by Ember Dante
“That’s bullshit. You’ve been brainwashed if you bought into that Walsh legacy crap. It’s not my fault you didn’t have the balls to stand up for yourself. Playing the martyr was your decision.”
He lifted his chin, a brief flicker of defiance in his eyes before sadness washed over his features.
“I had no choice. You left me. You both did.”
“What?” I sighed, propping my hands on my hips. “That’s what you think? Dude, I’m sorry you feel that way, but that’s not what happened. After that shit went down, I had to get away from him. I didn’t intend to take Finn, but you know as well as I do that he had his own reasons for leaving. How was I supposed to take care of you? Besides—Mom would have been there alone, with him. There’s no fucking way that would work.”
His head dipped, and his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I just wish I’d had my brothers a while longer,” he sniffed.
Well, shit. That was my fucking Karma—watching both brothers have a breakdown within the span of a few weeks. I closed the distance between us and lay a hand on his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze.
“Hey—I’ll always be your brother, and I’ll always be here when you need me.”
He nodded, then started laughing softly. His moods were more mercurial than most women with PMS.
“You know, for a few minutes there, I thought you were going to deck me.” He chuckled, lifting his chin to look me in the face.
“Not gonna lie. I thought about it.”
“I would’ve deserved it.” He rose to his full height and extended his right hand. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
Taking his hand, I rolled my eyes and pulled him in for a quick hug. “Hell yes, I forgive you.” I released him from the hug and backed away, but maintained the grip on his hand. “I’m sorry I never told you the truth, but I didn’t want to reopen old wounds. Couldn’t see the point.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of the door closing cut him off.
“Hey,” said Emmy. “Everything okay?”
She walked over and tossed her purse on the recliner behind Mason before moving to my side. Letting go of Mason’s hand, I slipped an arm around her waist and leaned down to kiss her.
“Hey, Beautiful.”
“Hi.” She turned to Mason. “How’s Bailey?”
“Ready to have that baby.” He looked at his watch. “In fact, I need to get going. I told her I’d take her out tonight. She said something about craving The Cheesecake Factory.” Mason grabbed his jacket and draped it over his arm. The three of us walked to the door, not speaking, but Emmy’s arrival dissipated any remaining tension. Not that there was much left. He turned back to me as he stepped into the hall. “Ian—”
Shaking my head, I waved him off. “We’re cool.”
He gave me a crooked smile. “Thanks, man.”
With that, he turned and headed to the elevator. I swung the door shut, heaving a sigh of relief with it. That was one crisis averted.
“What was all that about? Things looked a little tense when I walked in.”
“Oh, no,” I snorted. “Tense was about twenty minutes ago.” I took a few minutes to bring her up to speed, filling her in on the conversation with Mason—that almost turned into a full-blown brawl.
“Damn,” she said, pouring a glass of wine. “I guess everything’s okay now?”
“Seems to be. I’d like to think he’ll view Connor in a different light now, but we’ll see.”
“This won’t help your mood, but I need to show you something,” she hedged, digging in her bag and withdrawing a thin sheaf of folded paper. “Have you heard from Blaire?”
“Not for a couple days. But the last time we spoke, I told her we were finished.” I accepted the papers and shuffled through them. “Where did these come from?”
“They were sent anonymously to Kyle while I was out, along with a link to the video.”
“Dammit. Blaire’s trying to get to me by fucking with you.” My fingers curled tighter around the pages in my hand. “What’s he going to do with these? Make you write another story about it?”
“Not quite,” she said, her lips curving into a smile. “Kyle’s gone. Tyler’s been promoted to editor-in-chief. I guess you could say there’s a new sheriff in town.”
“But there’s no guarantee that Blaire won’t send this or the video elsewhere if she hasn’t already.”
“No, but if she’s really trying to get back at you for quitting, going through me—or rather, through my employer—would hurt you the most.” She took a sip of her wine. “I almost hate to ask,” she demurred, “but when are you going to talk to your dad?”
“I was planning to go see him Sunday. I’d go sooner, but he’s tied up in court all week, and Saturday is typically reserved for golf. I don’t want to get into this with him in public.”
“Don’t blame you there,” she agreed. “Are you hungry?”
“Actually, yes. Sorry I haven’t started dinner yet. Mason sort of derailed my schedule.”
“It’s okay, babe. I’ll cook.” She smiled. “How do you feel about pizza?”
32
Ian
I walked into my father’s study to find him on the phone, feet propped on his desk. Maintaining eye contact, I approached and lowered myself into one of the high back leather chairs facing him. A scowl darkened his features as I settled in for what was sure to be one of the most unpleasant conversations of my life.
“George, I’ll have to call you back. Something’s just come up.” He nodded at the caller’s response. “Sure. Sounds good. We’ll talk soon.”
He disconnected and gave me a questioning look.
“Yes, Cillian? Is there something I can do for you?”
