by kj lewis
“What the fuck do you mean you have—”
“It’s done, Quade. With this off your plate you’ll have more time for Yankees games.” I glare at him in provocation. My jaw ticks. My stance belies a coolness that I’m far from feeling.
He doesn’t say a word, but he looks like I’ve ripped his fucking heart out of his chest. Or off his sleeve, where he’s always worn it. He shakes his head as if he doesn’t understand, then stands, opening his wallet and throwing four one hundred-dollar bills on the table before turning to leave.
He makes it a couple of tables before Colin is following him to the door.
I down a large gulp of my wine and sit, looking at the table setting in front of me.
“Friday,” Pierce speaks.
“What about it?”
“You have until Friday to read the letter Everett wrote you.”
“Or?”
Pierce doesn’t move, doesn’t change his expression. His chest rises and falls with the same breath pattern. I’m vaguely aware that he’s Sam and I’m Zinnie in this scenario. His posture mirrors mine, legs crossed, sitting back in his chair. The only tell is his fingers picking at an invisible thread on his knee. His eyes fly up and lock on mine.
“I love you. But it would be a mistake for you to underestimate me because of it.”
He pauses then finishes with, “Friday. And fix this.” He nods to the now vacant places at the table.
“It’s not fair.” Zinnie stands over Samantha who is seated on the couch.
“How do you figure?” Sam looks up to her with a crook of her brow.
“WiFi is a basic human right. This is child abuse.” Zinnie’s voice climbs in volume.
“I don’t mind having a conversation with you about it, but you will not stand here and yell at me like you have the right to.”
“You make me crazy!”
“What is the problem? Why are you yelling?” I ask with my eyes closed, rubbing my temples. This has been a shit day. Like step in it, smear it on your pant leg, and walk around smelling of it shit day. “And please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t scream. I have a splitting headache.”
Samantha stands and leaves us in the living room.
“Sam changed the WiFi password and won’t share it.”
“Sa—” I stop mid-sentence when a couple of Tylenols are placed in my hand along with a glass of water. The kindness of it is almost enough to make me lose my train of thought. To make matters more confusing, she takes a seat back in her spot without even a glance my way. Like she didn’t just do something for me that no one else does: take care of me.
“Sam did what?” I ask, greedily swallowing the pills.
“She changed the WiFi password and won’t share the new one.” Zinnie crosses her arms like, Can you believe this shit and I know you’ll fix it.
“Samantha?” I turn to her for her version of the story.
“She wouldn’t do her chores, she yelled at Poppy, and she slammed her door. Multiple times.” She turns to Zinnie. “I told you, you want it, do your chores, apologize to your sister, and stop acting like you’re the only person whose life has been turned upside down.”
“Sam,” I say in a surprised whisper. Surely, if anyone has earned the right to be pissed at the world, it’s Zinnie.
“Don’t you dare stand there and tell me about my life. You have no idea what my life is like. I want the password and I want it now.”
“Have you done the three things I said you had to do to get it?” Sam asks her again with a calmness that only comes with knowing your right.
Zinnia’s face turns beet red and she stomps out of the room. A minute later we hear a door slam.
“If she slams that door one more time, I’m taking it off its hinges,” Sam says before putting a pillow to her face and screaming into it. Finally, the hard shell cracks a little.
“If this isn’t a good fit for you…”
“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t you dare make excuses for her or make this easy for her.”
“She lost her parents. Her everything.”
“No, she didn’t. She still has Poppy and she has you. She’s not alone. She’s allowed to grieve and be upset about that, but she isn’t allowed to behave in a way that disrupts everyone around her. Poppy is grieving, too. So are you. She can’t hold this family hostage until she’s ready to behave the way she is expected to.”
Family? Are we a family? The thought rattles around in my head like dice in a cup. Bouncing off the sides, but not lodging anywhere.
“She gets the password when it’s done. Until then, no.”
“I agree she needs structure.”
“She gets the password when she’s done.” Sam stands and leaves the living room area.
And that’s how the rest of the evening went. Just…ugh. No one was happy. I did move up a level with Poppy. I went from her hugging my hand to a kiss on my eyelid before she went to bed. I think she was attempting to kiss me on my forehead like I do her, but her lips landed on my left eye instead.
