by Mia Carson
He floored it through the city, cursing Richard, his hands gripping the steering wheel hard. He needed a drink—several drinks—and headed towards his local hangout instead. Eventually, he’d stagger back to his building and sleep on the floor in his office. At least there, no one would judge him for not wanting to follow in his dad’s footsteps. His blood boiling, he slammed the car door after parking and trudged inside the bar.
The loud music blasted against his eardrums, but he liked it because it tuned out his dad’s yelling, blaming him for all he’d missed over the past few weeks alone. But there was so much more he’d missed over the years, hadn’t paid attention to, so driven by his job and being the best in the country. That was not the life for Greyson. He would follow his own damn path, and he would do it any way he could.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked as he wiped the bar with a clean cloth.
“Whiskey, neat—leave the bottle,” he said and pulled out a hundred from his wallet.
The bartender took it with a nod and returned a second later with a glass and a bottle. He barely poured his first drink when some drunk jackass ran hard into the back of him, spilling the whiskey across the bar top.
“Watch it, asshole,” Greyson snapped, whipping around to confront the guy.
“Hey, man, sorry,” he chortled and patted Greyson hard on the back. “No worries, eh? How about you share some of that whiskey.” He reached for the bottle, but Greyson shoved him back with an elbow. “What? You have enough to share.”
“Get away,” Greyson growled.
The guy tried to reach for it again, and Greyson brought his elbow back into the guy’s face hard enough to send him to the floor. He poured a new glass of whiskey and sipped it until two hands landed on his shoulders and yanked him off his bar stool. He fell to the floor, the whiskey coming with him, and the guy leapt over him and snatched the bottle off the bar. Greyson’s anger flared to life, and every insult Richard threw at him over the past few weeks reared its head. He yelled, lunging for the guy, and they both fell to the floor. The guy decked Greyson in the face and his nose snapped, but he didn’t stay down. He pushed to his feet, grabbed a bar stool, and took out the other guy’s feet with it just as he reached them.
“Greyson!” the bartender yelled in warning. He turned to wave off his worries when another guy charged him. His hand flew out to stop his fall. Pain shot through his hand, ricocheting up his arm as several fingers broke.
Both men landed on top of him, punching and kicking, and Greyson cursed when more pain overwhelmed his body. He covered his head with his arms, but with each hit, his mind raced with a fury. As he yelled in rage, he grabbed one of their legs and dragged the man hard to the floor, whacking his head against it as Greyson climbed to his feet and decked the other one left, then right, and finally, an uppercut that sent him soaring over the bar to land on the other side with a crash. Glasses and bottles cascaded in his wake, but Greyson didn’t notice. He didn’t care. All he wanted was his damn bottle of whiskey.
As sirens sounded outside, he held his throbbing side with his broken fingers, spat out the blood filling his mouth from his broken nose, and found another bottle of whiskey. He opened it, took a few large gulps, carefully pulled another hundred from his wallet and laid it on the bar with a nod to the bartender glaring at him.
“Cheers,” he growled, and toasted him before taking another gulp from the bottle.
“Sir, you’re going to have to come with us,” a man said behind him in a gruff voice.
“After my whiskey,” he replied sharply and took another gulp. A hand reached into his view and yanked the bottle away.
“Now, sir,” the man said, and Greyson glanced over his shoulder as the first man who hit him was dragged to his feet by two officers as two more went around the bar to get the other.
“Why are you taking me in? They started it,” he muttered.
“And it appears you finished it,” the office said dryly. “Hands behind your back.”
“I have broken fingers,” he said and winced when the cop yanked his hands roughly behind his back and pulled him off his stool.
“They’ll take care of it at the ER. Let’s go,” the officer said.
“Can I at least have my whiskey?” he asked, and the cop shoved him forward. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“You gave two men concussions,” the cop told him. “Your whiskey can wait.”
Three hours later, holding an ice pack to his ribs, four fingers splinted and taped together, and a butterfly bandage on his broken nose, Greyson lay handcuffed to a bed. His eyes were closed as he wondered what the charges would be against him. What he didn’t expect was someone whacking him upside the head.
“You idiot,” Sally muttered, sitting in a chair by his bed as he rubbed his head. “This is what you do? You go out and find two men to beat the crap out of instead of your dad?”
“They started it,” he said, sinking into the bed and feeling like a damn ten-year-old.
“The cops said the other two dropped the assault charges,” she told him, “but you are being forced into anger management classes, and because of your record, you can’t come home tonight.”
“Why the hell not? It’s not that bad.”
“This is your fifth altercation in three weeks, Greyson. How I didn’t know about the others, I’d love to know,” she muttered with a raised brow. “Once the doctor clears you, you’re spending a night in jail and then it’s off to anger management classes. If you can’t get through those and prove to a judge you won’t get into another fight, it’s more time in jail. Understand?” She shook her head in consternation as she stared at him. With a sigh, she murmured, “Honestly, I’m not sure who is worse—you or him.”
Greyson glared at her until she raised her hand to whack him upside the head again. “Alright, I’m sorry, but I’m not going home and I’m not apologizing.”
