End Game

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Physical fights?”

  “Yes. Emotions get high and so does the blame game. There’s going to be a fight at this one too, be it physical or emotional.”

  “I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “You can’t stop it from happening,” she says. “And if you don’t get some rest, you may be the one throwing the punch. We need to bring down your stress level, at least a little.” She flattens her hand on my chest. “So I’m going to be the boss right now. For the rest of today and most of tomorrow, we’re going to seal ourselves inside the apartment, order room service often, and do what the rest of the world does.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Watch Game of Thrones. We tried it a while back. We hated it. We’ll try again and push through the tough stuff. We’ll just binge like crazy.”

  “If I do this, if we do this, I’m going to want to keep you naked, and you could overdo it.”

  “Stuff me with pancakes, and I’ll be so full, I’ll be forced to let you do all the work. Which will be a sacrifice and all, but I think I can live with it.”

  I laugh. I don’t even know how that’s possible after my mother’s call, but I do. “I can do the heavy work, sweetheart. No worries there. And so let’s eat more pancakes,” I say, fully intending to carry her to bed and strip her naked afterward. Just as I fully intend to ask her to marry me. Just not now. I don’t want any part of that new chapter in our lives to be tainted with blood and death.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Over the course of the next twenty-four hours, many things happen.

  I actually sleep.

  I eat more pancakes with Emily.

  I make love to Emily.

  I fuck Emily.

  I also become more determined to fuck everyone who played a role in killing Derek and almost taking Emily from me.

  For that reason, Sunday night arrives too soon and yet not soon enough. I’m ready to get the funeral behind us. I’m ready to get a new life and a new chapter started with Emily. And I’m ready to take actions that ensure the outcome of all this is one that I can live with, which will be an outcome no one else involved will welcome, but must endure. Including my parents, namely my father, who will be handed business news tonight that won’t please him.

  Thirty minutes until my parents’ arrival into Denver, with Cody somewhere nearby shadowing us, Emily and I grab coffee at a spot in the private airport where they’re landing. Both of us are in jeans and boots, our first real clothes in two days, and both of us gravitated to all black without conversation in advance. Funeral black, I think, as we walk to the terminal where my parents are arriving in a private jet.

  “Pancakes for your thoughts,” Emily says, her hand in my jacket pocket instead of her own.

  “I really have none right now,” I say, stopping in the waiting area, where we sit down next to each other.

  “None?”

  “No. None. I’m just ready to get it over with.”

  “The funeral or seeing your parents again?”

  “Both,” I say, swigging a drink of my coffee, the thick caffeinated beverage not nearly as heavy as the feeling in my chest, and when I would normally keep that to myself, I don’t. Not with Emily. “I have this impossible-to-reconcile sense of dreading the next two days and just needing them over.”

  “I feel that now too,” she says. “It’s normal I think, but I felt it intensely with my father, like we both do now with Derek. I think the tragic, unexpected death plays a factor. And I don’t think I’ve told you this, but we lied about my father’s cause of death, like you were forced to with Derek.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “It was probably me being ashamed. A subconscious thing that made me leave it off, maybe, because I have nothing to hide from you, Shane. It’s just that I was—I am—ashamed of my father killing himself. And I know you might be ashamed of some of what Derek did. Even how it led us to that restaurant that night, but in the end, he saved my life.”

  “I know he did,” I say, “and when he was in the ambulance, there were no regrets. He was worried about you.”

  “I want to tell your parents what he did for me, Shane, but I think they might hate me anyway.”

  “There you go, giving my parents too much credit again. They don’t care enough to hate you.”

  “You’re wrong. He’s their son. And even if that weren’t the case, telling them really isn’t about them. It’s about honoring the sacrifice he made for me. He gave his life for mine, and I know how greedily he behaved. I know how he fought you and got dirty over money and power. But in the end he showed that he wasn’t really that person. You said it yourself. That act of saving me saved his soul. He was selfless.”

  Her words, etched with emotion and spoken from her heart, bleed into mine. I set my coffee on the floor, stand up, and walk to the window, watching as my parents’ plane arrives. “He was selfless,” I repeat as Emily joins me. “And I didn’t save him. But I was close. That’s what guts me more than anything. I was so damn close to pulling him out of the gutter he was swimming in with my father.”

  Emily takes my arm and we face each other. “I said the same of my father. I didn’t save him. I didn’t see his troubles. I should have known he was in a bad place. That kind of thinking will gut you.”

  “And yet you blame yourself for Derek’s death.”

  “He physically put himself in front of me, Shane. It’s hard not to take the literal out of that. No matter what led up to it, he died saving me.”

  I have this mental picture of her lying on the hard floor while I tried to stop Derek’s bleeding, and I pull her close, my hand at the back of her head, my forehead against hers. “It killed me to see you like that. Killed me.”

  “Shane!”

