“And the team doctors ran the scans on your brain?” I asked.
“Yeah, and I know those fuckers saw the CTE. I’m over it, Dr. Ross. I’m quitting.”
“You’re giving the money up, huh?”
“They’ve already paid me five million. That’s all I need.”
I nodded then narrowed an eye. “No steroids, huh?”
“No,” he said, frowning and looking off.
“You don’t sound sure about it.”
“I’ve been given vitamins. Josh said there were no steroids in them. And you said my vitamin levels looked good.”
I perked up, shuffling through my paperwork to find Greg’s intake form. “Except your B12 levels. But you said you had a B-12 drip two days ago. I would watch those if I were you. What other kinds of vitamins are you taking?”
“Multivitamins. But they’re not the reason from my episodes. They’re vitamins, for goodness sake.”
I frowned, reading through the blocks again. He’d never mentioned any vitamins other than the drip. That was a big miss by Dr. Beals, the internal medicine doctor. But as part of the diagnostic team, I should’ve followed up on the question. Normally, I would have.
“And Dr. Beals never asked you about any daily supplements that you might be taking?”
His lips settled into a coy grin. “The cute blonde.”
I wrinkled an eyebrow. “Were you flirting with her?”
“No.”
I didn’t believe him. From personal experience, I knew how strong he could come on to a woman he was attracted to. He probably made her feel flustered, which was why she got through the test as fast as she could. But there was no need to point fingers. Finally, we had a lead on a possible cause.
“When was your last dosage?” I asked.
“This morning. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Doc. Those vitamins make me feel great.”
I tilted my head. “They do?”
He grimaced, appearing annoyed by my questioning the viability of his supplements.
“How can I get my hands on these vitamins?”
“I have some. I take them three times a day.”
“Would you mind giving me your next dosage?”
He stiffened. His brow wrinkled then evened out.
“It’s not a popper, right? It’s just a vitamin. Unless you’re addicted to these vitamins.” My tone sounded suggestive.
Finally, Greg dug into his pocket and took out a small pill box. After he gave me his next dose, I explained how most people heard the word “vitamin” and thought what they were taking was good for them. However, not all vitamins were healthful, and most were made of synthetic substances.
“Dr. Ross,” he said as my hand gripped the doorknob.
I turned around to look at him.
“Thank you. I owe you dinner. How about tonight?”
Chastising him for flirting, I wiggled my finger at him as I walked out of the room. “Stay put.”
Dr. Beals confirmed that Greg had been flirtatious. She also confessed that his hunkiness may have been distracting. Regardless, she rallied her troops and got to work on his case.
Since we were certain no surgery was warranted, my services wouldn’t be needed. However, curiosity made me stick close to the team. The lab had everything they needed to separate the substances and learn which active ingredients were contained in the vitamin.
An hour later, we were back in the SUV, and Greg drove because we were certain he wouldn’t have another episode of memory loss. During the team’s post-diagnostic follow-up, I learned each memory lapse occurred up to half an hour after he took a vitamin. The time of reaction depended on how fast his body metabolized the supplement. At one point, he’d added an extra dosage to his routine, simply because it gave him an extra boost of energy.
“Did they say the supplement contained six statins?” he asked.
He was driving too fast, and it was getting to me.
“Could you please slow down?” I asked while listening to the third and final message from Asher.
In each, he asked that I return his call as soon as possible. He sounded worried, and I didn’t think it was because I was with Greg. That sucky feeling that came over me when he’d walked off with Julia was back in spades. But he had left me three messages since then, which meant he hadn’t fallen into her clutches. So I relaxed a bit, deciding to put my conversation with Greg regarding informing his team about the harmful supplements on ice while I called Asher to let him know I was okay. But before I could make the call, my phone rang. I gasped when I saw who it was. After forcing myself to breathe, I answered.
“Hi, Christine.”
“Your mother’s been found.” The fact that she got straight to her point worried me.
I looked at Greg with wide eyes as I pressed my hand on my chest.
“Is she alive?” I whispered past my tight throat.
“Everything okay?” Greg asked, splitting his attention between my face and the road.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I just kept staring at him.
“She’s alive,” Christine said, her tone sharp enough to slice through an iceberg. Then she gave a long sigh. “Get ready for this, darling—and I’m sorry I have to tell you this, but for the sake of full disclosure, you have to know.”
I leaned forward, hugging the phone closer to my ear. “Know what?”
Then Aunt Christine told me everything, including where I would be able to find my mom. She said she had chosen to wash her hands of Mary, and it took every ounce of willpower to give me the option to make the same decision for myself.
“I hope you do the same, but you have to choose for yourself.”
She was right. I thanked her and told her I loved her. Christine said we were going to call each other every week, spend every holiday together, and finally act as if we were family.
I loved hearing that, but I also knew Christine’s proclamation was a big “Fuck you” to my mom for abandoning us not only once but twice.