“I assumed as much, which is why I came with this,” she said and handed over an envelope. “Take it, and don’t you dare argue with me. You get your company started and you prove him wrong, but please, don’t push us all away. Your sisters would like to have their brother in their lives, and your mom would like to know what her son is up to.”
Greyson frowned as he opened the envelope and pulled out a check. “What the hell is this?”
“Money—the same amount you were going to ask your dad for,” she told him simply. “Take it and shut up.”
“Where did this come from?” he asked quietly.
“Not from your dad,” she said with a sharp laugh. “Don’t ever say I didn’t do anything for you.”
He shook his head and tried to shove it back, but she held up her hands and glared. “Mom, it’s too much… Where did you get this?”
“You think Richard Taylor is the only one in this family with money? I was left a nice nest egg, so don’t you worry about it,” Sally assured him. “Take it, live your dream, and get your damn temper under control.”
He tucked it in his pocket. “Fine. I’m sorry, for you and Dad fighting.”
“We’ve been fighting for a long time,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine.”
“You’re not happy,” he said. “Why don’t you take the girls and leave him?”
“Because as much as you think he doesn’t, he loves me and I will always love him,” she said and patted his hands. “One day, you’ll figure that out for yourself.”
“Figure what out?”
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Love is complicated, so very complicated, but always worth it.”
Chapter 2
Greyson sat up and stared around his bedroom, confused. His head pounded, and he rubbed his eyes hard, trying to chase away the dream about the first blowup he’d had with his dad. It was the night he'd left the house and never went back. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head, trying to remember what he was supposed to be doing up at this hour and why he heard so many voices in his kitche
n.
He leaned over, frowning at the empty bed, but heard Belle’s laughter with who he now realized were the twins and Sally. Through blurry eyes, he saw the date on his cell and the alert filling his whole screen.
“Graduation,” he grinned, pride swelling his chest.
The rest of the semester had gone by fast for Belle, and he was glad she was finally finished with it. She’d stressed over finals the last three weeks, but now, all of that would end for good. He’d managed to speak with her professor and explain why Belle had missed her deadline for her mid-term. After a promise for a substantial donation to the graphic design department and another to start a scholarship fund for students like Belle, they came to an agreement, and though she didn’t pass the class with an A, she passed, which meant she was graduating today.
Smiling, he climbed out of bed, slipped into jeans and a t-shirt, and padded barefoot to see what the commotion was about.
“There he is,” Sally announced and patted him on the cheek as he bent down to kiss hers. “We were wondering when you’d wake up.”
“I had an alarm set,” he said and walked around his mom to pick Belle up in his arms, holding her giggling body tightly to his chest as he kissed her. “And how is our graduate doing this morning?”
“Freaking out.” She cupped his face as she kissed him. “I can’t believe I’m finally graduating!”
“Well, you are, and I’m extremely proud,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.
“You’re only excited because she’s going to take over half the company now,” Mel chimed in. He shot her a look, but she was too busy texting on her cell phone to catch it.
“Are you ever going to put that down?”
Mel mouthed whatever she was typing then tucked her cell away and looked up. “I was making plans with Carrie for later.”
Greyson and Belle smiled, and he asked if they’d had breakfast. “I was planning on making pancakes and bacon,” he said, reaching for the griddle when two arms snaked around his waist. Belle pressed her cheek into his back, and her warmth seeped into him, warming him as she always did, chasing away the last remnants of his dream. “I’m going to assume that’s a ‘yes please, Greyson, feed us because I can’t cook,’” he teased.
“I can too cook,” she said, and he didn’t have to look to know she was pouting. “You just happen to cook better.”
“You can thank me for that,” Sally said. “I managed to teach him one thing, at least.”
“Just one?” Greyson asked.
“One that you’ll admit to,” she said with a wink.
Greyson grinned, but when Belle pulled away, taking her warmth with her, the images from his dream flooded his mind again and all he saw was his dad’s face. He dropped the griddle with a curse, nearly hitting his foot.
“I got it,” Belle said, rushing over to pick it up. “You alright? You don’t look like you slept well.”
He smiled, not wanting to see worry in her eyes on her special day. “I’m good, just some weird dreams last night. Nothing to worry about. You should start getting ready while I work on breakfast.”
“You sure?”
He tucked her hair behind her ears and kissed her sweetly. “Yeah, I’m sure. Go on.”
She bounced excitedly down the hall, and when the bedroom door closed, his shoulders sagged and he rubbed his forehead, reaching for the coffee.
“So what were you dreaming about that’s made you look so miserable?” Sally asked.
“Yeah, Belle was being nice. You look like crap,” Molly added, hopping up to sit on the island.
“Nothing important,” he said as he turned the griddle on. He fished out the ingredients for the pancakes and mixed them up, and three pairs of eyes followed his back. He stirred and mixed, pouring a bit of the batter on the griddle to cook. He tried to ignore his sisters and mom, but after he flipped the pancakes over once, he finally turned to glare at them. “What?”
Mel and Molly exchanged a look, but it was Sally who said, “It was about Dad, wasn’t it?”
