Call You Mine

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Is that why you trained us? So that we could protect ourselves?”

  “In part. It wasn’t the original idea, but once everyone was learning, we all thought, what if…” Dad confirms. “You left home at sixteen, Grace. You know what can happen to a single woman on campus. You’ve witnessed it. Put yourself in my place. My underage daughter was heading to New York—by herself. That’s not everything, though. I’ve been careful since I started this company, but my entire family is in danger if someone ever figures out my real identity. I just added a layer to what I taught you.”

  “You used Beacon to do it. My best friend.”

  “He volunteered,” he presses. “He came up with the idea.”

  “Dad, I need time to work this through,” I say with a calm voice. “Listen, I understand your ‘misguided ways.’ They make sense even when I don’t like it. You should’ve talked to me about all of this eleven years ago. We could’ve agreed, worked this out together. Now tell me, what’s going to happen in a year when Beacon’s sabbatical is over. Let’s not go that far. Are you already setting up a team to babysit me without telling me? Just because you think I can’t take care of myself?”

  Dad growls. “They don’t watch over you all the time.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “If I feel like you need a bodyguard, I’ll contact you first, like we do with Too Far from Grace. You’ll get to choose your team,” he compromises.

  I almost laugh if it wasn’t because I realize something. “So, all this time Beacon has been setting the security for me, not him. It’s not about his groupies but keeping me safe.”

  Beacon flinches and nods.

  “You two are exasperating,” I screech, staring at Beacon while I speak to Dad. “From now on, I have a say about my security. I’ll make the decisions. You two are allowed to make suggestions. Beacon is no longer my bodyguard. Do we understand each other?”

  “I’m sorry,” Dad says.

  “Sorry because you won’t allow it or sorry for undermining me?”

  “For not including you when I made the decision,” he says. “For not trusting you at the time. I think you’re capable, but I also want to protect you. At the end of the day, you’re the three-pound baby girl I met twenty-eight years ago. The same I swore to protect.”

  “Dad.” I sigh because his low, broken voice squeezes my heart and almost makes me cry.

  “Why don’t we talk next week? I’ll come to visit you,” he suggests.

  “That’s a good idea. Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, too, Gracie.”

  I put my phone away and focus my attention on Beacon. Today I’m re-writing history. Putting together clues of a puzzle I had no idea existed. I don’t even know if I want to finish it. “Were your groupies ever dangerous?”

  “They are,” Beacon says, shrugging. “If my house wasn’t under your name, I’m sure they’d be trying to break in and steal my stuff. It happened to Fish’s LA home. I have two layers of security. The first stops anyone who could get close to you, and the second is for my groupies. When the time comes, I can explain to you how everything works so you can take over if that’s what you choose.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “We make the decisions as a team.”

  Tonight, I don’t want to go back to an empty house. I also don’t want to be alone. If I stay, he might want to continue this discussion. All I want is to head to his bed, snuggle next to him, and forget that I lost eleven years of Beacon because my father couldn’t trust me.

  “As I said, I need time,” I repeat. “I’m angry because of what happened and also because I have no idea where to put that anger. Who can I blame when everyone has a logical answer?”

  I can’t fix my issues because really, what’s there to fix? I have to get over it and make sure these men understand that I can take care of myself. It’s hot that Beacon is always watching over me, but not when my dad is paying him to do that.

  “I’m sorry, G. I’ll do anything to make this better.”

  “You need to stop blaming yourself for everything.” I bring back our earlier conversation. “This was my father’s fault, and he used you as a pawn.”

  “True, but I could’ve stopped it.”

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell him, ‘Hey, she’s going to be pissed. You might want to talk to her.’”

  He shrugs.

  “When?”

  “When what?” he asks.

  “Stop being obtuse. When did you tell Dad to tell me about it?”

  “Please, don’t drag me into this,” he pleads. “I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Ten years? Five years? Yesterday?”

  He chuckles. “I don’t recall. You know the guy. He likes to think that he knows best.”

  “You know how you can make it up to me?”

  He lifts an eyebrow, crosses his arms, and says, “As long as it doesn’t involve my family, I’ll do anything.”

  “Ha! You have to talk to your brothers about what happened when you were young. I think it’s time to erase that guilt.”

  “Let it go, G.”

  “It wasn’t your fault that the paparazzi caught your father. Maybe we should start digging more into your parents’ pasts to figure out what happened. It might give us an answer to why you guys are here—it could help you.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “You blame yourself for all the shit that happens in the world because you think you’re the one that caused the situation your father created. It might tear down the wall between you and your brothers. A wall that you built.”

  “Now you’re analyzing me,” he says, annoyed, and looks at the time. “Can we go to bed?”

  “Promise me you’re going to work on that,” I press.

  “If I do, can we go to bed?”

  “I’m still upset at you.”

  “Do you still hate me?

  “I could never hate you, Beac.”

  He smiles and steps forward until our feet almost touch. “I’m sorry. You’ve no idea how much I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I was afraid he’d fire me, and I can’t trust you to anyone else.”

