by R. G. Angel
Bittersweet Legacy
By R.G. Angel
BitterSweet Legacy – Patricians book 1
By R.G Angel
Copyright © 2020 R.G. Angel
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover: Red Leaf Book Design
Dedication:
To Nazalie, my ‘real-life’ Taylor. Thank you for always being there even when I do something stupid and never telling me ‘I told you so’. Thank you for listening to me speaking endlessly about my books without getting bored and for always supporting me. Glee Team forever, right?
To Wayne, my Gay boyfriend - I swear you’ll be my date at the movie premiere.
To my readers, your enthusiasm is really what’s keep me going and I hope you’ll love this book as much I loved writing it.
Love,
R.G.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
The Patricians Book 2
About the Author
Chapter 1
Sometimes you don’t realize when your life is about to change forever.
Often, it’s planned – you’re getting married, having a baby, moving, changing careers, controlled changes.
But sometimes you’re just there, sitting at the last bonfire of the summer, about to start senior year, thinking about when Ben DeLuca would finally stop the two years of slow-burn flirting and ask you out and your phone beeps with a text that would change your whole life.
I’m sorry.
I frowned; my dad was a lot of things but not melodramatic.
Why? I texted back.
I didn’t manage to protect you. I’m sorry Esmeralda.
“Esmeralda?” I frowned. Who the hell is Esmeralda?
I jumped from the log I was sitting on. This sounded too much like my drunk dad, a version of him I thought disappeared over five years ago.
I started around the camp, calling my friend Juliet, my ride home, who would probably not hear me over the pounding sound of Fall Out Boy.
I turned around, charging toward the car park, hoping I could beg someone to give me a ride.
“Esme, Esme wait!”
I turned around but kept on walking backward as Ben jogged toward me, a drink in each hand.
“I was just coming to find you.” He extended a solo cup. “It’s alcohol-free, I promise.”
If I hadn’t been so worried, I would have smiled. With all the girls here, he was seeking me out with his broad shoulders, dark eyes and dark hair.
“No, I – My dad’s – ” I shook my head. My father was his football coach, how could I tell him I feared my father was drunk? Making the same mistake he swore he would never make again when he uprooted us from Boulder, Colorado, to Columbia, Missouri, in the middle of the night?
“What about your dad?” He took a step toward me, his eyebrows etched in worry.
“Where’s Jules?”
“Yeah….” He winced. “I saw her leave with Drew and Topher toward the beach so…” He rubbed his neck.
“Oh,” I blushed at the implication. “I really need to get home.”
He rested the drinks on a rock nearby and pointed to his bike. “Let me take you, I’ve got a spare helmet.”
I stared at his Ducati. How many girls dreamt about getting on the back of his red and silver bike? I dreamed of it too – but not like this, not with the fear in the pit of my stomach that something was terribly wrong.
I looked around the parking lot but there was no one around.
“You can’t tell,” I warned him.
He took my hand, pulling me toward his bike. “Tell what?”
“Anything you might see. Please Ben, it’s important.”
He put the helmet on my head, securing it tightly. “Of course, always.” His chocolate eyes reflected the sincerity of his words.
“Dad, he’s…” I was not even sure; I just had this uncontrollable dread filling my lungs with ice.
“It’s okay.” He straddled his bike, adjusting his own helmet. “Hop on.”
Once again, I was grateful to have ignored Juliet and her advice to wear a skimpy dress and worn my skinny jeans and combat boots instead.
The fifteen-minute ride to my house seemed never-ending, and I didn’t even get the chance to enjoy the firmness of Ben’s body or my first ever trip on the back of a bike. No, all I could think about was why my dad would drink again and what situation I would make it back to.
The scene when we arrived at the house didn’t ease my stomach. The car was parked crookedly, halfway between the driveway and the lawn, with the driver’s side door open and the keys still in the ignition. The front door of the house was slightly ajar.
I grabbed the car keys, closed the car door and took a few tentative steps toward the house, taking a small breath to settle my nerves.
I stopped when I heard footsteps behind me.
“What are you doing?”
Ben frowned at my tone. “Coming in with you.”
I shook my head. “No, I needed a ride, and you provided me with that ride. Thank you but –”
He pointed a finger at the door, a deep scowl on his face. “If you think I’m going to let the girl I like walk in a place without knowing what to expect.”
“Listen, it’s…” I began before taking a step backwards in surprise when I fully registered his statement. “The girl you like?”
He looked heavenward, with a heavy sigh. “Maybe not the best moment for revelations is it?”
I shook my head. I will kill my father for ruining this moment for me. “Just, please don’t judge.”
“I won’t.”
Sadly, the vision I walked in on wasn’t unfamiliar even if it hadn’t happened in some time.
