Trey

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Trey Page 17

by Christie Ridgway


  The kid shrugged. “I forget all the cities—my mom booked it as a birthday present. I’m away from my dad and that’s good enough for me.”

  “Hmm,” Trey replied, noncommittal.

  “My dad doesn’t get it, you know?” his new friend said, sounding peeved. “I don’t wanna declare a major just yet and I definitely don’t wanna major in finance.”

  Trey went for another neutral noise.

  Suddenly, the kid tossed his backpack to the ground. “I hate when my dad’s pissed at me though. I hate being pissed at my dad.”

  “Uh…” There was no good response to that either. Should he say everybody’s dad gets mad once in a while? Graham had raised his voice on occasion, when a fender was bended or a window was busted, but he’d never been exactly angry at the seven boys running around the house.

  Probably because he’d been absent more than present, Trey thought, and it was exactly what his mother wanted to see come to an end.

  As for Trey the teenager being mad at his father… The fact was, he’d never acted out, never rebelled, never had a harsh word for his parents. Maybe because he’d always been conscious of his place in the family as the oldest and maybe also because he’d realized how lucky he was to have both his mother and father, given his three younger cousins had been orphaned when Uncle Mark and Aunt Julie died.

  The only time he’d had a cutting remark for either Claire or Graham was two days ago, when he’d told the old man that he knew about his conception. Then he’d acted more fourteen than thirty-four.

  And in his teenager-y angst he’d lashed out because…

  Because he’d been knocked off the pedestal with the inscription at its base that read Graham Wallace Blackthorne III. His ego had been propped up by that name, by his position in the family, by the responsibilities he embraced as the one expected to fix things. Ultimately lead.

  “I just wanna choose my own major,” the kid said morosely.

  Perhaps Trey should grow up a little and see the situation as an opportunity to make choices for himself, on his own terms. To live life his own way, instead of with the Blackthorne expectations weighing so heavy on him.

  When the vessel pulled into its first stop to take on its first real passengers of the day, Trey debarked after handing over a few Euros to the kid. “Get some food,” he said. “Enjoy the rest of your travels.”

  Heading back to the apartment, no sun yet peeked over the tall buildings of the deserted neighborhood. The grayish dawn light appeared still pearly as he approached the front entry and saw a dark figure loitering by the door, its back turned.

  Hell, maybe he should have stopped for his own self-defense baguette.

  Trey slowed, his eyes narrowing until he recognized the set of the man’s shoulders and the salt-and-pepper hair. In surprise, his feet sped up. “Dad?”

  Except he’s not your father. “Graham?” he quickly amended.

  The figure turned, stared. The older man half-lifted his arms then quickly shoved his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. “Trey.”

  “How’d you get here?”

  “The company jet.”

  Ask a stupid question, get an obvious answer, he thought. “Did you come to see Mom?” He’d seemed adamant against it before.

  “I talked to her yesterday. I called and she picked up.” An unfamiliar, weird expression crossed the CEO’s face.

  Was the man nervous? That suspicion rattled Trey, because his dad never showed anything less than 100 percent confidence. His gaze lifted toward the penthouse. “Mom’s expecting you then. Here.”

  “Not exactly.”

  Trey frowned. “What’s that mean?”

  “We’ve been married thirty-seven years,” Graham continued. “Deaths…births, business reversals, financial successes. Partners in everything, I thought. In sync.”

  “Not in sync when it comes to priorities,” Trey said.

  His father smiled a little. “You were always smarter than me.”

  “I’ve been just as guilty as you about putting business before—well, anything,” he heard himself say.

  “Don’t do that when you have a wife someday,” the older man advised. Then he hesitated. “Can the two of us go somewhere and talk?”

  Over Graham’s shoulder, Trey could see the worker at the café up the street was setting out the tables and chairs on the sidewalk, his long white apron tied over his black pants. Trey gestured in that direction, and when they reached the corner, he pointed to an outdoor seat for the older man before he took the one opposite. In Trey’s experience, if the waiter wasn’t quite ready to serve customers, then he’d simply ignore them in a way that was wholly Parisian.

