Mathew had arrived a half hour earlier and was now sitting silently by James in the sterile-smelling waiting room filled with cranky sick and injured people. “You don’t have to stay,” James said for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“Shut up already,” Mathew grunted back. “I’m staying. I want to make sure Libby is all right and you don’t get in any more fights.”
“It wasn’t a fight,” he argued, but Mathew didn’t seem to believe him.
“Whatever you and Libby had going on, it ended, and if she was seeing this guy I’m sure that didn’t sit right with you. I can only imagine—”
James cut in, figuring Mathew deserved the truth. “It was her ex-boyfriend from a few years ago. He used to beat the crap out of her. She was setting him up, goading him into hurting her in public so she could finally get the asshole locked up. And she did it. I knew the guy was back in the picture but didn’t know her plan. I was keeping an eye on her, and when he hit her, I hit him . . . a lot.”
“Oh,” Mathew said, trying to absorb all the information. “I didn’t realize that. Then I’m glad you were there.”
“So am I,” Jessica said as she tried to catch her breath. “I just got your message. Is she all right?” Mathew stood quickly and offered her his chair, but she refused it. “I’m too nervous to sit. I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin. I can’t believe she got herself back into this.”
“She didn’t,” James corrected. “Well she did, but she did it on purpose. She was playing him.”
“Wow,” Jessica said, propping a hand up on her hip. “I didn’t think she had it in her.”
“Neither did I,” Mathew said, and James could tell he was trying to spark up some kind of deeper conversation with Jessica.
“My aunt’s been calling me all afternoon. I’ve got to go call her back,” James said, standing and insisting the two of them take the empty seats. “I’ll bring back coffee. Libby should be back out in a few minutes then I bet we’ll be out of here.”
“Sounds good,” Mathew said, gesturing again for Jessica to sit, and this time she did.
“I didn’t realize you’d be here,” James heard Jessica say, and he turned back to see her touching Mathew’s arm gently. A smile broke across his face at the idea that these two might actually be into each other.
His excuse to get away wasn’t a lie. Marissa had been calling him for the last few hours, and he knew when he reached her she’d be pissed. But he’d put it off long enough. As he hovered his thumb over the call connect button he considered how bad it would be if he just put this off until tomorrow.
“You did come,” he heard a voice call from over his shoulder as he tried to make his decision. “I didn’t think you had even gotten my messages.”
“Aunt Marissa?” James asked, trying to make sense of his aunt’s presence and the large tray of food balancing in her hands.
“Here take this bag of clothes up for me. Your dad said he’s starving, but they won’t let him eat yet. I was going to hurry up and devour some of this food before I went back in, but now that you’re here I can eat while you visit with him.”
“He’s awake?” James asked, his voice catching in his throat. “He woke up?”
“You didn’t get my messages?” she asked, looking ghostly white.
“No.”
“Why are you here then?”
“My friend”—he quickly corrected—“my girlfriend, Libby, had an accident. She’s all right.” He didn’t want to go into the long version of the story, and his mind was charging forward too fast to even think about the events of earlier that night. “He’s awake? Is he all right?”
“He still has some facial paralysis. They aren’t sure he’ll regain some of his abilities, like walking. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected. The doctors have been clear, he’ll need an enormous amount of physical therapy, but even with that, he’ll have some major limitations.”
“He’s alive,” James said, not sure if that was a question or a proclamation.
“He’s alive.” Marissa smiled. “And he’s asking for you.”
“I should go up,” he realized, again the words lost somewhere between assertion and question.
“You should,” Marissa answered.
“Can I take Libby?” he asked as though Marissa were some kind of emotional gatekeeper, holding the answers to these delicate questions.
“If having her there will help you,” she said through a smile.
“It will.”
CHAPTER 28
“I know you probably have questions about what West Oil did and your father’s death—” James started as the elevator climbed its way up.
“James,” Libby chuckled, “I’m not going to talk about any of that with your father. I’m here for you. If you want me to step out, I will. If you want to leave, we’ll leave. If you want me to stay, I will. Nothing else matters.”
“I don’t know what to say to him. We’ve always just argued with each other. The thing is, I don’t want to argue with him right now.”
“So don’t,” Libby said matter-of-factly.
“But then I don’t know what else to say to him.”
“Yes, you do.” Libby sighed, reaching up and stroking his shoulder. “You have a question to ask; I’d say this is a good time to bring it up.”
James hung his head. He knew what she was saying. But that question had lain like a boulder between them for years. Would right now really be the day to roll it aside and finally get answers?
When the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, he knew Libby was waiting for him to step off, but he didn’t. The door closed again and her eyes were on him. Leaning over, she hit the button that sent the doors sliding back open.
“Ready?” she asked, knowing he wasn’t.
