by Mia Carson
“He wants me to give up my dreams, my talent,” Greyson said, hanging his head as he glared at the floor. “I won’t do that, and until he figures that out, I don’t want anything to do with him or his company—or his damn dinners to show off his wealth.”
Sally frowned and reached for his hand, but the front door flew open, slamming into the wall, and she cringed as Greyson counted the tenth dent Richard had put in that wall. He stomped into the house, whistling as he walked, adjusting his tux jacket with a grin as he spotted Greyson and Sally.
“Well? Ready for the dinner?” he asked. “The meeting went well, and I know tonight will be fabulous. Why did you two take off so soon?”
“I wanted to change,” Sally said as she hopped to her feet and fiddled with Richard’s bow-tie until he brushed her hands away.
“Don’t fix mine, fix your son’s,” he grumbled. “What happened there?”
Greyson yanked his tie off and tossed it on the table. “Uncomfortable.”
“Are you going to change into your tux? I don’t know why you didn’t leave it at the office with mine, then we wouldn’t have to stop by the house,” he said with a critical glance at his son.
Greyson shrugged. “I'm not sure I’m feeling up to another dinner.”
Sally paused at the bottom of the stairs, a warning in her eyes, but Greyson ignored it. Richard’s body stiffened, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring as his son’s jaw clenched. The tension built between them until Greyson thought he could reach out and touch it. He should’ve waited, but suffering through yet another dinner where Richard pretended to dote on him and went on and on about how great Greyson would be at the company was not something he could sit through—not again, not when every single word was a lie.
“You’re not feeling up to dinner,” Richard repeated as Sally walked back over slowly.
“No, I’m not. I’ve had a long few days, and I’m exhausted,” Greyson stated. “Going to call it an early night, but you have fun with your lackeys. I’ll be here, working on my next game design.”
Sally sucked in a breath when Richard blew out a furious breath and took a step towards Greyson. “You insolent child,” he snapped. “How dare you spit in the face of all I’m doing for you!? Again!”
“I’m not spitting in your face. My God!” Greyson yelled. “I’m simply not going to do what you want me to do!”
“Why the hell not? I’m offering you a steady job for life, a company that will never fail, and a CEO position you can be proud of,” Richard said stiffly, “and you want to throw it all away for some damn gaming company? To play all day long instead of work?”
Greyson’s laughter was bitter. “You think I play games all day long? Do you have any idea what it takes to create a game? No, you don’t. You’re wrapped up in your comforting world of finance and numbers. You don’t even realize what’s going on in your own family!”
Sally shook her head and stepped between them. “We’re not doing this again.”
“Sally, go get ready,” Richard told her firmly without looking away from Greyson.
“I’m not leaving you two alone to deck each other,” she announced and shoved them away from each other. “Enough, Richard. You can talk about this in the morning.”
“No, we’re talking about it right now.” He stepped closer as Sally tried to push him back harder. “I said to go get ready.”
Sally stood on her toes, and Greyson recognized the fierce look on her face as she stared Richard down. He’d seen it directed at him enough times. “I said to leave it ‘til morning. Now move your ass towards the door, Richard Taylor, or I will not be joining you tonight either.”
Greyson stepped back and moved around the couch, headed for the back patio.
“You get back here! I’m not finished discussing this with you, and you are going to the dinner tonight,” Richard raged, stomping after him as Sally yelled at him to let it go. “I will not! No son of mine is going to have a start-up gaming company.”
“Why the hell not? What is so wrong with embracing the twenty-first century?” Greyson bit off each word harshly as he whipped back around. “Scared I’ll actually be successful and make a new name for the Taylor family?”
“If you do this, you will not use my name,” Richard said, planting his feet.
Sally slid to a stop beside him. “What do you mean, Richard?”
“I’m saying if our son wants to deviate from the path I’ve established for him, he will do it on his own merits with nothing from us. Nothing at all.”
Greyson’s stomach twisted. “What… what are you saying, Dad?”
“I’m saying if you use the Taylor name in any capacity for your company, I will sue you,” he said, the words issuing from his mouth in a furious whisper. “And you will not see a cent from me or your inheritance. Understood?”
“Richard,” Sally scolded, but he held up his hand to silence her.
“Nothing from me, do you understand me? I have done everything for you, and I will not have you throw it in my face so you can go fail… So you can embarrass us!”
“I’m the embarrassment?” Greyson said and threw his head back. “Wow, you really are that blind.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Greyson, don’t,” Sally said, but he was too enraged to hold back any longer. It was time his dad heard the truth about what everyone thought of him—or at least what his own family thought of him. “Greyson, please.”
“Sorry, Mom,” he said, “but I can’t.” He switched his gaze to Richard. “I already started my company, bought the building, and found a few employees to get it off the ground.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have enough money to do that.”
“I did, and now I’m broke, but I was hoping tonight you would give me a chance to show you my plan. Guess not. And I’ll save you the embarrassment of saying all of this at the dinner tonight. I will never follow in your footsteps. I will never be the man who works so damn much he misses out on his family and his life! Do you even realize what’s going on with the twins? Or with Mom, for that matter? Or any of the rest of the family?”
Richard glanced at Sally and the guilty look on her down-turned face. “What is he talking about?”
Sally sucked in a deep breath, and Greyson waited for her to speak, but she didn’t and he knew she was trying to spare Richard again.
“Mom thought she had cancer,” he said quietly. “She’s been through test after test over the past few months and didn’t want to tell you so it wouldn’t disrupt your latest deal at work. Mel? She’s pretty sure she’s a lesbian, and Molly was in a damn car accident last week and you never even noticed the car was missing or the cast on her wrist!”
Richard’s mouth opened and closed a few times as Sally’s hands fidgeted with each other in her shawl as she slowly stepped farther away. “Sally? Why… why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were busy,” Greyson answered for her. “She tried, and your secretary said you could not take any calls for anything.”
“But she’s my wife.”
“And you told her no exceptions,” Sally muttered sadly. “Molly tried to show you her cast yesterday, but you breezed in and disappeared into your office. You’ve been so wrapped up in your work, you’ve forgotten your family.”
Richard’s face fell, and for a second, Greyson thought they might’ve broken through his wall, but then he turned his glare at Greyson. “You did this. It’s your fault!”
“My fault? What the hell did I have to do with anything?”
“I’ve been so busy grooming you, chasing you down to get you into this company, that I couldn’t focus on anyone else!”
“Don’t you dare blame me for your shit,” Greyson yelled, his hands curled into fists. “I was the perfect son for years until I realized you didn’t want a son, you wanted another damn lackey who you could manipulate and brainwash!”
“You get out of this house,” Richard yelled. “G
et out and do not come back, understand me? And you will get no more money for me, Taylor or not! Get out!”
“Greyson… Wait,” Sally called out, but Greyson didn’t stop as he stormed for the door. “Richard, do not let your son leave this house!”
Richard didn’t follow him, and Greyson opened the door and slammed it behind him. Through it, he heard Sally yelling at Richard, but he didn’t go back inside. He took his keys and climbed into the old Mustang, taking off to the only other place he could go to—the new office building he'd bought for his start-up company. A company that now might not have a hope of getting off the ground if his dad were really going to cut him off from the Taylor money.
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 do
esn’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 26
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 kitchen.
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.
