Conflagration

by Tessa Teevan

  I’m distracted as he pounds on the glass, looking back and forth between me and the blazing inferno. I go to open the door, but it won’t move—almost as if something in the crash had knocked the mechanics off-kilter—and I have no way to escape. Panic washes over his face, and I feel the same panic flowing through me. Tugging on my seatbelt, I’m suddenly aware that it’s no use. Looking around, I see the flames, and when I look back at his face, I see it in his eyes. It’s too late for me. But it’s not too late for him.

  I press my hand to the window and hope my eyes are pleading enough to get him to save himself. Instead of fleeing, his big hand comes to the window, covering my own.

  “Get out!” I scream at him, not even sure if he can hear me.

  But it’s no use. He pounds against the window, determination in his eyes. My eyes flick to the semi-truck and I see the fire creeping closer. Panic surges in me and I start banging on the window, frantic and desperate for him to get away.

  A sob catches in my throat when I see his elbow actually cause a crack in the window. Leaning into the passenger’s seat, I cover myself as he hits it a few more times, finally breaking free. After he pushes the glass away, he crawls into the car and starts working on the seatbelt, but it still won’t budge.

  A hissing sounds fills my ears, and I know it’s just a matter of time before we blow sky high. I try to push him out of the car, begging and pleading for him to save himself, but he doesn’t. Somehow, someway, he cuts me free and pulls me into his arms, slipping me out of the car just in the nick of time. As my arms wrap around his neck, he holds me close and strides away from the burning vehicle. His arms tighten around me, and he whispers sweet words in my ear, but they’re indecipherable. Pain flows through my body, my head throbbing as warm blood trickles down the side of my face. My eyelids feel heavy and I can no longer keep them open.

  Just as I’m falling unconscious, the last thing I hear is, “I’m no savior.”

  As darkness takes over, the last thought I have is that it’s a lie. Because he most certainly is mine.

  VOICES FILL the air around me, and as I try to open my eyes, I can’t. They won’t cooperate no matter how hard I try. My limbs won’t respond either, and with the little bit of clarity I have left, I determine that I’m strapped down on what I’m guessing is a gurney. I can’t move. Pain engulfs me, and as quickly as I came to, I feel like I’m slipping under again. I try to fight it, but it’s no use. Everything turns pitch black, and as much as I try to avoid it, I’m taken back to the place where everything changed, turning my life into a downward spiral. A place I’ve tried long and hard to forget.

  May 2002

  AS I reel from Mom’s revelation that my dad didn’t know about me until after I was born, I decide to go to his office to confront him about it. Fortunately—or unfortunately for me—he’s in a meeting, and I hear every single traitorous word.

  I feel like I’m being sucker-punched right in the face and then kicked in the stomach for extra measure. All my life, it’s been my goal to follow in my father’s footsteps. One day, I’d run Wellington Enterprises. That’s why I busted my ass all through high school. Studied day and night to maintain a 4.0 GPA in my last three years in college. Spent every summer interning with the company instead of getting laid and hanging by the pool. Because I knew my place. As the firstborn, it was my birthright. I may not share his name, but I’ve always been first in line to the proverbial Wellington throne.

  Or so I thought.

  I went twenty-one years never even thinking about seeing a copy of my birth certificate, not even batting an eye at needing to see it. Mom always did that kind of stuff. But knowing I was going to need a passport for when I graduated and started working for Dad, I decided to be proactive and apply for one. That’s when everything changed.

  After finding my birth certificate with my mother’s maiden name, I immediately took it to her, wondering why the hell it was like that. Twenty-one years old and I’d never seen my birth certificate. Now, I knew why she had always been the one to fill out any paperwork I’d needed.

  She spilled the whole story about how they’d had a summer fling and he’d already been back in college by the time she’d found out she was pregnant. It wasn’t until I was three months old that he’d come back to town and found out about me. He’d stepped up and married her, and the rest is history, she claimed. She waved it off because, in her words, they’d ended up in love and with a beautiful family, even if they’d started off in an unconventional way. I was shell-shocked, and even though I should’ve just left it alone, I headed straight for Dad’s office.

