“It’s all going to be all right,” I hear my mother say softly. I guess she’s trying to reassure us both, but it’s shitty job and she knows it.
“It’s all going to be all right, huh?” I walk over to her. “Is that tea drugged?”
“Noah—”
“I wouldn’t put it past them. They all look like dealers, even the fucking receptionist.”
“Noah, she must be at least fifty years old.”
“Who says fifty-year-olds don’t like to get high? Doesn’t it help with pain from old people diseases?”
“Old people what?”
“Diseases, Mom, catch up. You know, the arthritis shit. The gallstones, the liver failure.”
She shakes her head slightly, a small smile on her face.
“And what happens when I reach that age? Are you saying I’ll get all that mess?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. You’ll be in a home either way.”
She gasps, slamming the dainty cup of tea into the saucer. “A home?”
Her shrill gasp makes me want to laugh, but I stay put. It’s not easy riling my mother up—and it has consequences—but why the heck not?
“Yup! I was actually thinking of the one in Utah.”
“Utah?” she screeches, looking like she’s about to throw up.
“Yes. Or maybe Oklahoma, or if you’re really against those two, I’ll send you to Virginia.”
Silence.
I give her time to digest, but I don’t break character.
“So, you’ll send me to an old people’s home? Me? Your best friend?”
“Yes.”
“I birthed you into this world, then I breastfed you and raised you! Now you’re telling me when I’m fifty you’re sending me to a home?”
“What’s wrong with a home? I’m sure they have cable.”
“Noah Montreal!”
“It’s because I’m your best friend that I’m doing this. And it’s not like I didn’t give you options, Mom.”
“Oklahoma, Utah and Virginia?”
“You’ll be the biggest star they’ll ever see before they cross over, that’s a bonus isn’t it?”
“Who the hell raised you? Somebody needs to come get their ungrateful kid because I know I raised my kid right.”
“Come on, Mommy,” I say sarcastically, hugging her to me. “You have to admit, it was fun while it lasted but you’re going to a home.”
She slaps me upside the head. I can’t help but laugh, the look on her face the highlight of my morning.
“That’s not funny!”
“You think I’d ever get rid of you? No fucking way!”
“Language!”
“Seriously, you already know I curse…”
“Watch it.”
“Yes, mother.”
Just then the door at the other side of the room opens and in comes some older black man with grey hair, a five-thousand-dollar suit and designer glasses to go along with his entire set up.
I guess he’s the top dog here, walking with a forced spring in his step.
Well, there’s another candidate for the home in Utah. He should let that unnatural stride go.
Fuck, I really need to let these distractions go. This is too important.
“Mrs. Montreal and young Mr. Montreal—”
“What the fuck took you so long!” I demand.
“Oh God, here we go.”
Chapter 10
NOAH
Past
Kim Impossible: What was your brother like?
ME: Why the fuck are you asking?
Kim Impossible: Because I… I want to know you.
ME: That’s VERY hypocritical of you. Especially when you won’t even answer my fucking questions.
Kim Impossible: Le sigh. I told you before. I’m not hiding anything. What you see is what you get. I have two sisters, a mother and I have no idea who my father is. This is a fresh start for us.
ME: So, you think telling me generic shit that I can find out all by myself will be the key to answering questions that are deeply personal? Who hurt you?
Kim Impossible: LIFE HURT ME, you judgmental fuck! Not everyone has had the pleasure of living your privileged life.
ME: Finally. Some emotion from you. I love it when you get pissed.
Kim Impossible: Noah…
ME: You’re always so closed off. Cold. Reserved and so damn unreachable. You remind me of a stealthy killer.
Kim Impossible: A killer?? I’ve never killed anyone.
ME: Neither have I. But I think we both know one day…
Kim Impossible: Noah, no. Don’t say that or even think it! Tell me about your big brother.
ME: Craig was gentle & easy going. He loved fashion and design and he was bullied for being different. I’ll never forgive that, so I’ll never stop thinking of it!
Present
We’re directed to yet another fucking office which makes me roll my eyes. I’m already annoyed beyond belief and this juggling is putting me off.
“Was there something wrong with the other room?” I demand. I had a shitty night, a foul morning, and now, I’m feeling antsy.
“Noah!”
“No, it’s all right, Mrs. Montreal. I do think you’ll be more comfortable hearing what I have to say in my private office.”
“Christina.” I glance at my mother, eyebrow raised. “Please call me Christina.”
“Of course. Henry Briggs, but please call me Henry.”
We follow him down another hallway until we reach double doors at the end. When we enter, the first thing I notice is the size.
This office is smaller than the waiting room we were in, but it has more taste and an understated elegance. It should be at odds with the man who occupies the chair behind the large mahogany desk, but instead the man and his lair seem to go together.
There’s an unmistakable warmth in the place, and as Henry Briggs removes his glasses and gestures for my mother and I to take a seat in front of his desk, I can see the warmth in the man’s eyes as well.
Strange.
Most lawyers I’ve heard are ruthless, cunning and sleek. But this man is different—a kind of different where you’d trust him with your life.