“Um…” I said, grimacing at my phone, trying to remember the last remark Greg had made. “Yes, statins, beta blockers, and substances—we had to make some calls to figure out what they were and who manufactured them. Are all your team members taking them?” I was proud of myself for being able to get all of that out, even though I wanted to break down and cry.
“Beautiful?” His voice was calm and steady.
I stopped my shaky fingers from searching the internet for a flight to Madison, Wisconsin, and blinked at Greg. “Huh?” It was as if he were sitting a million miles away from me.
“Who just called you, and why are you searching for an airplane ticket?”
“My aunt. My mother is living in Madison, Wisconsin. I haven’t seen her since I graduated from high school.”
We whipped around another corner. If I were in my right mind, I would have asked him to take the next corner a little slower.
I found Asher’s name on my recent call screen and tapped it. The line rang four times before going to voice mail.
“Asher, I just learned about my mother. I’m going to the airport. I’m flying out to Wisconsin. I’ll see you when I get back. Love you.”
“Oh, fuck!” Greg yelled then checked all the mirrors carefully as he pulled over.
When the oversized vehicle was safely sitting along the side of the road, he turned his entire body to face me. “Do you want me to take you to the airport?”
I hated that I was so frantic. I shook my head as I tried to calm down. “No, take me to my place. I have to pack a small bag first.”
“Dr. Ross … Penina. Can I call you Penina?”
I nodded rapidly.
“You have to calm down. I got this. I promise you—I got this.”
I grimaced, wondering what he meant by that. Then Greg made a call on his console to a “charter service.”
“I’m booking a flight to”—he looked at me—“where again?”
My mouth was caught open. Should I, o
r shouldn’t I? Then the words started to form. “Madison, Wisconsin,” I said reluctantly. It was a bad idea to get on Greg’s airplane, knowing how much he liked me, but the sooner I reached my mother, the better.
“Return date?” the woman asked.
“Tonight,” I said.
I didn’t need to stay long. I had to see Mary and let her know that I knew she had done exactly what Asher did. She’d changed her name, but she had also gone several steps farther. Mary had become Elizabeth Thomas from Little Rock, Arkansas. She had two small children and a husband who was an airplane mechanic. I wanted to lay eyes on Elizabeth Thomas and tell her that I was aware of what she had done, and that from that moment onward, we were dead to each other.
A little over an hour later, we were in a private airplane on the tarmac, waiting for the aircraft to finish being prepared, when Asher returned my call. My hands were still shaky, and I had to constantly beat back the urge to cry as I told him how my aunt’s private investigator had miraculously found my mother, who had a brand-new identity and a new set of kids.
Then the pilot announced we were finally ready for takeoff.
“Are you on an airplane already?” Asher asked.
Filled with dread, I closed my eyes and sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to like what I said next. “Greg chartered a flight for us.”
“Us?” His voice boomed so loudly that I had to move the phone away from my ear. “You’re alone with that guy?”
The aircraft was moving, and the flight attendant had set the coffee that I ordered in front of me.
“It’s okay.” I narrowed an eye at my fellow passenger. “Greg and I have an understanding.”
“You think that’s helping, Penina?”
I heaved a sigh. “I love you and only you, Jake. Fuck,” I cursed under my breath. I was volatile, very unstable, and I knew it. “I meant Asher.”
“Madison, Wisconsin?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Give me the address.”
I turned away from Greg, who was smirking. “What?”
“Never mind. My investigator was the one who helped your aunt’s detective.”
I tried to scoot to the edge of my seat, but the seat belt restrained me. “What? Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Because it was me helping you out. It was no big deal.”
I closed my eyes as I shook my head. “You could’ve said something.”
“We’re next in line for takeoff,” the pilot said as if he were announcing a sunny day in Whoville. “Please turn off your laptops, make sure your device is in airplane mode, and enjoy the ride, Greg Carroll, greatest offensive tackle in the league.”
Greg crossed his arms and barked out a loud laugh. The compliment clearly made him feel special. I could tell by the look on his face that moments like that, for him, were worth the CTE.
“You have to turn it off,” Greg mouthed then winked.
He was relishing the moment. I bet he felt like a winner, and Asher was the loser. I should’ve thought it through, but it was too late now.
“Asher, I have to go.”
“I’ll see you soon,” he said and ended our call.
I smiled at Greg. “Love you too.”
“He’s not mad?” Greg asked as I pulled the phone away from my ear.
“Nope,” I said a little too optimistically.
He grunted thoughtfully. I didn’t think he believed me, but I wasn’t going to give him any indication that Asher was pissed.
“You love him, huh?”
My smile intensified. “Very much.”
His eyes narrowed, then after a moment of studying me, he grunted again.
I rolled my eyes. Whatever.
Chapter Sixteen
Asher Christmas
Two Hours Ago
I sat at the table with Jasper and Bryn. We were in the den at the back of the house, sitting beneath a coffered ceiling. Nourished trees surrounded the large circular windows. The only reason I noticed those details was because Bryn mentioned how pleasant the room felt for once.