  Now, I’m wishing I hadn’t.

  He’s just finished telling Trevor Donahue, his CFO, of how he plans to make my middle brother, Knox, his successor. Knox Nathaniel Wellington the Third. The son of Knox Nathaniel Jr., our father.

  Yes, even though I’m the firstborn, I don’t bear my father’s name. Something I’ve wondered about from time to time but never really gave much thought. There’s never been any indication that Knox is more important or more favored as a son. He isn’t treated any differently than Cohen or I am. My parents are pretty fair when it comes to their affections. So, even though it has crossed my mind over the years that he is the III and I’m not, it didn’t really matter.

  At least I didn’t think so until this very moment when I suddenly realize how important the name apparently is.

  The voices fade and I get lost in my own head as the anger builds inside me. I’ve worked too hard for this to be taken from me. Meanwhile, Knox fucked around and barely managed to graduate high school. Not to mention, he’s waitlisted for the University of Tennessee for the fall semester, while I’m on track to graduate summa cum laude next spring.

  But according to dear old Dad, it’s not enough that any Wellington runs the company. No, it needs to be Knox. His namesake. He’d be the third generation Knox Nathaniel Wellington to run the business—apparently something my late grandfather wanted. As if I’d had any fucking say on what the hell they named me. Not to mention, I don’t recall Knox ever saying that he had any interest in running the company one day. I’ve spent twenty-one fucking years preparing for this, and my little brother is taking it from me all because of his name? I don’t fucking think so.

  The longer I stew, the more fury ignites within me, and I have to fist my hands at my sides and steel my nerves before I unleash my anger and cause a scene. Part of me wants to confront him now, but I don’t know that I can keep my cool long enough to discuss it rationally, and the last thing I want to do is give him ammunition against me as to why I might not be fit for the position.

  Inhaling deeply, I turn and walk away, barely resisting the urge to punch the wall just outside his office. I have to figure out a way to change Dad’s mind. To prove I’m the best man for the job. Truth be told, it shouldn’t be that hard, considering that Knox isn’t on track to having a business degree any time soon. Hell, by the time he even does earn one, I’ll have my master’s and I’ll show Dad and the board that I’m the perfect fit. Fuck my name. I’m still a Wellington. That should be all that matters.

  My heart’s pounding as I make the drive to my apartment and my fury increases with every mile I put between me and the building where all my future plans were just pulled out from under me. As I throw my suit jacket on the back of the recliner, I loosen my tie and head to the bar, where I pour myself three fingers of bourbon in hopes that it’ll help take the edge off. And to drown out my father’s words, which are constantly playing on repeat in my mind. I swallow it in one gulp, enjoying the burning sensation as it slides down the back of my throat.

  After I refill my glass, I’m about to lounge on the couch and lose myself in mindless television when I hear a knock on my door. Groaning, because the last thing in the world I want is company, I down the rest of my drink and move across the apartment.

  As I open the door, I’m taken aback when I see Megan, Knox’s longtime high school girlfriend, standing on
the other side. What the hell? She’s been here before with my brother, but she’s never come alone—and usually when they’re here, I’m not.

  When I peer down at her, it looks like she’s been crying, and before I can say anything, she launches herself into my arms. Stumbling backwards, I slip one arm around her waist and pat her back with the other. Her hands take hold of my dress shirt, where she makes tiny fists as she presses her forehead against my chest. Tiny hiccups follow and her shoulders shake slightly.

  I have no idea what the hell is going on or what the hell to say to make her feel better.

  For most of their relationship, I’ve been a couple of hours away at school, spending only my summers in a company apartment in Nashville while I intern for Dad. I’m not exactly close with Megan, but she’s been nice enough whenever I’m around. Occasionally, she’s tried to flirt when Knox isn’t in the room, and I’d humor her, assuming it was just a teenage girl thing, because the rest of the time, she and Knox were inseparable.

  So I’m somewhat confused as to why she’s landed on my doorstep, crying and clinging to my shirt for dear life.