  At the sound of my mother’s voice, my spine stiffens and I inhale a heavy breath. Emily’s fingers flex on my chest, and I cover them with mine, kissing them before I turn and slide my arm around her waist. I’ve barely had time to bring my parents into focus, when Emily sucks in air, and I know why. My mother looks like herself in a black, expensive pantsuit, her long, dark hair tied at her nape, but my father is a stranger: his black slacks and black button-down shirt hang on his thin body, but, more drastically, he’s bald. It should affect me. It should blast me with the reality of his mortality that hasn’t been erased with a remission that may or may not last. But it doesn’t.

  I am cold where he is concerned.

  And I’ve barely had that thought before my mother has flung herself at me, hugging me, her head on my chest, as she bursts into tears. My father steps behind her, and in another unexpected moment, I find tears in his eyes. Ice slides down my spine, and there is not one bit of empathy in me for them. In fact, what I feel is hate. I hate them both more than I have ever hated them. Actually, I believe this is the first time in my life that I know I hate them. How can I feel anything else when it took my brother’s death for them to actually give a damn about him?

  “Shane,” my mother says, leaning back to look at me. “Shane, I…” Her words trail off as she stares up at me, and she must see what I’m feeling because she struggles for what to say. “Shane, I…”

  “You need to get home,” I say. “Emily and I will meet you there.” I lift a hand, and one of the security team members we’ve hired through Nick’s company appears. “Your escort.”

  My father’s eyes meet mine, and yes, there are residual tears. Yes, his eyes are bloodshot. But beyond that, I don’t know what I see. I don’t know this man, and I am now certain that I never did. And I damn sure know that no matter how long he stares at me, he has no idea who I am. Perhaps with that realization, his gaunt face tightens and he turns away to speak to Nick’s man. My mother gives me a helpless look, sobs, and does the same. I still feel cold to their emotions. I still feel hate. I reach for Emily’s hand and start walking. She falls into step with me, saying nothing. She just holds my hand a little tighter than normal, and while I wouldn’t expec
t that to be the perfect response to what just happened, it is.

  Cody joins us as we exit the airport to the parking lot, wordlessly following us until we reach the Bentley, and then he moves to the black sedan one spot over. Once Emily and I are inside the car, I don’t immediately start the engine. I just sit there, inhaling her sweet scent and reminding myself of the gift my brother gave me in her. She leans over and kisses my cheek. Again, not what I expect as the perfect response, and yet it is. And so is getting this night over with, which means going to my parents’ house, talking about the funeral arrangements, and ending my father’s career at Brandon Enterprises.

  I start the engine.

  * * *

  We arrive at my parents’ house at the same time they arrive in a black sedan driven by Nick’s man. Cody pulls to the curb while I follow the sedan through the gates of the property and around to the back door. I park us in the driveway and kill the engine but make no move to get out of the car, deciding now is the time to prepare Emily for what is to come. “I promised Derek I’d save the company before he died. My way. I promised him I’d save it my way.”

  “You already have,” she says. “You’ve pushed out Mike and Martina. Or you are about to, anyway.”

  “Which leaves only one poison.”

  “Your father.”

  “Yes. My father. He retires willingly or unwillingly.” I glance over at her. “I need to know you’re on board with that before we walk into the house.”

  “One hundred percent. Do what you have to do. And I can handle whatever happens in there.”

  I reach over, cup her face, and kiss her. “Of that,” I say, “I have no doubt. Let’s get this over with.” I release her and exit the car, fully intending to help her out, but Emily doesn’t wait on me. She’s out in an instant, and the next few minutes are all about just getting inside the damn house, considering my mother thinks she’s lost their keys. And because nothing about this hellish night can just end well, chaos ensues, but finally the keys are found. Emily, thankfully, considering my mother is crying again, takes the lead to herd my parents inside the house while I grab their bags and send Nick’s man on his way.

  Once I’ve delivered their bags upstairs, I return to my car, grab my briefcase, and then follow the lights and voices where they lead me. Surprised then to find not just my mother and Emily at the table at the far side of the kitchen, but my father as well. In a normal family, sitting around the kitchen table with coffee cups in hand, as they are, and catching up on news after your parents’ return from out of the country would seem normal, even cozy. For my family, it’s not. It’s a façade of closeness that hasn’t existed in years, decades, even, if it ever did beyond my childhood fantasies.

  “Have a seat, son,” my father says. “Emily was just filling us in on the arrangements for Tuesday.”

  My mother stands. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

  “I’ll share Emily’s,” I say, claiming the seat next to her.

  “We were just talking about the eulogy,” Emily tells me, her hand settling on my leg. “It’s the only thing that isn’t set up yet. Your mother was saying that your father—”

  “I’m doing it,” I say, no give to my voice. “Just me.” My gaze meets my father’s, but he doesn’t challenge me, which is no surprise. Why would he speak on behalf of his son he all but drove into a grave? And while this might be the appropriate time for me to ask for details on his health, I don’t care at this point.