  But they must have done something right, because soon enough they had coffees and croissants and they both focused their attention on the flaky pastries until the silence became too uncomfortable to bear.

  Trey cracked. “If you and Mom had a call and you’re here…”

  “Yes?”

  “That seems to imply the impasse is over?”

  “I hope so. We agreed to meet in Rome. I rented a villa and we’re going to spend two weeks alone. Just the two of us talking.”

  Stunned by the complete reversal, Trey stared. Perhaps he could see the other man finally giving in after these last months and asking his wife to come home, but to step away from the office for two weeks? That meant Brock was going to have even more on his plate, but Trey knew his cousin could handle it.

  “Mom’ll be thrilled,” he told his father.

  “She gave that impression.” Graham looked down at the table. “I honestly thought I was giving her everything, taking care of her in the most important ways, and…it seems I was wrong. I see that now and I’ll do whatever it is she needs. No matter what anyone thinks, your mother is the love of my life.”

  “Everybody knows that,” Trey said quietly. “No one believed that photo was anything but trash except strangers and idiots.”

  “I’d be an idiot—your mother would have my balls if she thought there was any truth to those rumors—and she said so. In great detail.”

  They both laughed. A little uneasily, but they laughed.

  Maybe they could forge some kind of new relationship, Trey thought, though his stomach hollowed wondering how that might be.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “So—”

  “Trey—”

  More awkward chuckles until the older man gestured at him. “You go.”

  “I’m just curious about what happened. Why did you change your mind and call Mom? And why are you here and not on your way to Italy?” If he’d agreed to meet with Trey’s mother in Rome, what was he doing drinking coffee here with him in Paris?

  “Because after our phone conversation, I realized I couldn’t risk losing your mother.” The other man paused. “And I couldn’t risk losing you.”

  “I—”

  Graham held up his hand. “The problem with that damn secret and you finding it out this way was that it let you develop a mistaken impression. To be honest, son, I think I’d have been much happier taking the truth to my grave.”

  Son. “But the truth is out.”

  “Right.” Graham inhaled a breath through his nose. “And I’ve never been so damn scared in my life as when you said…when you said…”

  “That you were ashamed of me.” Trey had hit the nail on the head with that one, right? “Because I’m not truly your biological son.”

  A muscle in the older man’s jaw ticked. “I’ve been your parent for more than thirty-four years. Don’t you think our relationship has moved well beyond the confines of biology by now, Trey?”

  Well, he had a point. “I…”

  “When I was a young man in my prime, it was a blow, I won’t lie, to think I couldn’t father children. We wanted kids, your mother and I, and I pressed for the procedure as early in our marriage as I did because I wanted to make her happy so damn badly. To make us happy.”

  “Okay.”

  “But n
ow, I’m not ashamed of you or worried about anybody learning of that choice we made.”

  “Not now that you have three biological sons.”

  “Damn it, Trey,” his father began hotly, then visibly took a minute to cool his temper. “You’re not listening.”

  Maybe he wasn’t. His mother had said Graham wasn’t good at hearing and he didn’t want to be like the other man in that way. He sat back in his chair. “What am I missing?”

  “The reason I’ve been afraid all these years. The reason that I…that I couldn’t breathe let alone think when you told me you knew about the donor insemination.”

  Trey sat forward. “And that reason is…?”

  Graham met his gaze. “I never wanted you to feel you weren’t a true Blackthorne or truly my son. I never wanted you not to see me as your father. Losing you, Trey—I’ve been afraid of that for thirty-four years.”

  Slumping against the back of his chair, Trey stared at the other man. “I…” The words circled in his head, along with his own feelings—betrayal, confusion, and now…relief. His father’s fear meant—

  “I love you, son,” Graham said.