What the fuck does that mean?
“Okay, we’re here, now cut the bullshit and tell us what’s going on… ouch!” I rub my arm where my mother just pinched me.
Rude.
“What my son means to say is, what the fuck is going on Henry?” my mother gracefully demands. “The letter you sent my son was very cryptic.”
Well, if she wanted to curse first all she had to do was call dibs. Damn.
“I’m sure it had quite the effect, but I was under strict instructions to send it as it was and not give anything else away,” Henry says.
“Instructions? From whom?”
“My client.”
My foot starts tapping on the carpeted floor incessantly. I swear to God if Mr. Brigg’s client is David… I’ll set this fucking place on fire.
“Your client?” I bite out.
Mr. Briggs sighs, looking at me with sympathy in his eyes that makes me freeze in my seat. Mom glances at me with a frown but she doesn’t say a word.
“Christina, I’m sorry this is happening out of the blue like this,” Henry starts, his tone low and soft, a black folder in his hands. “But as you know, it’s been over ten years since…”
My mother looks down at her fingers, but the sudden heaviness in the room is not new to me. I knew where this was headed the moment sympathy decided to join the chat.
“Ten years since your first-born son, Craig, passed on,” Henry continues. “I can’t pretend like I know what it’s been like because truth is, my wife and I never had kids so that pain… I’m sorry, Christina.”
My mother nods silently but doesn’t say a word.
I was ready to curse this guy out but after what he just said, I mellow down just a bit. There’s nothing I hate more than pretentious pricks who think th
ey know your pain. It seems this man is not like that.
“Thank you,” Mom says softly. “But I have to say, Henry, I have no idea why we are here.”
My sentiments exactly.
“I understand the confusion, especially with that message you received from me. However, I do hope you were discreet when you made your way here.”
“We took a fucking Toyota Corolla just so we could answer your random summon, Mr. Briggs,” I snap. “I’m pretty sure we covered that part.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so confident, however, it is imperative that we don’t draw attention to this.”
“And why is that, Henry?” Mom asks.
“This might come as a shock to you, but years ago, a young man walked into my office and hired me to carry out his last will and testament.”
I sit up straight, looking at him. The look in his eyes is too familiar not to ask.
“Craig?” I demand.
“Yes.”
“What?” Mom gasps. “My baby came to see you?”
“For a last will and testament?” I echo to which Mr. Briggs looks at us both and gives a simple: “Yes.”
It’s like getting a swift kick to the balls and a sucker punch to the gut.
I stare at the man across the desk, but all I can see are images of brain bits splattered all over the room.
When I glance down at my palms, I swear I can still feel the cold blood on them.
If Craig went to see a lawyer, one whose offices were this far out from town, then how long was he contemplating suicide?
Sniffles bring me back. My jaw clenches when I see the tears on my mother’s face, an image that triggers another eerily similar from years ago when she’s crying in the middle of shattered glass and a destroyed room, with a large handprint on her right cheek.
“Is this some kind of joke?” I seethe, staring at Mr. Briggs. “Because I assure you, you will deeply regret it if it is.”
“Mr. Montreal, I assure you, this is not a prank or a joke of any nature. Your older brother came to me years ago, a few days before…” he trails off but it’s clear. A few days before he took his own life.
“And you bring it up ten years later? On the anniversary of his death, which so happens to be his fucking birthday as well?” I snap. “How fucking poetic of you.”
“Mr. Craig would’ve been twenty-six years old today, and on this day, he left a set of instructions for me. One was the letter you received to bring you here, another is for you both to hear his last will and testament on this day, his twenty-sixth birthday.”
My mother sucks in a sharp breath beside me, and grabs my hand, holding it tight in her grasp. Like marble, I just sit there, hardly blinking or feeling. I’m at a loss right now.
“I have to say, Mr. Briggs, my son’s will was covered under the family’s private attorney. All our dealings are with…”
“Yes, I’m aware of the private law firm that the four families of Westbrook Blues use for all their needs, but if you can refrain from mentioning their name out loud in this office and in this building, that would be wonderful in our fight to maintain discretion.”
Now that raises my eyebrow. I keep my mouth shut of course, but now my curiosity is piqued.
Didn’t Hermione Granger say ‘fear of a name only increases fear of a thing itself?’
Well, she was on to something there.
I’m not shocked at Mr. Briggs’ request. Westbrook Blues is a wealthy but dark town.
Ever since everything went down two years ago with Astraea and King, the Phoenix Corp became a real thing not just folklore—and Kimberly was exposed as the fucking liar she is (putting another asterisk on this so I never forget her betrayal even when all I want is her)—there’s been this underlying feeling that there’s something else that goes on in that town. It’s even worse for us… the four families at the top.
“Why shouldn’t—” my mother starts but I cut her off.
“Of course, Mr. Briggs. We won’t mention anything about anything.” I ignore my mother’s gaze but squeeze her hand in reassurance.
Sharp, wise eyes look at me from across the table. This man knows something, but while he’s telling us all this, I’m pretty fucking sure he’s keeping a lot more.