  I place my hands on her shoulders and gently push her back. She looks up at me with glistening eyes, and my heart falters. I really don’t feel like dealing with this shit right now, not after the day I’ve had, but I’ve always been a sucker for tears. Guiding her to the couch, I direct her to sit while I go and pour myself another drink. I have a feeling I’m going to need it. As I begin to cross the room, she blinks tears away and nods towards my glass.

  “I could use one of those,” she says, her voice breaking, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I consider accommodating her.

  Leaning against the wall, I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not sure supplying alcohol to my brother’s seventeen-year-old girlfriend is the best idea,” I tell her, and she scoffs.

  “I turned eighteen three months ago, Branson.” She sighs and looks away for a moment before continuing. “And I’m not your brother’s girlfriend anymore.”

  Well, that’s news to me. They were all over each other at Knox’s graduation party, and according to Mom, it’s only a matter of time before they take the next step and get engaged—something I find to be absolutely insane considering how young they are.

  Feeling pity, I walk back to the bar and pour two fingers for her before bringing both glasses and the bottle with me. When I hand hers over, she smiles thankfully and I take a seat next to her.

  “Well, I guess one couldn’t hurt, considering the circumstances. I’d ask what happened, but I don’t really understand why you’re here. Don’t you have girlfriends you could be talking to this about?”

  She sighs, takes a long sip of the bourbon, and surprises me when she drinks it like a champ. Apparently, Megan Caldwell can handle her liquor. Leaning forward, she snatches up the bottle before I can stop her and refills her glass.

  “That’s the thing, Branson. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  My eyes narrow as she crosses the couch, and before I know what’s going on, she’s straddling my lap. Her finger comes up and she traces a line over my jaw. The sad, teary-eyed look is gone, and instead, I see desire flashing in her eyes.

  “Knox and I are over, and I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first time you came home from school.”

  I swallow hard as her words register, and I’m stock-still, trying to catch my bearings, but my mind’s suddenly fuzzy from the bourbon. This can’t be happening.

  She leans in and presses hers lips to mine, moving her arms up to link around my neck as she begins to rock her hips against my now-growing erection. Whoa, this just took a drastic turn. This is my brother’s girl—ex or not, I know I should stop her, stop this. But all I can think of is Knox taking my place in the company without having to put in any work. Rage swirls in me as Dad’s voice replays over and over in my mind. I have to do something to get these thoughts out of my head.

  As soon as Megan bites down on my bottom lip, I make my decision. All rational thought slips out of my mind, and I decide that fate must be smiling on me because I now get to take something of his.

  Allowing my hands to wrap around her waist, I pull her in closer and slide my tongue into her mouth. She responds with a moan against my lips. I have no idea how long we make out on the couch, but when she pulls away, she’s breathless. She gets off my lap and gives me a seductive grin. Then she strides down the hallways towards my bedroom, beckoning for me to follow her.

  I sit on the couch for a moment, the little devil and subsequent angel on my shoulder waging a fierce battle as my conscience wars with my anger. In the end, the devil wins out. I grab the bottle of bourbon and follow her down the hallway, all the while wondering what in the hell I’m doing. But at this point? I’m too far gone to care.

  The next morning, I wake with a pounding headache and an even bigger mistake in my bed in the form of my brother’s girlfriend. Or ex-girlfriend. Whichever, I know I fucked up by breaking the bro code. Not even the bro code, but the blood-bro code. Fuck. Rubbing my forehead, I know I need to get her out of here as soon as possible. When I nudge her awake, she stirs, her eyes opening slowly as she blinks the sleepiness away before smiling at me seductively. Double fuck.

  Clearing my throat, I move to edge of the bed, not meeting her gaze. “Hey, uh, look… About last night…” I begin, but she comes up behind me and slides her arms around my neck until her hands are intimately touching my chest. Her lips hover over my ear, and the warm breath sends shivers down my spine. Not because it’s turning me on, but more so because I feel like a complete asshole as I remember everywhere her lips were last night.

  “Last night was incredible,” she breathes. “I’ve clearly been with the wrong Wellington.”