  “Emily needs to take it easy,” I say. “Which means we need to finish up and get her home.” I open my briefcase and remove a folder. “I see no reason to do this in private, Father. It affects us all.” I open the folder and remove a document I slide across the table to set it in front of him. “I sold the pharmaceutical branch, as well as the trucking division of the company, for a hefty profit. I then used those profits to move us into another industry.”

  “Who did you sell to?” my father asks.

  “Mike Rogers.”

  My mother sucks in air, as if she’s exposed in this moment, when her rolling around in the sheets with my father’s friend and our stockholder has long been known. Unlike her, my father’s reaction is no reaction. “And the side deal you’ve been brokering?” he asks, his tone even, almost bored in nature.

  “Complete by the end of the week,” I say, “and our commission should be paid within two.”

  “Define the hefty profits you mentioned in relationship to the sale to Mike.”

  “Page three of the document.”

  He flips it open and studies the number before looking at me. “It’s an acceptable number to get rid of that leech, if these new ventures prove to be smart choices.”

  I reach into my briefcase and remove another folder, setting it next to him. “Details on those ventures are inside, but I’m not going to review them with you tonight.” I grab the remaining document in the folder and set it in front of him. “That’s your agreement to retire and name me as permanent CEO of the company.”

  His eyes sharpen, his energy with them. “I’m in remission, son. I have no reason to retire.”

  “I’m not letting you take this company down the same path it was traveling before. One, I might add, that got your son killed. I expect that to be signed by Wednesday morning when I return to the office, and then we’ll announce the sale to Mike.” I take Emily’s hand and she stands with me. “And right now I’m taking Emily home to rest.”

  “And if I don’t agree to retire?” my father asks.

  “Then I hope you have someone to inherit the company, because I’ll be heading to New York with Emily and going back to the job I left to save your company. And last I heard, your other son isn’t available to take over when you’re gone. You have until Wednesday. I’m taking Emily home, at least the place we call home, for a few more days.” I lead Emily around the chair and hold on to her hand as we walk through the kitchen, exit the back of the house, and don’t stop until we’re in the Bentley.

  “If he doesn’t agree?” Emily asks.

  “I promised Derek I’d save the company, which means that if my father doesn’t agree, the gloves come off.” I start the engine and get us the hell out on the road, cranking up the radio to a country station, trying to clear my head. Thinking about what comes next if my father refuses to sign those papers. That leads me to a replay of those moments with Derek in the ambulance, on my knee, holding his hand:

  “Fuck Martina,” he whispers, his expression fierce. “Save … our company.”

  “We’ll save it together when you get well.”

  “Promise me. Promise … you will … save—”

  I squeeze his hand. “Derek.”

  “Promise me, damn it.”

  “I promise,” I say, hating the sense of “the end” he’s giving me.

  His lashes lower and lift. “Teresa … tell Teresa … I … love her.”

  “You can tell her.”

  “Tell her, Shane.” There’s a white line around his lips that seems to thicken. “Please.”

  “I will,” I promise. “I’ll tell her.”

  “One … last thing…”

  “Okay,” I say, that word “last” grinding through me. “What is it?”

  “Tell Pops … tell him … I’ll see him in hell, and he … won’t be king.”

  I snap out of the memory and pull the car into our private spot in the Four Seasons residential parking lot, that memory grinding through my mind and body. Derek’s many messages that night are coming back to me. My promises are coming back to me. I have to save the company. I have to get my father out of it. I have deliver that message to Teresa, which I have not. And I have to cherish this woman beside me now.

  The music on the radio slides into my mind, a Brad Paisley song called “Then.” The lyrics are about the first time he met the woman he fell in love with. I remember trying not to stare the night that I first met you, the song says. “The morning I met you,” I say, turning to face Emily.

/>   “The coffee shop,” she says.

  But I thought I loved you then, the song says.

  “I didn’t know I loved you then,” I say, reaching for her, my fingers tangling in her hair as I pull her mouth to mine. “I remembered that morning over and over while you were in a coma.”

  But now you’re my whole life, the song says. Now you’re my whole world.

  “You are my whole world. And I cannot lose you.”

  Her hand comes to my face. “You aren’t going to lose me.”

  And yet some part of me is uncertain. Some part of me feels the need to hold on to her tighter than ever. Like this isn’t over yet.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Monday morning, Emily and I decide to get up and go to breakfast to keep our minds off the funeral the next day, and yet despite that goal, we both end up wearing black jeans and black sweaters. All black. Again. Reality is obviously hard to escape, no matter what we do to try to draw outside of the lines of that reality and into a short-lived fantasy world. Bottom line: tomorrow I bury my brother. Tomorrow I say good-bye to someone who, no matter what our disagreements, has always felt a part of who I am. Today there is no gray to hide within. There is no light. There is just … black.

  “Getting out of the house is good,” Emily says as we exit the bedroom, side by side, and walk down the stairs. “It will make us get out from underneath the sludge of emotions consuming us.”

  “Sludge,” I say. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

  “I wish we could run,” she says as we reach the foyer. “Running would give me somewhere to put all this negative energy I’m absolutely oozing.”