“Of course,” he lied. Down the hall through the third door on the left, just as Marissa had instructed, he found his father. It was exactly what he had feared. The towering, loud, force of a man looked like the shell of his old self. His hospital socks were twisted around funny. His cloth gown was loose around his neck and showed too much of one of his boney shoulders. Machines beeped and the overhead light hummed.
“Dad,” James said softly as he stepped into the room with Libby holding tight to his arm. He couldn’t tell if she was squeezing him or he was squeezing her, but either way it was helping.
“Son,” his father beamed, extending his arms and then groaning in pain as he lowered them. “Sorry. My muscles are sore. Apparently a few weeks in a coma can do that to you.”
“It’s okay,” James said, stepping in a little closer and reaching for a chair in the corner. “This is Libby Saint-Jane. She’s my girlfriend. I hope it’s okay with you that she came up.”
“Boy,” he said with a hearty laugh, “people really do act all funny when you nearly die. I can’t think of a single time you asked me if something you did was all right by me.”
“I just—” James started, but his father laughed again.
“Of course it’s all right. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, nodding his tired head at her. “Holy hell, what happened to her head?”
“Car accident,” she said quickly. “But I’m fine.”
“Were you in a coma for a few weeks?” he asked very seriously.
“No,” she replied cautiously.
“Then I win.”
“What’s the prize? A droopy cheek and some slurred speech?” James asked, and he heard Libby gasp.
“James,” she scolded.
“Ha,” his father bellowed but stopped abruptly when the act of laughing hard seemed to take too much out of him.
“I’m glad you’re here, kid. I wanted to talk to you about the company.” JW tried to pull himself up some but failed.
“Not now, Dad,” James insisted, gesturing for his father to lie back. “You know we’ll just argue, and I don’t want to be responsible for putting you back in a coma.” He felt Libby’s elbow plow into his rib, bu
t he ignored it.
“Yes now,” JW insisted. “Just because I’m awake doesn’t mean I’m better. From the way the doctors explain it I’ve got something hokey in my head that pretty much makes me a ticking time bomb.”
“What?” James asked, but his father waved him off.
“Just sit down and listen. There’s something I want to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”
James wondered if this would be about Libby and the other people like her who’d been pressured by West Oil to take a bad deal. Clearly he hadn’t recognized Libby from their one meeting five year ago, but there was still a chance this was the topic he’d break into.
“I’m sorry I made you leave after your mother died,” he said quickly as though he might lose his nerve. “It was a mistake. But I want you to understand why I did it.”
“It doesn’t matter, Dad. It’s water under the bridge,” James lied.
“It’s a smelly goddamn sewer under the bridge is what it is. And we need to get rid of the stink. You just sit there and listen.” His father always had a colorful way of speaking, and James was relieved to see, with all the stroke had taken from him, that still remained.
James nodded his agreement as Libby and he sat down in the two chairs by the foot of the hospital bed. She laced her fingers supportively into his and squeezed his hand.
“When I was about sixteen years old my father started West Oil. I always thought of him as exceptionally smart and very business savvy.”
“He was,” James cut in, the urge—no the habit—to argue creeping up.
“Just listen, boy. For once in your stubborn life will you please just listen to me? Let it be out of pity for me being stuck in this hospital bed if it needs to be. But just listen.”
“Okay,” he said simply, dropping his eyes away, glancing instead out the window that looked over the courtyard of the hospital.
“Your grandfather built this company from nothing. Do you know how hard that is?”
James nodded, not wanting to interrupt again.
“It’s damn near impossible. And in his case it proved to be just that. Impossible. Everything he tried to do kept failing. He didn’t have what it took to launch his dream. So he found another way. The wrong way. He sold his soul to the highest bidders and built West Oil on lies, blackmail, and fraud. It was built on the backs of good people who suffered to make him wealthy.”
“What are you talking about?” James asked, unable to bite his tongue. “People loved Granddad.”
“They feared him,” JW answered back coolly. “His power in this community reached deeper than you can ever imagine. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this; I still remember how badly it hurt the day I found out myself. I was nineteen years old, and my father brought me into his office. I’d been working in the company in one form or another for three years, but he was ready to really bring me into the folds. I was so excited. When he pulled back that curtain, when I saw how this magical place really operated, I was crushed. It got worse when I took on more responsibility and had to make some of those deals and choices myself. It changed me.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” James asked, releasing Libby’s hand and clenching his fists together angrily. He wasn’t directing it at his father, but the revelations were burning at him.
“It’s important that you know the roots of West Oil. Because when I tell you the rest of this it might be the only thing that keeps you from hating me more than you already do.” The sag in his father’s face, brought on by the stroke, seemed to grow worse suddenly.
“I don’t hate you—” James started, but his father waved him off.
“I did everything I could to correct the issues after my father died and the company was mine. I had high hopes to turn West Oil into something more than just a tool used to control and intimidate people. But some of the deals, the agreements, ran deep. My hands were so dirty. I was mixed up in things I couldn’t walk away from. Not without destroying the company and in turn ruining a lot of lives. I figured maybe over time, if I kept working at it, I’d clean it all up, and I came close. But then I was cursed with a son like you.”
