settled in Danville, Kentucky where he met my great-great grandmother, Sarah Thomas.”
Kentucky. I remember how on edge Tom was while we were at that festival in Kentucky.
“Sarah’s father, John Carter Thomas, had died that previous year and left her the farm she grew up on. She and Jean-Pierre married, and he took over running the farm. They farmed corn, and he decided to start producing a whiskey from it called bourbon that had become popular. Some farmers were making good money off it, and my grandfather needed to make money as Sarah was pregnant with my great-grandfather. He was born a week before they successfully distilled the first batch of Segal whiskey. They decided to name my great-grandfather, Thomas, after Sarah’s family name, and, Carter, for his middle like her fathers. Jean-Pierre named the whiskey after his son. And that’s how Thomas Segal whiskey was born.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t even know why I told you all that. It’s not really relevant to the details of my shitty life.”
Leaning close, I press my forehead to his. “Everything about you is relevant. It all matters. I want to know everything about you.”
His fingers skim my cheeks. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”
“Not lately.” I smile.
He traces his finger over my lips. “Well, you are amazing. You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”
I settle back, resting my shoulder against the sofa, ready to hear the rest of his story.
“So, you know my dad was Thomas, the Third.” He’s referring to his tattoo. “Dad took over running the company when my grandpa no longer could. My dad was the head of the company, the exec chairman, and his younger brother, my Uncle Joe, was CEO. I was primed for taking over one day. My whole life was spent in Danville, Kentucky”—I hear the Southern in his accent at that moment—“being groomed for the day I would take over the company. I was to graduate high school, go to an Ivy League school, and then take on a job at Segal’s and learn the business. My life was mapped out. Then, everything changed when I was thirteen.”
I’m just about to ask about his Southern accent, what happened to it, when his eyes meet mine. The pain I see in them feels like it’s my own. It’s that strong.
“When I was thirteen, my dad discovered that my mom was having an affair. She had been for quite some time with…my Uncle Joe. My dad caught them together.”
Seeing the direction this story is going, I move closer, sensing that Tom needs me near right now.
“Everything fell apart. Mom moved out of our home and in with Joe. She wanted to take us with her, but I wouldn’t leave my dad. Heather, my younger sister by five years, didn’t really grasp what was happening, and she wanted to be with Mom. So, Heather went with Mom, and I stayed with Dad. I was always closer to him.” He sighs. “It hit him bad. He’d not only lost his wife, but he lost his brother, and he was being forced to continue running a company with him. He was drinking more and more. Everything was a fucking mess. I was a kid, trying to hold everything together. At that point, I thought that things couldn’t get worse, but I was wrong.
“I was out at a friend’s house, and I called Dad to check in, but he wasn’t answering. I don’t know, but something just felt off. I had this weird feeling in my gut, so I left my friend’s house and rode my bike home. When I got near the house, I saw Uncle Joe’s car in the driveway. I knew him being here wasn’t good, so I dropped my bike and ran into the house. I called out for Dad, but I didn’t get a response. There was music playing—‘Ordinary World’—so I figured he couldn’t hear me over that.”
The pain in his expression is crippling. And I remember him telling me that is his dad’s song, how he hasn’t listened to it for sixteen years.
My stomach tightens into knots.
He scrubs his hands over his face. “Christ, this is hard.” He gets to his feet. “I need a fucking drink. You want a drink?”
I shake my head.
“Gimme a minute.” He leaves the room and comes back minutes later with a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
“Jack.” He lifts the glass, tipping it from side to side, as he lets out a weak laugh.
Taking the seat beside me, Tom sits for a moment, just swirling the whiskey around the glass. Then, he throws the contents back and dumps the glass on the floor beside the sofa.
“The music was coming from our living room, so I went in there. The TV was on, and the music video was playing on it. I turned the TV off, and that was when I heard voices coming from my dad’s office. I knew that he was in there with Joe, so I started to run for his office. I don’t know what I intended to do. I just knew I had to be there. I just made it to the hall when I heard Joe yell out. He sounded panicked. Not even a second passed when I heard it. The gunshot.
“Stupid as it was, I ran in the direction of the gunshot, not away like most normal people would. I burst through the door to the office. That was when I saw Joe on the floor, bleeding out from the chest, and my dad was standing there with his gun in his hand. I ran to Joe and pressed my hand to his chest to try to stop the bleeding, but there was just so much fucking blood. It was all over my hands, my clothes…everywhere.”