Greyson stiffened and sniffed hard, not meeting her gaze. “Maybe, but it wasn’t anything new.”
“It was around this time,” she said gently, “when you walked out that night, Greyson. I don’t forget these things.”
“Like I said, it wasn’t anything new,” he said and turned back around, his shoulders hunched as he cooked the pancakes.
“You dreamt about that night?” Sally asked.
“Maybe,” he repeated. “I’m fine. It was nothing, just some bad memories I really don’t feel like reliving again. Can we drop it, please? Today is about Belle, not me and my emotional baggage.”
Sally huffed behind him but didn’t say anything. He knew exactly what she would say, anyway. He needed to open up more to Belle and let her know what went on inside his head. They’d had a few conversations, talking about his relationship with his dad and her foster care. He knew, though, she still held back, just as he did.
He was a little worried about his family being there that morning and more worried about the family dinner in a week. They had yet to make their engagement official because of him. He wanted to let them know, but the idea of his sisters and mom finding out made his heart pound. They would take over planning everything, and his mom would push them to be married quickly so she could stop worrying about her only son and eldest child settling down and being happy. He knew Belle was happy about the engagement, but he saw the same hesitation on her face every time she glanced at the ring on her finger—when she was able to wear it where no one else could see it. Another part of him warned about the other part of the conversation his mom would eventually bring up, and that was a topic Greyson wanted to steer very, very far away from.
His mom was dying for grandchildren. He knew it, though she never said it, and he’d be damned if he was going to put that pressure on his young relationship with Belle. There were still mornings he woke up worried she’d taken off in the night, unable to put up with his over-protectiveness or his random bouts of arrogance. They still bickered quite a bit, but making up afterwards was always worth it. For now, they would take their lives one small step at a time.
First, they had to see if this joint CEO gig would work out the way he hoped.
“Breakfast is ready,” he announced ten minutes later as he carried a plate of pancakes to the table. The bacon sizzled in the frying pan on the stove, and he gave it one last flip before pulling it out and handing it to Molly. “I’m going to check on Belle.”
“Oh, give her some time,” Mel said. “She’s probably pampering herself before the big ceremony.”
Greyson frowned, another big ceremony popping into his head—one where Belle wore a white dress and walked down an aisle to his side for the rest of their lives. “I… uh, I just want to make sure we’re staying on time. We need to leave in about an hour to make sure we get good seats.”
“We have tickets,” Molly reminded him as she forked a pancake and stuffed it in her mouth. “We’ll be fine.”
Sally frowned and scolded her for speaking with her mouth full as Mel burst out laughing, also in the process of stuffing a pancake in her face. Greyson backed out of the kitchen and headed to his bedroom. Belle had been in there for a while and worry nagged him. He brushed it off as leftover residue from his dreams about his dad, but when he entered the bedroom and heard Belle retching in the bathroom, he knew it wasn’t.
“Belle?” He hurried into the bathroom. She was wrapped in a towel, hugging the toilet. “Oh no.” He helped pull her hair back as another heave tensed her body. He rubbed her back and grabbed a wash cloth off the sink. “Was it from dinner?”
She shook her head, reaching up blindly to flush the toilet. “I don’t know… God, you don’t need to see this. Go away.”
“You’re puking your guts out. I’m not going anywhere,” he growled, holding the wash cloth to her forehead. She heaved a few more times, and his frown deepened as he wondered if she would be well eno
ugh to walk at her ceremony. “I think you’re staying home,” he finally told her twenty minutes later when she was still sick and his mom came in to check on them.
“Can we get you into bed, hon?” Sally asked sweetly from the door. “Maybe some hot tea?”
Belle nodded, and Greyson helped her stand. “Tea would be great, thanks,” she said. Her eyes widened on Sally’s face. “I’m talking to your mother dressed in a towel.”
Sally laughed. “I’m sure it could always be worse,” she said and left.
Greyson laughed at Belle’s reddening cheeks and helped her take a few steps to the bathroom door. Belle froze, and her hand flew to her stomach. Greyson stepped aside just in time for her to rush back to the toilet and bend over it again.
“Nope, you’re not going anywhere. Sorry, pet,” he murmured as she dry-heaved. “Wonder if you caught that nasty bug going around the office.”
“Tim,” Belle whispered bitterly, glaring at the toilet lid so viciously Greyson laughed. “He had it last, that rotten bastard.” Her rant was cut off by more dry heaves. Sally returned briefly to let Greyson know the tea was on the nightstand. He thanked her, but when she eyed Belle with a crooked grin, his stomach clenched.
“How’s your stomach?”
Belle nodded slowly, the bags under her eyes making her look even sicker. “I think I can lay down for a while. Damn, I really wanted to walk across that stage.”
“I know, pet, but if you go now, you might puke on your professors,” he said.
“That wouldn’t be so bad,” she muttered, leaning into his side as he wrapped his arm around her.
“I think you’re better off staying here. We’ll make it up to you somehow, don’t worry.” He grabbed her fluffy robe from the closet and helped her slip into it after dropping the towel. He picked her up and laid her gently in bed, tucking the quilts around her. “Tea’s on the nightstand. You want me to stay?”