  “You’re a little possessive, aren’t you, Mr. Aldridge?”

  “You’ve no fucking idea,” he says, slanting his mouth on mine.

  Chapter Thirty

  Beacon

  There’s a theory among the Aldridges: Once you give your heart, you never claim it back. It’s true. Grace and I are living proof. That makes me want to research what is wrong with the family that we can’t stay with the one person we love forever.

  My grandfather left my grandmother in Baker’s Creek and moved to New York without giving her a second glance. It seems that we always do something that makes our true loves stay away.

  Who did my father love and leave? I doubt it was my mom.

  If anything, it makes me wonder if William was trying to teach us a lesson by shoving us into one place, like getting back to the one you love or recognizing you are in love. Maybe he was trying to get his family together. But why now and not when he was alive?

  Dad grew up in this town. Someone in Baker’s Creek might know about his past and who he left behind. They’re pretty vocal about what they know, but no one has mentioned Dad’s past. With Grace here, we might be able to figure out more.

  Will figuring out his past give me any answers about my present and maybe my future?

  I look at Grace, still sleeping. She’s my destiny. Everything else doesn’t matter as much, except I don’t want to make my father’s mistakes.

  I’m so fucking lucky because she’s going to give me a chance. I know she’s upset, and I have to grovel my way into her good graces. Still, I’m happy about having her close. And how fortunate I am that she loved me once. It shouldn’t be hard to find out where she buried those feelings and make her fall harder.

  Why didn’t I know you loved me? I think, kissing the top of her he
ad and pressing her closer to me.

  This woman is good at hiding her emotions. She’s a great poker player, not that anyone lets her play. She counts cards. Her quirks and tells remind me that she has to have breakfast. I smile like a fool, happy that this time I can serve her breakfast in bed. We can follow it with fooling around in bed.

  Fuck, I’d give up everything just to get this, Grace, in my bed every morning.

  Before I go to the kitchen to prepare some food, I kiss her temple and put on a shirt. Maybe Vance prepared something more than instant oatmeal. If he didn’t, I’ll just cook for Grace and me.

  “Morning,” Leyla greets me. “Just the man we were expecting.”

  I frown. “There’s a family meeting I didn’t know about?”

  “It’s your turn to prepare breakfast,” she declares, pointing toward the chore board.

  “No, I switched with Vance,” I remind her. “Did he skip town because one of my friends came onto him?”

  Mills chuckles and shakes his head. “He went to Portland. There’s some emergency he didn’t tell us about.”

  “Ugh,” I grumble and open the refrigerator. I grab mushrooms, spinach, and onions to prepare a frittata. That’s the easiest, fastest thing to do. I chop the ingredients, beat the eggs, and pour the mixture into the skillet. Thankfully, our oven has a feature that sets the temperature to however we want, no need to pre-heat.

  Once I set that, I go to the pantry to extract two boxes of muffin mix. If it weren’t because I want to serve Grace a delicious breakfast, I would just take a box of cereal, hand them a gallon of milk and wish them luck.

  Fucking Vance. He better have a good explanation.

  “He’s making muffins?” Pierce, who is carrying Carter, asks, kissing Leyla’s forehead. “Can we keep him forever? I promise to feed him and clean after him.”

  “Ha! Your wife would keep me because I know how to feed you better than you can feed yourself.”

  I’m in the middle of pouring the batter when my phone starts to ring. I ignore whoever is calling, but they aren’t letting this go.

  Pierce reaches inside my pocket to grab it.

  “Don’t molest me.”

  “You’re an idiot,” he says, glaring at me. “Beacon’s phone.”

  “He’s busy at the moment. May I take a message?”

  I turn to look at him, and he frowns. “I’ll let him know.”

  “Who was it?” I ask after he hangs up.

  “Janelle Fitzpatrick,” he stares at the phone. “Her ghostwriter is scheduled to start next month, and you haven’t responded to her calls.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Language,” Mills calls from the other room.

  “So, your mom is writing a tell-all?” Pierce asks.

  “My people haven’t been able to confirm that,” I explain to him.

  “I’ll have my lawyer work on that,” Henry, who enters the kitchen, says, winking at me and looking at Pierce. “Dude, fix that.”

  Pierce flips him the finger. “What do you want me to do, Beacon? Should I contact your PR, agent, manager, or can I just sue her because I didn’t like her effing tone?”

  “Or you can set the record straight and give your version, Beac,” Grace says as she enters the kitchen. “Morning, everyone.”

  “She forgave him too fast,” Henry complains. “And what did your father forget to tell you that got him in the doghouse?“

  “As if she had just let it go,” I say, walking toward her and giving her a peck on the lips. “She’s going to make me work for it. I’m still in the doghouse.”

  I go back to the mixer to continue pouring the ingredients.

  “You were saying something about setting the record straight,” Pierce cuts into the conversation. “What would that entail, and how would it help?”

  “He can easily post a picture of him and his grandfather on social media, write something touching about missing him, how he and his wife raised him as his own after his mother abandoned him,” Grace explains something her aunt—my PR—has suggested a few times. “That tells the world the real story in only a few lines.”