My father was lying on his stomach, an empty bottle of vodka on the floor beside a puddle of vomit.
I crinkled my nose at the once-familiar, and never fully forgotten, stench of alcohol and vomit mixed together.
Ben gagged.
“Please go Ben,” I implored. “I can deal with it just – just don’t tell, OK? I’ll explain to you on Monday at school. I promise.”
Ben looked down at me, and the worry mixed with pity in his eyes was the nail in my coffin. I wasn’t sure I could forgive my father, not again.
“Esme…”
I shook my head, my eyes burning with my unshed tears. “Please…” I croaked.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” Not in this life, I won’t.
When he was gone, I took the mirror out of my bag and brought it close to my father’s face. I’d learned from my past mistakes and I would not lean down to check his breathing – his drunk-sick breath used to almost knock me out when I was a kid.
&
nbsp; I sighed in relief when the faint fog of breath coated the mirror – at least he only drank himself into a stupor and not to death.
“You promised, Dad,” I whispered as my eyes started to water. I cried for him never getting over mom’s death. I cried for a mom who died giving birth to me and I cried for myself and the life I had.
I opened the windows, letting the blinds down to get rid of the pungent, sickening smell which would need at least a couple of moppings with bleach to eliminate it.
I picked up the bottle and wasn’t even surprised to find discarded empty beer bottles in the sink and in the trash.
“God damnit, Dad!” I cursed, throwing the bottle so hard in the trashcan that it shattered the glass.
I turned toward my father, surprised that this ear-shattering noise didn’t even manage to get a stir out of him.
I held my breath and cleaned the vomit by the sofa, cursing him with every scrub. No 17-year-old should have had to clean up her parent’s mess… Well, no 12-year-old should have had to do that either and yet I’d done it before, I just didn’t feel the strength to start all over again.
“Why?” I asked, staring at my snoring father, once I was finally done with the cleaning,
I looked at the clock and it was past 2am, at least I didn’t have to be at work before the afternoon.
I set a glass of water and two ibuprofens on the coffee table before begrudgingly resting a blanket on his motionless body, and sat heavily on the table, facing him.
I ran my hands over my face and let out a weary sigh. Perhaps part of my leniency for his behaviour came from two things – one was the love and attention he had always given me. We never had much, him being a single father living on a meagre high-school football coach’s salary, but he never made me feel the lack of money. Our places were always small and sparse but he made sure to buy me nice clothes, sending me to dance lessons and even set up a college fund which wasn’t big, but he had been trying.
He had really turned over a new leaf when we left Boulder. I wasn’t entirely sure what had happened but part of me suspected that his drinking problem hadn’t gone unnoticed and that he feared social services would take me away. The fear of losing me had been enough to get him out of his alcoholism and to start fresh. I might have second-guessed a lot of things in my life but his love for me was never one of them.
And the second reason was the guilt I couldn’t help but feel. He repeated, time and time again, that I wasn’t to blame for my mother’s death but how could I not feel guilty when her death was so intrinsically linked with my life?
I let out a tearless sob, I was just too tired and stressed to deal with all that and couldn’t help wondering what life would have been like if mom hadn’t died.
“I’m sorry,” my father muffled, finally stirring a little.
“No, not anymore Dad. You promised.”
“I couldn’t protect you from him, I failed. He found you.”
I leaned closer, trying to ignore his breath. His eyes were closed, I was not even sure he was awake.
“Who?” I rested my hand on his shoulder and jerked him softly. “Who found me?”
“Your real father.” He replied
My what?
Chapter 2
I woke to muffled voices that sounded like an argument. I blinked at the clock, was my father even sober enough at 7am to have a coherent conversation?
I padded to the door and cracked it open just enough to hear better. It was one of the advantages of living in a shoe box, the lack of privacy. Whilst it annoyed me most of the time, when my father could listen to my phone conversations, today, I was thankful.
“What do you mean she is not ready?” A man snapped with a cold voice I was unfamiliar with.
“Listen, I didn’t have time to –” my father started, his voice almost begging.
I frowned, opening the door more trying to see who was there. My father wasn’t a beggar, and this was out of character.
“I don’t care. I was generous enough to give you 48 hours. It was much more consideration than you ever gave me. I want her now or I swear I’ll call the sheriff and get you locked up.”
“William, please.”
“Now, Luke.”
“Dad, are you okay?” I asked, taking a step out of the room.
“Esme baby just give me a minute.”
“Come closer, Esmeralda.” The man ordered.
Esmeralda? I grimaced; I was not a Hugo’s character.
I tiptoed barefoot to the entrance, not really caring about how I looked.
The man standing in front of the door was so imposing, I took a step back.