“Very well,” he says, opening the file before him. “In his last will and testament, Craig Gerard David Montreal, left to you his mother, Christina Montreal, this locket and letter. For you to always remember him as a light. He requests that you read this letter in private. Knowing that both his brother and his mother will be listening to this testament at the same time as it is being read, he requests that his brother respect these wishes and not pry into the personal letter that he left specifically for your mother.”
In other words, he’s telling me to mind my fucking business. That’s so Craig.
An unexpected warmth blooms in my chest for a second but as soon as I feel it though, I immediately shut it down.
I don’t have fucking time to allow feelings in this life. Anything with feelings never ends well.
“That sounds like something my baby would say,” Mom says with a sad smile as she looks at me. “Don’t pry, Noah.”
If this wasn’t an unusual day, if I wasn’t the asshole I’ve become now, I would tell her that I won’t but then again, I don’t give a shit about promises and boundaries anymore.
Why should I keep my end of the deal when everyone has a way of fucking breaking said promises when it involves me? Her included.
Mr. Briggs passes my mother a wooden box engraved with our family’s crest that I’d know from anywhere.
Below it is a letter in an off-color, well-preserved envelope along with his handkerchief. I would’ve protested about that last piece but as soon as my mother sees the letter and the box, the real waterworks start.
Ah fuck!
“I’m sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed today,” she says in between tears, I think… I think I should just wait in that other room while you finish so I don’t disturb…”
Before I can protest, she’s up from the chair, grabs the box and the letter, then she’s out the door.
I stare at the closed door, feeling bereft and for some fucked up reason, in my mind’s eye, all I can see is Kim, leaving me standing there as she got in that car, unshed tears in her eyes.
A throat clears. I close my eyes, fighting the onslaught of fucking unmentionables, i.e. fucking feelings.
“Can we continue?” Mr. Briggs asks after a moment of stunned silence.
“Yes.” I sit up straight in the chair. I stare right into Mr. Briggs’ eyes, not daring to look away. “Lay it on me. What did that douchebag leave me?”
One of the biggest shitshows of my life is pretty obvious to anyone that dares to take the time and pay attention.
I’m still mad as fuck at Craig for offing himself when he vowed he’d never leave me.
So yeah, I don’t give a damn about promises.
“Well, your brother left you this.”
Mr. Briggs pushes something that I’d know from anywhere across the desk to me. I stare at it, getting pissed beyond belief.
“You’ve got be fucking shitting me!” I snap.
“Excuse me?”
I stare at the thing, my eyes bulging out of their fucking sockets.
“Seriously? What did he say?”
The poor man puts on his glasses and reads out loud in a monotone voice. “To my brother, I leave this game.”
I wait for the rest, blinking at him like a fucking cartoon character.
“Is that all?” I demand.
“Unfortunately, that’s all that he said to you.”
“A game? He left me a fucking game that he stole from my collection years ago?” I seethe.
What the fuckery is this?
Who the fuck strings people up like this then gives them the biggest let down ever? I got over the loss of my favorite video game years ago, I knew he had it. I was pissed for a while and then the asshole blew his own bra
ins out and I’ve been fucked up since then. Now he’s giving the game back? After ten fucking years? On the anniversary of his death no less?
“Don’t I get a letter also? An explanation of sorts? A reason why the fuck he killed himself?” I bark, getting up now. “I mean, he had the time to find you in this fucking silly office, sat down, had you draw up that shit only to give me back my own game? What the fuck?”
“Mr. Montreal, please calm down.”
Somewhere in the back of my head I know I’m not fucking mad at the good lawyer, he didn’t do anything but his job.
I’m mad as all hell at Craig.
I’m mad at myself for the way I ended things with Kim.
I’m mad at her for putting us in this situation.
But most of all, I’m mad that going through the rest of this day should’ve been a stroll in the fucking park after spending the beginning of it with Kimberly but it’s not! Not anymore!
David called. My mother texted. We came here and Craig, once again, screwed me over.
“This can’t be it.”
“Well,” Mr. Briggs starts, “It just so happens that is the reaction I needed.”
“Excuse me?”
It’s like I’ve just been doused with ice cold water and now I’m staring at the good lawyer, blinking like a fool.
I watch as he opens a drawer with a key, then he takes out a thick letter-sized envelope.
“This is for you.”
“But you just said…”
“Mr. Montreal—”
“Please, sir, call me Noah.”
Mr. Briggs smiles, but just barely. He’s a serious man, but when he looks at me, I can see he has a lot to say.
“Well, Noah, your brother left me specific instructions that had to be followed to the T. No cutting corners and no half measures.”
“He hated half measures.”
“Yes, well, your older brother will always be one of the most meticulous people I’ve ever had the pleasure of working for,” he says. “You see, the first step was to send the letter to your estate in Westbrook Blues. The second was to see if both you and your mother would show up together, and my task before letting you back here, was to observe your relationship with your mother.”
Petty Rage: Westbrook Blues Book 4 Page 14