I stood up just enough to toss the envelope in my hand onto his desk. My eyes flicked to a familiar bust of the Greek god Cronus sitting on his credenza. I’d always taken it for granted, almost forgotten about it, in fact, but it had bothered me since my talk with Parker Memorial weekend. Connor was obsessed with mythology, and I always thought he fancied himself as somewhat godlike.
“We need to talk.”
“What’s this?” he asked, turning it over in his hands before placing it on the polished wooden surface.
“Maybe you should open it.”
“I don’t have time for childish games.”
“You didn’t look very busy when I walked in.”
His eyes widened at my tone. When I refused to say anything further, a red flush rose from the collar of his Armani shirt.
“I’m not sure what your problem is, but I am your father, and you will address me with respect.”
“Respect has to be earned, and from where I sit, you have a long, long way to go before you have mine.” I shook my head with an incredulous laugh. “I can’t remember a single time in my life when you’ve acted like a father, so I guess that makes you more of a sperm donor.”
He lowered his feet and leaned forward, emphasizing his words by jabbing a finger onto the surface of his desk.
“Now you listen to me, I don’t know what’s prompted this visit, but you drop the attitude.”
“No, you listen. I’m sick and tired of your twisted fucking games. Just when I think you can’t sink any lower, you surprise me.” I nodded toward the envelope in front of him. “Open that and explain yourself.”
“Who do you think you are to come into my home and order me to do anything?”
I ignored his question and posed one of my own.
“Am I correct in my understanding that you serve as District Judge dum bene se gesserit? And that, if you don’t, you can be removed from office?”
He visibly paled and tore into the envelope. There it was in black and white—proof linking him to Blaire. His eyes widened as he flipped through page after page of wire transfers, call logs, and conversation transcripts. Some of the information painted him as a victim, which didn’t surprise me given what I knew about Blaire, but I
knew it wasn’t that simple. Blaire’s hatred ran much deeper than I could have imagined, and Connor was the only one who knew why.
“Where did you get these?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I leaned forward. “What does matter is that they exist in the first place. No to mention why they exist.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice.
“Then explain it to me.” I adopted the same tone one would use when speaking to a frightened child. “How do you know Blaire?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Then uncomplicate it. Tell me everything,” I demanded, punctuating my next words with a finger pointed in his direction. “You owe me.”
The flush covering his face intensified, and I swore I could see smoke seeping from his ears.
“Owe you? I don’t owe you anything, you ungrateful bastard.”
I launched from the chair, sending it skidding backward several inches, and slammed both hands on his desk.
“Ungrateful? You fucked up my life.”
He sprung to his feet, sending his own chair slamming into the wall behind.
“Lower your voice! You will not speak to me this way in my own home.”
“No, I’m finished doing anything you to tell me to do. No more. Right now I only want one thing from you—answers. I want to know about you and Blaire and the connection with Cronus Capital.”
“Cronus Capital? What are you talking about?”
“Stop pretending you’re innocent.” I pointed to the statue behind him. “I should’ve known it was you when I first found out about that little shell corporation. I’m going to ask you one more time. How do you know Blaire?”
His shoulders slumped, his chin dipping into the rise of his chest as his fingers drifted aimlessly over the documents spread across the desk, sifting through them in a constant loop.
“I didn’t actually meet Blaire until we moved here, but her older sister, Tess, was my paralegal for a few years before I was elected county judge. She was a valuable assistant, so I made sure she went with me when I took over the judgeship.” Connor dropped into his chair, a defeated expression on his face. “She was ... unlike anyone I had ever met.”
Between what I already knew and what I’d learned about him, I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Let me guess. You had an affair with her.”
Somehow the bastard could actually look me in the eye. “Yes. It lasted until your mother and I relocated here.”
“That doesn’t explain why Blaire seems to have it in for us.”
“If you know Blaire at all, you’ve figured out she’s somewhat unstable.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me the rest of the story.”
“What makes you think there’s more to it?”
“Because I’m not an idiot. She wouldn’t be this invested in ruining our family just because you fucked her sister.”
He blinked several times, and for the first time in a long time, I saw actual concern blanket his features.
“I broke it off as soon as I received news of my appointment here. Tess didn’t take it well and threatened to contact your mother.” A ragged breath slipped out and ruffled the papers strewn across his desk. “She claimed to be pregnant.”
A shiver ran down my spine, and my strength left me, forcing my body into the chair behind me.
“You’re telling me ... what?”
Connor relaxed and swiveled the chair to the side. A passive mask settled over his features while his fingers fiddled with the closest object, his favorite fountain pen. It was a gift from President George W. Bush when he was still governor. All of his previous concern was gone, and the words left his mouth in a cold, clinical manner.
“I wanted proof of the pregnancy, and then I insisted she have an abortion. Unfortunately, there were complications with the procedure that ultimately required a hysterectomy. She was upset, to say the least. Shortly after we settled here, I heard that she voluntarily committed herself at Austin Lakes Hospital.”
