He narrowed his eyes.
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m absolutely sure,” I said, nodding definitively. “I love driving, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let my stupid ankle take that away from me.”
Dom bit his lip, still looking unsure.
“Well, if you need to switch out—”
“Jesus Christ, Dom,” I sighed, rolling my eyes and tugging him out into the hallway. “Don’t be such a worrywart.”
“Worrywart? Who even says that past the fourth grade?”
I scrunched up my nose at him.
“Guys whose best friends need to chill the fuck out. Come on, Leo and Finley have to be around here somewhere.”
I lived with Leo and Finley in a gorgeous lavender Victorian in Seattle, across the street from our friends Porter and Levi. Dom lived a few blocks away with his boyfriend, Smith.
It was a dream come true, being constantly surrounded by my friends who had become family at some point. They had been there through the most wretched, devastating moments of my life, and somehow dragged me along until I was finally able to stand on my own again.
But I was never truly alone, of course.
Because they stuck around, buoying me up and keeping me sane.
I loved them fiercely and immensely.
My days had a smooth cadence to them—shower, breakfast, work, laps at the pool, home in the evenings to spend time with my friends. It was a simple life, but I cherished it.
I worked at a quirky little used bookstore, oftentimes losing myself in the well-loved books while I waited for customers to show up. My bookshelves were overflowing with battered copies of classics and obscure little indie publications, their stories getting me out of my head and away from the memories I never wanted to revisit.
We found them in the backyard, sparring with a couple of large sticks.
Typical.
Leo was short and stocky, his dark hair mussed from running his hands through it, and he was grinning as he taunted Finley.
“Come on, Gumby, that the best you’ve got?”
Finley dodged a fierce swipe and spun his stick in his hands.
“You think you can hit me?” he asked, calm as can be.
Leo smirked. “I think you’re awfully cocky for someone who always calls it quits before he gets a single strike—”
Finley swung his stick up and brought it down inches from Leo’s face. There was a loud thwack as Leo blocked the jab with his own stick, his smirk slipping.
“What were you saying?” Finley asked innocently, stalking backwards to put some space between them.
“Look who’s got moves,” Leo said wonderingly. “Have you been practicing without me?”
I leaned against the side of the house, my arms crossed and my eyebrows raised.
“He’s been trouncing Porter,” I said loudly, getting both of their attention. “Didn’t you notice that gash he has across his cheek?”
“Aw, man, Carson,” Finley whined. “I thought that was our little secret.”
I shook my head.
“This game is so dumb, one of you is going to lose an eye. I haven’t hit someone with a stick since I was a kid.”
Dom cleared his throat, biting down on a grin.
“I mean,” he said, “there was that house party back at Pettygrove when you whacked Jerry Charleston with a pool cue.”
Dammit, he had a point.
“I was defending your honor,” I said defensively. “He was talking shit about you. And I didn’t hit him. I just swiped the end of the cue across his stupid blazer to cover it with chalk.”
Leo cracked up.
“I forgot all about that party. Wasn’t that the same night that Finley and Porter forgot to put the alcohol in the jello shots?”
“Hey,” piped up Finley, “I thought we swore never to mention that again.”
Dom started laughing, gasping out, “I’ve never seen so many confused sober people.”
“And I had to go out to track down some liquor to save the day,” I reminded them with a grin.
“Liquor, he says,” Leo scoffed, “as if he didn’t come back with a hundred bucks’ worth of two-buck chuck.”
“Trader Joes was a block away,” I protested. “What—did you want me to walk two miles to the liquor store in the middle of the night?”
“You could’ve taken my car,” Dom suggested.
“I’m pretty sure that was the semester that your car broke down and we had to walk to campus every day,” I said, nudging his shoulder. “Even though you promised that wouldn’t happen, and convinced us all to rent the cheaper house further away from Pettygrove.”
There was another loud thwack as Finley swung his stick downward, swiping Leo’s foot and making him yelp.
“Motherfucker!”
“Gotcha,” said Finley happily, tossing his stick aside. “Now who can’t spar?”
Leo dropped his own stick and tackled Finley to the ground, crowing in triumph as they fell in a tangle of limbs.
“Should we break them up?” I asked Dom, nodding at our dirt-streaked friends wrestling in the grass.
Dom shrugged, looking amused.
“They never listen to me anyways. We could just hit the road, if you’re ready.”
“A little peace and quiet sounds nice,” I said wistfully. “Just you, me, and the open road…no infantile roommates making noise and picking fights.”
“I heard that,” snapped Finley, shoving Leo off of him. “And you know you’re gonna miss us while you’re off in Bumfuck, Oregon.”
“Think you could take this one with you?” Leo asked, nodding toward Finley. “I have a couple of guys coming over tonight for some decidedly naughty activities, and I’d rather not get walked in on again.”