He holds his hands out in front of him, like he can still see Joe’s blood on them.
I touch his arm. He blinks back at me.
“I could hear Joe choking on his own blood. I was screaming at my dad to help, but he just stood there, gun still in his hand, eyes vacant. Then, Joe”—Tom rubs his eyes—“died…right there with me kneeling beside him. My hands pressed to his chest.”
A tear runs from his eye, but he quickly wipes it away. Then, all I can see is a thirteen-year-old Tom dealing with something as horrific as that would have been. For everything I’ve suffered, finding my mom, I still can’t imagine what that did to him. My heart is hurting badly for him.
“Joe was dead,” he says in a broken voice. “And I was scared. I jumped to my feet, yelling at my dad, yelling that Joe was dead and that he’d killed his brother. But he wasn’t there. He was just empty. And I was fucking terrified. I knew he would never hurt me, but he was just standing with the gun in his hand. Then, suddenly he seemed to come to. He put the gun down on his desk. He looked at me and said, ‘Tommy, go get the phone from the kitchen. Dial nine-one-one. Tell them what’s happened.’ Then, he”—Tom takes a painful-sounding breath—“told me he was sorry.”
Tom’s face is agonized. Another tear runs down his cheek. He doesn’t bother to wipe it away. I watch it run a path to his top lip.
“I was just a kid, Ly, and he was my dad, so I did what he told me. It wasn’t until I was at the kitchen door that I realized something. Why would he send me to the kitchen for the phone when he had one in his office? And I knew, I just fucking knew. The whole way, running back to his office, my heart was beating so hard.” He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, like he’s trying to block out whatever he’s seeing right now. “I was steps away from his office when the second shot rang out.” He blows out a ragged breath. “My dad shot himself
in the head…and I saw him there, face down on his desk. Blood…there was just so much fucking blood.”
“Jesus, Tom.” Tears are running down my face.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him to me. I feel his chest shudder, and then he buries his face into my neck.
We sit like that for a long time. And I let him get out the pain that he’s kept buried for so long.
I go to the kitchen and get him another whiskey. I pour myself one even though I don’t like the stuff. After what I just heard, a drink is needed.
I bring the drinks back. Handing him his, I sit down beside him and take a sip of the disgusting whiskey.
He rests his glass on his thigh.
“So, what happened…with you and your family’s company?” I ask him, not sure what to ask.
He takes a sip of his drink. “With dad and Uncle Joe gone, the board took control of the company. I was to take over when I turned eighteen. But I couldn’t do it.” He shakes his head.
“Everything had changed for me. My life, as I knew it, was over. I blamed my mother for what happened, and she was no use to anyone. She was a basket case. Heather and I were left to fend for ourselves. I didn’t want anything to do with the company that was trying to tie me to it. I was grilled by the cops about what happened over and over. I was getting hassle at school from the kids. I was the rich kid who saw his dad murder his uncle and then kill himself. I was a pariah. Constantly getting into fights. People who were once my friends suddenly weren’t. The press was having a fucking field day. They were camped outside our house. I felt trapped.
“I’d lost my dad. I’d seen him murder my uncle and then kill himself. I just wanted to bury the pain, bury that night…forget it ever happened. But I couldn’t get away from it. Reminders were everywhere. So, I started drinking, smoking weed…having sex to block it out.” He meets my eyes.
“I was fourteen when I lost my virginity with some junior at a party. I was drunk and high, and I just wanted to feel normal. I couldn’t even remember her name afterward, and I’m pretty sure she never got mine. But what I did remember was that while it was happening, while I was having sex with her, I didn’t feel like shit. I didn’t have to think about everything that was wrong with me. In that moment, I wasn’t Tommy Segal, the heir to the whiskey fortune, and son of the man who shot his brother before committing suicide. I was nothing. Nobody but a warm body for her to fuck. She didn’t care about me, and I didn’t care about her. I liked the way it felt, and I wanted to keep on feeling that way. I guess that was when sex became a coping mechanism for me. I could just switch off and lose myself in another person, forget everything. It worked for a long time until it just became the norm. Having disconnected sex was just what I did…until you.
Taming the Storm Page 30