  That.

  “God,” Trey choked out. He put his hand over his eyes. “I don’t know what…”

  Then he heard Mia’s voice, the words she’d spoken in the park. The Arsenaus are still my family. We’re bound by the heart, forever. Though it’s not shared blood, love for each other runs through our veins.

  His hand dropped, he looked at his father and realized he was certain of at least something. “I might not know exactly what all this means for us, for me and the rest of the Blackthornes, and where I fit in now, but I do know I love you too, Dad. You and the family are not going to lose that.”

  His father’s gaze didn’t leave his face. “Or you?”

  Trey breathed in, nodded. “Or me. You’re not going to lose me.”

  “Good.” Briefly, the older man closed his eyes, tension leaving his face. “That’s good.”

  Shortly after, they left the café but didn’t head for the apartment, opting for a walk along the Seine. “I’m not taking any chances,” Graham admitted. “Your mom wants to meet me in Rome and that’s where she’ll see me first.”

  Trey couldn’t help smiling at his father. “Hedging your bets?”

  “Haven’t I taught you the value in that?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” he replied. “You taught me that and heck of a lot of other things.”

  There was a pause, then Graham looked over. “Does that include letting a good woman get away from you? Because that lesson I’d regret.”

  His head whipped toward his father. “What?”

  Dad shrugged. “Just a guess. Your mom said you seemed quite interested in a young woman staying in the apartment building. I found you wandering around Paris in the early morning hours wearing what looks like yesterday’s clothes. Not to mention a long face. Doesn’t appear you spent last night with her.”

  “Both you and Mom are a pair of nosy gossips,” Trey said, frowning.

  “When it comes to our kids…hell yeah.” Graham let a beat pass. “Well, what’s going on with you and this Mia?”

  Mia…

  An ache of—something, God, could it be longing?—coursed through him. He felt weak in the knees and then angry in the wake of it. Damn, he didn’t want this for himself. His life was enough of a mess without adding Mia into the mix.

  But she made him feel…good. And she made him see a way through the mess. Remember that trip to the flea market? We’re going to focus on you exploring whomever you want to be instead of you getting hung up on the fact you’re no longer who you thought.

  “She’s leaving,” he said shortly, recalling that, too. “Probably already gone. Off to Nice. We had a fling, that’s all.”

  “Did you tell her how you feel?”

  Right. Look like a fool when she didn’t reciprocate his feelings? He shrugged and shook his head at the same time.

  His dad grunted. “Stupidity doesn’t just come down through the genes. Good to know.”

  “What?” He glared at his father.

  “I let my wife get away for almost five months because I was too full of pride not to tell her that I needed her and that I’d do anything necessary to make her happy and keep her beside me.”

  “Dad—”

  “She’s going to forgive me and take me back because she needs me, too. If you feel like your mother thinks you do about this Mia…I bet you do something for your woman as well.”

  Trey thought of how he’d made her smile and laugh. How she’d not tackled Nicolette’s list until she had him at her side. Maybe she could scatter those ashes alone, but wouldn’t it make him feel better knowing she had him to turn to when that last task was completed?

  No matter whether she reciprocated his feelings or what the future held for them, if that’s what she needed, Trey could hold her and comfort her.

  Love her.

  Mia had a failing. Well, she had many failings, but right now the failing staring her in the face was that she overpacked. And not only had she brought too many clothes to Paris, she’d bought a few things too, and not just the silly souvenirs. She stared at her luggage open on her narrow basement apartment bed—the commonplace bag on wheels every traveler used, then an emergency duffel that she’d brought from home, and finally an emergency emergency duffel, this one’s front printed with a map of the Paris Métro.

  All three were so full they couldn’t be zipped.

  “Good thing I have plenty of space in my bag,” a man’s voice said.