“I told you,” Finley said exasperatedly, “I had my headphones in. I didn’t hear you moaning like a—”
“Sorry,” I interrupted, laughing, “you’ll just have to deal with each other like grownups while we’re gone. It’s only a week, that’s not enough time for an actual catastrophe.”
“Call if you need anything!” Dom said brightly.
And then we were marching back inside to grab my stuff.
Flashback
I awoke with my lungs burning.
There was other pain too, of course.
Sickening jolts of it, radiating through my body like the physical manifestation of nausea.
But my lungs posed the most pressing problem, as I was five feet below the surface of the bay.
The sunlight was diffuse down there, blurring everything into a vaguely mystical haze.
Get to the surface, I told myself. Get some air before you actually, literally die.
Most of me was broken, that much I knew. But my right arm was strong and whole, my left leg too.
I began clawing my way up, hoping that I would make it before the darkness set in forever.
2
Ainsley
“Ainsley?”
I looked up from the quarterly report I had been examining and found my assistant, Misty, peeking around my office door.
“Ah, Misty. Come in, what can I do for you?” I asked, closing my laptop.
She smiled at me, striding toward my desk.
“Beauregard is on his way up with lunch. He asked me to get you to clear your schedule for the next half hour if that’s possible.”
I sighed heavily. Beau was nothing if not persistent.
“It failed to occur to him that I might like a bit of warning before he bursts in here with tikka masala and some half-cocked notion of reallocating our resources?”
“I believe it’s pad thai, actually,” Misty said, a sympathetic look on her face.
“Oh, well in that case,” I said drily, and we both rolled our eyes. “Please tell me you have some good news to sugar coat this bitter pill.”
Misty shook her head. “Not unless you count a call on hold from the President of the LaLonde Foundation.”
“Goo
d lord, these entrepreneurial vultures are going to be the death of me. Tell him that I am in a meeting, and send Beauregard in as soon as he arrives.”
“You got it,” she said, clacking out of my office on her obscenely high heels. “Let me know if you need to be called into an emergency meeting before lunch is over.”
The door closed with a deep, satisfying clunk, and I was alone. My office was located on the fiftieth floor of a sleek steel building smack dab in the middle of Manhattan, overlooking the Hudson. I swiveled my chair, looking out over the city I loved so deeply.
My work was my entire life. Ever since I graduated from business school, Magna Cum Laude, of course, all of my effort went into keeping the Stapleton Philanthropic Foundation afloat. SPF—not like the sunscreen, Beauregard, be serious—was a multi-billion-dollar foundation focused on funding international aid and relief projects that saved hundreds of thousands of lives each year. More than just a way to pay the bills, my job was my passion. It was the only thing I cared about, besides my grudging affection for Beauregard, my older brother and business partner.
An average day began with a blaring alarm at five a.m., which I silenced immediately before throwing myself out into the brisk morning air for a ten-mile run. Then it was into the shower with me, before shrugging on a suit and heading to the office. I oversaw all of SPF’s operations abroad, while Beau was in charge of everything that went on stateside, so we were both kept incredibly busy. My days often did not end until well after the sun had set, leaving me with just enough time to catch some sleep before another long day.
Most people would find my life unfulfilling, or tiresome, but not me. I loved every single minute of it. After all, I was making a difference in the world. As a young adult I vowed never to be just another trust fund kid, blowing through his parents’ money without thinking of others. Greater things loomed on my horizon; my dedication to helping victims of natural disasters and episodes of mass violence would seep out into the world and inspire others to do similar work. That was the only fulfillment that I would ever need—or so I thought.
There was a curt knock on the door, and then Beau burst in, carrying two takeout containers and a couple of pairs of chopsticks.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I said wryly, staring him down as he plopped into a plush leather seat across the desk from me.
“Don’t be a curmudgeon,” he said, waving my words away. “I got extra tofu, just the way you like. Shut up and eat your dinner.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is that any way to speak to your only brother?”
“Only way I know how,” he said with a shrug, pushing my food toward me. “I have to tell you something, and I don’t want you to go off the deep end.”
This cannot be good, I thought with trepidation.
“What happened?” I asked flatly.
“Christ, Ainsley, get some food into yourself first. Trust me, you’ll need your strength for this conversation.”
I surveyed him sternly, refusing to take a bite.
“Whatever it is, you may as well just tell me,” I said.
“Ugh, fine,” said Beau, tossing his chopsticks down on my desk. “You know how Dad got married in January?”
My stomach clenched. If there was one thing I hated, it was talking about our dad. Nothing could sink my mood more quickly.
“Yes, I do recall him sending me an invitation in the mail. Not that he bothered to call, or to invite us to a meal so he could tell us in person.”
“Well, do you blame him?” Beau asked. “It’s not like you would’ve picked up the phone, let alone gone across town to see him.”
I snorted, crossing my arms. “The effort would have been nice, at least.”
“Yeah? It looks like he’s making the effort now.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning forward. “I haven’t heard from him since the wedding invitation.”