“Is there anyone whose life you haven’t ruined?”
“There’s no way I could have predicted her reaction. I was protecting your mother.”
“You were protecting yourself,” I scoffed. “This is so fucking typical. You don’t take any responsibility for your actions.” I stood and began pacing. “How does Blaire know so much about us? I know for a fact you went to great lengths to keep things under wraps, so how does she know? She knows about Mason’s wreck, Caitlin, and Finn. Can you explain that?”
He briefly dropped his chin, then sat up straighter when he lifted his head.
“You’ve never been interested in real life, what it takes to get things done. There’s always a little quid pro quo in every situation.”
“You can drop the condescending attitude, Dad. You chose Blaire—fuck, you’ve always chosen everything else—over me, over our family.”
“Everything I’ve ever done is because of our family, to protect our family. You, your brothers, and your mother.”
“Fucking liar. The night of Mason’s accident, you went to extremes to ensure your reputation remained intact, even though it meant sacrificing me to do it.” Rage consumed me, and I forced my hands into fists to keep from reaching across the desk and choking the living shit out of the bastard. “Who are you? How can you justify doing the shit you’ve done?”
He pushed to his feet, anger flashing in his eyes.
“Check your attitude. You’ve never accepted your proper role in this family. We all have to make sacrifices from time to time.”
“Except you, right?”
Eyes bulging, nostrils flaring, Connor stared me down and slammed both fists on his desk with enough force to rattle everything on it.
“You have no fucking idea what I have sacrificed for you and your brothers.”
“I have a pretty damn good idea it wasn’t as much as I have.”
“When are you going to get over all of that and pull yourself together?”
“Get over all of that? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m supposed to get over having my arm broken by a baseball bat?”
“I had no idea Jason would take things that far.”
“Maybe not, but you damn sure endorsed it by not doing anything to stop it. And then Mason tells me that you had a hand in Jason’s rise to assistant district attorney—how nice for him.”
“What would you have me do?”
“The fact you even have to ask me that question proves you don’t give a shit about me. As does the way you swept everything under the rug. That’s your answer for everything. I must have been insane to call you the night of the hit-and-run, but I still gave you the benefit of the doubt. And what did you do?”
“I kept Caitlin’s parents from nailing you to the wall.”
“Yeah. Except the lab fucked up my blood test and you knew it. You knew I wasn’t drunk at the time of the accident, but you let me believe I was responsible for her death anyway. Why? What did you gain from that? What about Blaire’s sister? Whose idea was it to pay her medical expenses? Is that your idea of penance?”
He smirked. “You thought money was an acceptable answer when you and Finley moved here.”
I couldn’t contain it any longer and swept my hand across his desk, sending everything in my path crashing to the floor.
“Don’t you dare compare the two. I’m your son—your blood. You were so determined to protect Mason, so consumed by greed and the need to secure your ‘legacy,’ that it didn’t matter who you had to hurt in the process. It never has.”
“The problem is you’ve never been interested in being part of this family.” He bellowed. “You don’t understand—”
“I’ll tell you what I do understand. I understand that this family is less important to you than money and power. I understand that you’re willing to sacrifice anyone and anything to get what you want, even if that means selling out your own children.” Sighing, I scrubbed a hand over my face. �
�I’m done. With this. With you.”
I gave him one last glare and walked toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I came here hoping you might care enough to help me sort out this issue with Blaire. Apparently, I was mistaken. I’ll handle it myself. Then, I’m going to live my life, without you in it.”
“Wait,” he stammered, his voice laced with panic. “Ian, don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
I looked over my shoulder as my hand closed on the doorknob.
“Too late. I’m already there. Funny thing is, everything I regret has something to do with you.” I opened the door and found Mom standing on the other side, arms crossed. “Mom.”
“Ian.” Her eyes darted toward Connor and then back to me. “Sweet, would you give us a few minutes?” She gave me a quick hug and kissed me on the cheek.
“Yeah.”
“Close the door, please.” She stopped me as I pulled the door closed on my way out. “Would you wait in the kitchen for me? I’d like to have a quick chat before you leave.”
I managed a weak smile. “Sure.”
It was a good thirty to forty-five minutes before Mom joined me in the kitchen. The shuffling of feet and mumbled conversation filtered in from the other room, punctuated by the harsh slam of the front door. My nerves were stretched beyond belief as I waited, my mind conjuring possible scenarios of what happened after I left the room.
“How did it go? What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Would you like a drink? I think we need a drink.” Her voice was light and musical, making her sound almost happy.
“Okay.”
I assumed it was just a diversion, something to occupy her thoughts before she told me about her talk with Dad, but it didn’t take long to realize her actions were more deliberate. She bustled around the kitchen, and in a few moments set a tall glass in front of me. It looked like tea. Heart pounding in my chest, I took a tentative sip—mainly because she’s my mother and went to the effort. It wasn’t exactly the tea I was expecting, slightly sweet and tangy with the familiar burn of alcohol.