  Her gaze swung to Trey. She couldn’t even demand to know how he’d gotten in, because she’d left the front door open, the train station her destination as soon as she found a way to shut her bags. Not to mention haul all three of them up the stairs and out the door. She had a vision of herself, handle of the rolling suitcase in one hand, strap of one overstuffed duffel over a shoulder so it banged on her right hip, the other strap around her other shoulder so it banged on her left hip with every step. Her backpack thumping against her spine.

  “I’ll return in just a minute,” he said. “Don’t move.”

  Our hero, Nic sighed in Mia’s head.

  If she wasn’t so exhausted from a night without sleep, Mia would have protested. But she was beyond tired and then there was the preoccupation she had with today’s task distracting her. It was Nic’s birthday. They’d spent every one of them together since turning six years old. At sunset, Mia had vowed to scatter the last tangible part of her best friend into the sea, per Nic’s wishes.

  The heaviness of the responsibility seemed to numb Mia to the world around her, her mind going slow and her body turning heavy. So thank God Trey returned within a few moments to repack her belongings and get them and her to the train station. One visit to the ticket office and he procured adjoining seats for the six-hour journey. She dozed during most of it and when she awoke she pretended to be asleep—and pretended that her head wasn’t using Trey’s shoulder as a pillow.

  If she told him her exact plans, she didn’t remember it clearly, but once they left the Nice train station he ushered her toward a waiting car. Even on the short walk to the long vehicle she registered the differences from Paris. Buildings were the colors of sherbet and terra-cotta and the warm temperature proved summer liked lingering in the south of France. The sun seemed to almost bleach the air which smelled like salt and sheets dried on the line.

  She took a big gulp of it and felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. “Nic should be here.”

  Trey helped her into the back seat of the car and in a side panel found a small packet of tissues. He closed her fingers around it. “She is here, baby, she is.”

  As the car took them in the direction of the sea, Mia recalled more particulars of her plan. “I reserved a room,” she said.

  “I did, too,” Trey replied. “We’re going to rent a boat now and while we’re out, Henri will check us into the hotel and deliver ou
r bags. They’ll be waiting for us in our suite when we’re done.”

  “A boat?” Her brows drew together as she considered this. “I was just going to walk along the beach.”

  “There’s too many people and the wind would likely blow in the wrong direction.” Trey grimaced. “You’d end up with ash all over you.”

  The idea of it tickled her funny bone. She laughed, thinking of trying to dodge a cloud of ashes like someone intent on avoiding a swarm of bees. “Nic would think that funny,” she said.

  I do think that’s funny.

  Trey pushed Mia’s hair off her forehead. “Still, we’re taking a boat.”

  Again, her uninvited companion managed all the details. One minute she was riding in a gleaming car with a rich leather interior, the next she was on a dock in the open air, the magnificent Mediterranean Sea, the color a you-had-to-see-it turquoise, extending to the horizon. Trey stood on the deck of a speedboat, his legs spread, rocking easily with the movement of the vessel. He held out his hand to her, his fingers curling in a small gesture of encouragement.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, suddenly perplexed. The man looked born to be here, as easy on the French Riviera as another man might be at the ballpark. The breeze ruffled his dark hair, long enough now to become truly disordered. He ignored it though, his gaze hidden behind aviator sunglasses, the tails of his expensive-yet-casual cotton shirt flapping. When he said nothing, she asked again. “What are you doing with me?”

  Instead of answering, he smiled and leaned up to take her elbow and gently guide her into the boat. They took seats beside each other and his arm circled her waist while the driver settled behind the wheel and then they shot across the water, heading away from shore. There were no other vessels nearby when their boat slowed, then stopped.

  It sat in the water, gently rolling from side to side. The air had cooled and she shivered. Trey drew her closer to him, sharing his body heat. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” he asked gently.

  Her hands clutched the box. Trey must have taken care of that too, since she didn’t remember withdrawing it from her backpack. Glancing down, she brushed her thumb over the lid. “I’m not sure I can do this. I’m…” She gave up, shrugging.

 

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