Beau shook his head. “You’re not going to like this, Ains. But I want you to listen, okay?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Just say it.”
“His new wife, Sydney…she has a son who lives in Seattle. And his best friend is basically family. The four of them are going to meet up in Oregon next month, just spend a week in the Deschutes National Forest and do some family bonding.”
“I fail to see what this has to do with us,” I snapped. “So, he found a couple of kids he actually cares about, that is certainly not my business.”
Beau reached out to grip my shoulder, grounding me. He had always known to do that, even when we were little kids.
“It has to do with us because Dad invited us to join them. He wants us to be a family, or…I don’t know, at least to meet his new family.”
“You told him that he can forget about it, right?” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. The last thing I wanted was to spend a week with my dad, watching him show off the people he had chosen after I had spent my whole life feeling abandoned.
“Actually,” said Beau, “I think we should go.”
I gaped at him.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I barked. “Have you forgotten what an absolute deadbeat he has been our entire lives?”
“Ainsley—”
“Do you remember him being around when we were kids? Because all I remember is a string of nannies and housekeepers who took care of us while he and Mom were off being globe-trotting entrepreneurs. And then there was our boarding school, where the nanny du jour dropped us off each September starting when we were six years old. Oh, and how could I forget the summer camps, where our counselors cared about us more than our parents ever would? Tell me, Beauregard, when has Alistair ever given us a reason to consider letting him in? He and Mom basically abandoned us the moment we were out of the womb.”
Beau’s brow furrowed.
“We’ve been through this a thousand times,” he said wearily. “Trust me, I know how much you hate him. And you have good reason. I’m not thrilled with the man either, but I think maybe after four decades it’s time to look at rebuilding those bridges that he burned.”
I scowled at him. The last thing I wanted was to turn my life upside down for a man who had never bothered to care for me. It wasn’t like there was some great hole in my life, a need for a paternal relationship to fill the void. I had Beau, and Misty, and work that filled my heart up to the brim. My childhood was long gone, my forty-fifth birthday having just passed, and I was happy with the life I had built.
“He does not deserve my attention nor my energy,” I said firmly, “and I definitely do not need his.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re good on your own. I know how you feel about this.” Beau looked me right in the eye before continuing. “But I think maybe giving Dad a chance to redeem himself would be good for both of us. I mean, god Ainsley, you didn’t even speak to him at Mom’s funeral. There’s a lot of anger bottled up in you, even if you’ve channeled it in productive ways. Don’t you think you might feel better if you stop hating him so much?”
“Mom died ten years ago,” I sniffed, not in the mood to address his actual point.
He could see right through me, though. “Stop stalling, Ains. I know you too well.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “I get what you’re saying. But I have no interest in forgiving him, and I am a grown man who can make his own sound decisions. I am not going to Oregon.”
Beau frowned. “What if you don’t go for Dad, then? What if you go to support me?”
“You do not need my support, Beau,” I pointed out. “And besides, if you spend a week in the woods, somebody needs to be here to make sure SPF doesn’t crumble.”
He burst out laughing. “Our empire is rock solid, man. Don’t hide behind your desk, come spend some time in nature with me. Dust off your hiking boots—you haven’t used them since you did that Kilimanjaro fundraising hike in April.”
To be honest, the thought of getting off the grid and exploring the Deschutes National Forest was an intriguing one. I had never been to Oregon, but
I loved the Pacific Northwest. Hiking, swimming, rafting…that was my kind of vacation.
“Please don’t talk me into this,” I pleaded.
He grinned. “That means I’m close. Come on, little brother, let’s go on vacation. I want to give Dad a chance to redeem himself before he dies, and you could use a change of scenery.”
“You are definitely my least favorite brother,” I informed him, finally pulling my food over and digging in.
“I’m your only brother,” he shot back with a grin. “Should I ask Dad if we can ride with him in the private jet?”
“Don’t push your luck,” I said, glaring at him.
Flashback
Have you ever felt truly helpless?
Not in the exaggerated, dramatic way.
Usually when people say they feel helpless, they just don’t have the energy to do something. Eventually, they muster the energy, they find a way to make it happen. Or they continue to complain about feeling helpless when, in fact, they never were.
I was genuinely helpless that day.
Sucking in deep gasps of air, I surveyed my surroundings and found utter chaos.
Shrieks of pain, of grief.
Bodies torn apart, some floating lifelessly on the surface of the water, other steadily sinking.
Debris falling from the sky in huge, heavy chunks that threatened to shove me back down into the depths of the bay.
And I couldn’t move.
Not in any kind of productive way.
My right arm churned the water, desperate to keep me afloat.
Everywhere, all around me, were people in need. And I was immobile.
All of those swimming championships, their trophies lining the walls in my childhood bedroom, were for naught.
People were dying right before my eyes—god, I could see their suffering so clearly—and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Under Wraps Page 2