We’d just finished eating grilled salmon with roasted carrots, tomatoes, and baked rosemary new potatoes for lunch. Bart, the family chef, who had been with us since I was a kid, had prepared our meal. I’d forgotten how tasty his food was.
While eating, we mainly talked about Bryn’s plan to work with Spencer and his wife, Jada, in their efforts to fundraise for the Spencer and Jada Christmas Indemnity Fund. Spencer planned to use family investment funds to pay those who had been abused by our father or were close relatives of the abused. However, they had expanded the mission of their non-profit organization to include those who were not associated with Randolph but had also become victims of the sex trade, and their families. And it was for that reason they had chosen to procure outside financial resources and volunteer services as a means of support.
Jasper listened as I updated him on my morning meetings and how fast we were moving to advance the facility, recruit new physicians and nurses, and improve patient services. We discussed administrative hires, including Si staying on as chief of surgery. I presented some options to Jasper, and he listened attentively, asking the right questions regarding their backgrounds and experiences.
The servers had finished collecting our plates, and we were drinking coffee for dessert when Jasper asked the one question I’d known would eventually find its way to my ears.
“I’m not particularly interested in hospital administration,” I replied in response to taking the position as CEO of the hospital. I was a surgeon, not a paper pusher. “Although I want to know everything that’s going on.”
“That’s fair,” Jasper said.
Then we tossed names across the table. I wasn’t shocked that he knew who the major players were in the medical institution industry. When Jasper entered an industry, he made a point to know everything about it.
I knew the pleasantries were over after we fell silent and Jasper’s stern gaze shifted between Bryn and me. The time had come to discuss why we were meeting at the mansion and not at one of the best restaurants in the city.
“About Julia’s threat,” he said, then laced his fingers together in front of him. As I recalled, that was a good sign. It meant he wasn’t speaking from a position of vulnerability.
Bryn drew up her mouth as if she were smelling something bad. “She’s awful.”
I waited for her to add more, like calling Julia a cunt or a bitch and saying she should burn in hell. But that was it. “She’s awful” was as far as the new Bryn was willing to take an insult, and it was a true statement.
“We don’t need to rehash what occurred back then—the Redmond College ordeal,” Jasper said.
Bryn and I looked at each other. We were at the start of discussing one of the biggest mistakes of our lives. I had been a chemistry student. Even though Bryn and I were born on the same day, I was starting my junior year at university when she was a freshman. I was young and also pissed off at everything that had breath and a brain. My anger made me make bad, wrong decisions. It was the only way to quell my heat. I manufactured a recreational drug.
Before she went off to college for the first time, Bryn and I gave my invention a try. If we died, then so fucking what—we would finally be free of the Christmas mansion and our father’s control. I was halfway hoping Xynalycophene Yellow, which we called HOE, short for Heaven on Earth, would kill me, but it didn’t. Bryn and I enjoyed the high of our lives. When she went off to Redmond College, she asked if I could make more HOEs, and she would sell them.
We were in the backyard, smoking by the oak tree across from the guest lodge. The lodge was where we got high, brought our fuck buddies, and sometimes partied.
Inhaling on the cig, I look at her with one eye narrowed, barely believing she asked me that shit. “You want me to be a drug dealer?”
She slaps herself on the chest. “I’m the dealer. You’re my manufacturer and supplier. I’ll give you a cut.”
“
I don’t want a cut.”
Then she pushes me in the shoulder, and I fall off balance but quickly recover.
“Come on, fucking Ash,” she explodes then displays one of my pills between her fingers. “Either you stock me with this shit, or I’ll find someone to tell me what’s in it, and I’ll make my own.”
That was how it happened. I remembered my deliberation process because I’d relived that moment over a thousand times. First, I wasn’t used to saying no to Bryn. So I used the excuse of not wanting anyone to learn what was in my formula to give her what she wanted.
Whenever I thought back to that day, I saw myself telling her to go fuck off. But I didn’t do that, and she’d dealt what I made. Then she met a guy who talked her into fucking with my recipe. I didn’t know what she’d done until the second user overdosed.
It was the fuckup of our lives. I could’ve gone to jail for a long time, and so could she. But Jasper, who had only been in his early twenties, made it all go away. And I never asked how he’d done it, simply because I took him for granted. Fixing our father’s shit and ours was my older brother’s responsibility.
When I looked back on Jasper’s role in our family, I saw the abuse and the burden. Being a neurosurgeon had taught me a lot about the brain—without it, we were not ourselves. Our father molded his older son into his greatest asset, but not out of love. Jasper was supposed to be his tool and ultimately his weapon. It never happened the way Randolph planned, though—not exactly. Jasper had never been our father’s ally. He was always the fox in the henhouse. I never knew why Jasper so often operated against our father until I read The Dark Christmases, which was a book about our family, written by Jasper’s wife.
Jasper’s laser focus was set on me. “When you told me about Julia’s threat, I did some rechecking. I always wondered about Brian Moore.” He looked at Bryn when he said that name.
Embrace: The Secret Billionaire Asher Christmas Duet, Two (The Dark Christmases Book 9) Page 14