James felt Libby tense up at his side, ready to speak, but something made her hesitate. Maybe the same hopefulness James felt in his father’s half smile.
“You were so stubborn. Driven to find out the inner workings of everything so you could improve it. If there was something to get involved in with West Oil, you were there offering up a better idea. A more efficient or effective way to do something. And you were usually right. But what you didn’t know were the binding agreements I was buried under that kept me from making the changes you suggested.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” James asked, clearing his throat quickly, not liking how small his voice had sounded.
“Like my father had told me? Why didn’t I bring you in on all the dirty little secrets? Because you had too much integrity to ever be able to be happy in that kind of environment. The best I can hope now is it ends with me. When you hand this company over to your son, it will be with a clean conscious. The cycle ends.”
“That’s not possible,” James said, shaking his head vehemently. “I don’t see how I can make that happen.”
“Well son, I did give you the birds and the bees talk while sitting very awkwardly at the foot of your bed about fifteen years ago. Please don’t make me do it again. You know how to make a son, right?”
“Stop joking around,” James scolded, feeling his cheeks burn and pretending it was anger and not embarrassment. “I can’t get West Oil out of this mess. The damage this will do will sink us.”
“No,” JW argued, “it’ll sink me. But who cares. I’m dying anyway. They’ll sue me. They’ll take what money I have. Run my name through the mud. But it doesn’t matter a damn bit.”
“You could go to prison,” James said, drawing out the words as though his father were missing the gravity of the situation.
“I’m not going to be any one place too long, so it doesn’t matter. Listen, I’ve got it all worked out. I’ll admit to everything and make it very clear you had nothing to do with the failures of West Oil. You were not privy to the ethical and legal breaches made over the years. You’ll roll out your plan to correct the course of the company, and I know you’ll be able to earn the confidence needed to keep West Oil alive. More than that, you’ll bring the company back to life. Better than ever.”
“Wait,” James said, drawing in a deep breath, “you didn’t think my ideas were shit? You didn’t think I was too weak to run the company?”
“No,” JW choked out, wiping a stray tear from his sagging eyes. “I have done some hard shit in my life. But pushing you away was the hardest. I promised your mother, right on her death bed, that I’d protect you from the garbage and the crimes. She begged me for years to spare you the burden my father had left me. I always knew she was right, but I didn’t have the courage to do what needed to be done until after she died.”
“I would rather have been there with you,” James grunted out. “I would have tried to help you fix it all. Anything would have been better than—” He trailed off, torn between anger and understanding. If he’d been in his father’s shoes would he have had the strength to push his son away for his own good? Because of his father’s planning, he’d never have to face that choice.
“I did what I thought was right,” his father said apologetically. “The right thing and the easy thing are rarely the same.”
“But,” James argued, quieting suddenly when his father yawned animatedly.
“I’m tired son,” he whispered. “I need some rest. Just go on, and let me handle this. I’ve gone this far with it, let me take it the rest of the way.”
“What do you mean?” James asked. Libby stood and tugged his arm.
“We should go,” she whispered as his father closed his eyes and groaned. She led James out of the room and closed the door quietly behind them.
“Wha
t does he mean? What exactly is he going to do?” James had his hand on the door, ready to pull it back open and demand answers from his father.
“He means he’s going to do the right thing by you,” Libby answered gently as she took his hand from the handle. “Now all you have to do is let him.”
“No,” James snapped, directing the sudden surge of annoyance at Libby. “Who knows how much longer he has to live. I’m not going to let him spend it being ripped to shreds for his father’s mistakes.”
“And he doesn’t want you ripped to shreds for your father’s mistakes. If I’ve learned anything from what my mother is going through, it’s how important it is to give her the things she’s hoping for while I can. At some point it becomes all they have. This is all your father has; don’t take it from him.”
An intrusive voice crept up behind them with an awkward clearing of a throat. “James, sweetheart,” Marissa called gently, “he’s got to rest now. You should go home. There will be a lot of work to do.”
“So you know?” James accused. “You knew his plan to just throw what’s left of his life away? I know you; you can’t honestly support this. He’s your brother.”
“I think it’s the first good thing he’s done by you in a long time,” she said, clearly treading lightly with her words.
“I’m not doing this,” James said, balling his hands into fists. “Maybe he wants to put the company first, but I won’t.”
“No, he wants to put you first, James,” Marissa corrected. “This is something he’s going to do.”
“Over my dead body,” James bit out, charging down the hallway toward the elevator, leaving both Libby and Marissa in his dust. He was certain they’d have a lot to say to each other, being more alike than different. Both caring for him deeply. They’d agree he was being ridiculous, and he didn’t want to stand around to hear it.
He continuously punched his finger against the elevator button; it finally dinged and the doors opened. Before he could step in he bumped into the man stepping out.
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