I wasn’t tall, barely 5’4’’, but this man was well over Ben’s six foot and towering over my poor father who looked like he was dying. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the man in our doorway or the hangover, but my father never looked as frail and scared as he did now.
The man wore a black three-piece suit with a blue shirt. He detailed me slowly from my bare feet, my Mickey Mouse pajama bottoms and my XXL threadbare tee-shirt that I should have thrown away years ago but was just too soft to discard, to my crazy witch hair.
His steely grey eyes, uncomfortably similar to mine fixed on my gaze. His eyes reflected a coldness that made me shiver.
“You look just like your mother.” He commented, twisting his mouth in a slight grimace, I wasn’t sure if his words were meant to be complimentary.
“Dad, what’s happening?” I asked, meeting my father’s eyes.
“He is not your father. Pack your bags, we’re going.”
I shook my head; it was a dream…. A nightmare caused by the horrible night. “Dad?” I insisted.
“Give us 15 minutes, please.” He raised his hands toward the man in a pacifying gesture.
The man sighed, looking at his watch. “15 minutes.”
My dad took my hand, pulling me back to my bedroom. I shook my head as he reached for the suitcase under my bed.
“We can’t run Esme, I tried to save you – I’m not sure how he found out but there’s no turning back now.” He kept on blabbering, opening my drawers and throwing some of my clothes in the suitcase.
I looked at him, running around like a headless chicken, my thoughts going 100 miles per hour.
“Dad,” I tried as he kept going around. “Dad, please!” I stood in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.
“Esme, we need to move, I promise I’ll get you out of this but I need more time. I just –”
I rested my hand on his chest. “Please don’t, dad, I need you to talk to me. I'm scared, I don't understand. Take five minutes to explain. You owe me that much.”
He looked down at me, his emerald eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s just a long story Esme,
“Make it short, give me the headlines. I just can’t leave with this man. Did –” I swallowed in a bid to remove the ball of dread in my throat at what I was about to ask. “Did mom cheat on you?”
He always put mom on such a pedestal, and I knew he missed her ever so dearly. Plus, it didn’t make any sense. Dad and I looked a lot alike. Same light chestnut hair, round nose, oval face, slightly protruding chin.
He took my hand and kissed it. “No Esme baby, your mom was the best woman there was. You need to believe that, please, never doubt it. There are two sides to every story.” He smiled, “Your mom was my sister, and she gave you to me.” He took a deep shaky breath.
I removed my hand from his sharply, taking a step back as nausea hit me. “My whole life’s nothing more than a lie.”
He shook his head, taking a step toward me which I mirror with another step back to keep the distance between us. “No, it’s not. I do love you, you’re my daughter, Esme. I’d give my life for you.”
“Is she even dead?!” I foolishly started to hope I had a mom somewhere.
He nodded, tears now running quietly down his face.
“When did she die?”
“A car accident, when you we
re five.”
I nodded; I didn’t remember that period well but I remember my father leaving me with an old lady for months then. I believe this was when he took a liking to alcohol.
I nodded as anger and indignation overshadowed any fear and confusion I was feeling. “So you let me feel guilty for her death for 17 years.”
“I always told you it was not your fault!”
I rolled my eyes. “Please Dad – or should I even call you that?”
The pain flashing in his eyes cut me deep, I didn’t want to cause him pain.
“I’ll always be your father Esme; I’ll always love you more than anything in the world. This man,” he pointed at the closed door. “He is – was – your mother's husband. His name’s William Forbes, he’s in the top 25 of America's 500 richest men. Now that he’s found you, I can’t do much.”
“Why only now? Maybe he’s not so resourceful – maybe we can run again?” I asked hopeful.
He shook his head. “No, your mother made him believe you were stillborn. It was our only saving grace. Now he’ll find you anywhere.”
“Will he hurt me?” I asked as fear of the cold man resurfaced.
He shook his head. “Not physically.”
Well that was reassuring.
“Time’s up!” The man… my biological father… banged on the door. “I have Governor James on speed dial and I swear if you’re not out in the next two minutes you’ll be in a cell before lunch.”
I didn’t need to know the man to figure he was not one to make idle threats.
“Just trust me when I say your mom did what she thought was best. I need a bit of time, but I’ll get you out, I swear – just go along for now. I failed you so many times, I failed you again when I didn’t prepare you for this, but I swear I will make it right, even if it’s the last thing I do.”
I looked at the half-filled suitcase and my appearance.
“I’ll hold him off for a few more minutes, he will enjoy abusing me.” He sighed, coming closer and kissing my forehead. “Get ready and pack, we can discuss on the phone later.”
I nodded, in a daze. I didn’t think my brain was catching up with everything I’d found out in the last 20 minutes, let alone the scores of revelations to come.