  Letting out a deep breath, I shrug her off and get up from the bed. “Megan, last night was a mistake. That shouldn’t have happened.” I’m trying not to hurt her feelings, but this can’t happen again. And no one can ever find out about it, or else I might as well pack my bags and change my last name. Loyalty is a fierce Wellington trait, and I just proved that maybe I’m not fit to be my father’s namesake. The thought pisses me off all over again, and I have half a mind to throw her back on the bed and fuck her until I can’t think anymore.

  Megan gives me a sexy smile, unfazed by my calling us a mistake. “You may think so now, Branson, but I’ll show you that’s not true. It was the furthest thing from a mistake. We both wanted it, and you can’t deny it was good. Now, I’m going to go freshen up and then I’ll get out of your hair,” she says with a wink, and I groan, wishing she’d just leave.

  Throwing on a pair of basketball shorts, I head to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee to help cure this bourbon-and-busty-blonde hangover. After finishing two cups myself, I’m about to head back to the bathroom to see what the hell is taking her so long. The sooner she gets out of here, the better. I need a chance to regroup and come up with a game plan to change my dad’s mind. Or see if I need to get out now and find another company where I can rise high. As much as I want to work in the family business, if there’s a glass ceiling put in place just because of my name, I have no problem finding a company where I can work my way up to the top. I haven’t worked my ass off to only be second-in-command to someone who doesn’t even deserve it.

  I’m halfway down the hall when I hear a knock at the door. Motherfucker. I can go weeks without having a visitor, and the one time I want to be alone, I get two in the span of twelve hours.

  Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s barely nine a.m. on this Saturday morning and I wonder who in the hell would be coming around now. When I open the door, instant panic wells up in me. This can’t be fucking happening.

  Standing on the other side of my door is none other than my kid brother, Knox. Whose ex-girlfriend is currently naked in my shower. Fuck me all over again.

  My heart’s pounding, and I suddenly hope that Megan continues to take her sweet-ass time until I can get him out of here. Whether the
y’re broken up or not, I’d rather him not witness her early morning walk of shame out of my apartment. Although, with the way she’s acting, I don’t think she’d mind one bit if she was seen leaving my place.

  “Knox,” I grumble, and suddenly, that one little word brings Dad’s voice barreling back into my mind. Knox. Because of that damn name, my fuck-off little brother is going to be Dad’s successor, and even though it’s not his fault, I still see red.

  I can’t think clearly, not with the pounding headache and the resounding affirmation that I’m not good enough in my Dad’s eyes—by no fault of my own. And if I had a cooler head right now, I’d probably know that it’s not Knox’s fault either, but I’m too blinded by my rage to think logically. All the anger boils back up inside me over the fact that he’s taking this from me. And he doesn’t even give a shit. Hell, maybe he does know and that’s why he’s fucked around in school instead of working his ass off. Because he already knows he has a place at the top of the company.

  “Hey, Bran, what’s up? What was so urgent that you wanted me to come over right away?” he asks, confusing me.

  What? Frowning, because I know I haven’t even looked at my phone this morning, I’m about to question him when he looks beyond me, his eyes widening. I turn to see that Megan has emerged from my room, conveniently wearing nothing but the discarded dress shirt that she practically tore off me last night.

  She feigns a look of innocence when she sees Knox, but there’s something in her eyes that lets me know just who sent Knox that oh-so-urgent text.

  Turning back to Knox, I see that he’s turned ten shades of red and his jaw is tense. Fiery anger mixed with hurt swirls in his eyes. “You two?” is all he manages to get out. His voice is raspy and he chokes up. His eyes water, and for a split second, remorse floods my veins.

  Then, once again, I remember. During the night, Megan told me all about their breakup, how he said that he didn’t love her anymore and wanted to explore other relationships now that they were moving on to a new part of their lives. How he didn’t want to go to college attached. And now I know why Megan came over. She wanted revenge, and she used me to do it. She wanted to show him that she could move on just as easily as he had, and sleeping with someone else wasn’t enough. It had to be me—his brother, his competition.