  “I don’t want the attention.” I put the muffin tray in the oven and pour the rest of the batter into the second one.

  Everyone laughs.

  “Really, you don’t like attention?” Mills says, mockingly. “I can see that since you keep to yourself.”

  “Can we ever get through a conversation without a thousand jokes?” Pierce asks, looking at me. “What does she want?”

  “I think she’s trying to have some sort of comeback. The easiest way is to say I’m her son and have us perform together. She’s tried that already. I refuse to do it. According to my sources, she’s broke. I could just give her Grandpa’s money, but Grandma made me promise I wouldn’t give her anything. Her last wishes were that I preserve his legacy.”

  “He hates the attention,” G sets the record straight. “Which is why he doesn’t want to add that to his social media.”

  “She wants to cash in on her relationship to him,” Pierce concludes. “When did this start?”

  “The tell-all? When Dad died.”

  “She wants William’s money?” Henry’s voice booms inside the kitchen.

  “If she does, it’d be just my cut,” I explain. “She might want part of it. I haven’t spoken to her.”

  “Is that even possible?” Henry questions.

  “Dude, my mom wanted a cut too,” Pierce confesses, and we all look at him. “I guess she felt entitled to some of it because she had to deal with him. It’s irrelevant. She’s not getting anything from us.”

  “Can we forget about my mother?”

  “We have to stop her.” Henry looks at everyone. “You can’t just give her money to her shut up. If you do it once, she’ll never stop.”

  “Who are we giving money to?” Hayes enters the kitchen. “Good, I thought no one was going to make breakfast today.”

  “Beacon’s mom is blackmailing him.”

  “She is?”

  “No, yes…I don’t know,” I say, exasperated because I swear, they just made a bigger mess out of this.

  I explain to Hayes what’s happening with my mother while I check on the food. Henry and Mills start setting the table. Arden helps them.

  “Sometimes I wonder if William had a type. When I hear about our mothers, I confirm it,” Pierce says. “He liked high-maintenance women.”

  “His mom was not the love of his life,” Henry concludes.

  Dad left a letter to each one of us. Some of us haven’t received them yet, and the ones who have are waiting until we all have them in our hands. However, Leyla received one when she and Pierce separated.

  The letter had a hint that he had lost the love of his life. They are all trying to figure out which one of the six women he was with was it. On the other hand, I will be doing some research of my own because I’m sure he had someone before those six women, and that’s the love of his life.

  Maybe it’s a mystery woman from Happy Springs, the town next door. It could be his high school sweetheart.

  “I agree with Henry,” Hayes says. “If you give her money once, she’ll keep coming back. You should take away that power by doing what Grace suggests. It’s up to you, though.”

  “It might bring a lot of publicity to you and the town,” I warn them. “It’ll be just like what happened when the paparazzi first discovered me.”

  “We can take her.”

  “Let me figure out how to handle her.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Beacon

  Breakfast is uneventful after we agreed that I’m going to look into how to stop Mom from creating a three-ring circus. I live a private life. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but no one knows the real me. I doubt she understands that. The last time I saw her was when Grandma died.

  Grace helps me clean up the kitchen—which happened to be Vance’s chore. Afterward, she leaves with Leyla and Sophia. They’re spending the da
y in Portland. I, on the other hand, volunteer to clean the barn. It’s not my favorite chore, but the horses are cool. Ally, the alpaca is a hoot. She likes it when I take her out for walks around town.

  “What’s the plan for today?” Mane asks.

  “Learn how to crochet?” San asks.

  I glare at him and turn on the hose.

  “Why the fuck are we here?” Fish protests.

  I swear, I want to direct the stream of water toward him, but I don’t because if any of the animals escape, Pierce will kill me.

  “He brought us to clean his shit,” San jokes while cleaning Poppy’s stall.

  “Shut up. You volunteered to help,” I remind him. “You could be sleeping, like Sir Byron Alasdair Langdon.”

  San bursts into laughter. “I swear he has a pompous-ass name. His family hated him before birth.”

  “Someone should tell him it’s past noon,” I suggest.

  “He was up all night. One of his bands is having issues,” Fish says, drawing air quotes. “I told him not to start a boy band. Those kids think it’s all just looking pretty and learning cheesy choreographies.”

  “Divas!” San grunts.

  “Talking about divas, why is your brother approaching us like he’s about to attack?” Mane tilts his head.

  I turn my head to where his attention is focused and spot Vance. He fucking owes me.

  “You left me hanging, asshole!”

  Vance’s eyes have a shade of green I don’t see often. There’s a huge fucking storm brewing inside. I swear they are almost black. He’s charging toward me, arms by his sides, and hands fisted.

  “Stop!” I warn him.

  “Nah, I want to see how he hands you your ass,” San jokes.

  “You know how this is going to end.” Mane sighs.

  “With my fist in Vance’s face?” I mumble under my breath.

  “Yes. Beac’s going to lose his shit, and Vance will end up in the hospital, and everyone will find out he’s not just a musician,” Mane concludes.