I attempt to check on Zinnie, but her door is locked and she’s not answering.
I’m too exhausted to go another round with Samantha over the best way to move forward with Zinnie. Instead, I pour a strong drink and shuffle to my home office to take inventory of the long list of things that need to be addressed: Quade, Colin, Pierce, Camilla, Everett’s business, the hacking, the girls. They’ve always been on the list, but its escalating. Zinnie is escalating.
When the accident first happened, I put the girls into counseling to help them deal with their grief. They begged me to stop going, and I acquiesced. I’m beginning to rethink that decision. It’s clear Zinnie is not handling this as well as I thought. In the beginning, she really seemed to take to Sam, but once Sam started putting rules in place, Zinnie has been pushing back.
I bypass my desk, opting instead for the leather chair nearest the fireplace. I rest the tumbler on the armchair between my fingers, the taste of smooth brandy on my tongue. My head is leaned back, and it’s the most at peace I’ve been all day.
Pierce’s stern words echo, and I find myself replaying our conversation from lunch. Pierce is right, it would be a mistake to underestimate him, but we both know what happened today. I felt…jealous. Yep. Jealous. I didn’t like seeing Quade with the girls. They all looked happy. Like a family. I’ve been busting my arse to keep the girls’ heads above water, and he swoops in and makes them happy with a fucking baseball game. It’s my life that’s been turned the fuck upside down, can’t there be at least one benefit to it?
I load the Instagram app on my phone and establish a profile. I’ve always thought social media was a bit of a bore and for, well, commoners. God, I sound like an elitist.
It takes me a minute, but I finally figure out which account is Sam’s. I’m not sure how I feel about the girls’ pictures being on social media, but am slightly placated when I see the account is locked. I ask to follow and a minute later my phone dings with permission.
I scan through the pictures, studying ones I saw only for a moment today. Her pictures go back quite a bit, but these appear to be pictures of Sam and her squad doing things out and about. There’s one from several months ago at the trapeze place on the Pier. A video of Sam flying from one bar and missing the guy hanging upside down by his legs. She falls and my heart momentarily stutters until she is caught by the net below. Charlotte is next in line. That’s it. Pictures of her girls only. No family. No pictures of Jake or any other dates. There are pictures of her and Finn, older ones. I’m reminded again of how close they are.
I thumb back up to the Yankees picture. Sam and the girls are all sporting ball caps with their hair plaited. The girls are sitting between Colin and Sam. There’s another picture that I hadn’t noticed before. This one is of Zinnie and Quade biting into a hotdog and Zinnie looks…happy. Like she did when Everett was here. It’s a reminder that I’m fucking this up and it’s more than I can stomach at the moment,
so I close my phone and toss it on the ottoman. Maybe Camilla’s right.
Sometime later, I startle awake. My body is stiff from sleeping in the chair. My brandy is still on the arm where I left it. A tilt of the glass to my lips empties its remains and I find myself in search of more. My mind hasn’t cleared of the day’s happenings.
Two glasses later, I call it a night. Sam’s door is open when I pass. She’s on her laptop, hair piled high on her head, legs curled under her while she flips pages in the book next to her. Her teeth bite into the pencil between her plump lips.
“Everything okay?” she asks, my shadow giving me away as I walk past. I stop and turn back.
“Fine. Why?”
She looks at her phone.
“It’s almost four in the morning. You have an early day tomorrow. Is your head still hurting?” She seems genuinely concerned.
“I was catching up on some work.” I lean against the doorframe. “I could ask you the same.”
“Oh. Well, I have a paper due tomorrow and it needed some work.”
“I don’t know how I feel about the girls being on your Instagram account. I don’t like them having the exposure.”
She looks confused by the change in topic, but has the good manners to appease me. Like she would if she were speaking to one of the girls. Like I’m a child.
“The only people who follow me are my girls, your guys, Finn, your parents, and the girls’ grandparents. I wouldn’t accept a request from anyone else. It’s just a way for everyone to keep up with them.”
“The girls aren’t their responsibility,” I snap.
“What’s going on, Walt?”
“I don’t want you putting the girls in danger.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know what can happen online.”
“I don’t live in a bubble. That is why it’s a locked account. If you’re looking to pick a fight, this is a good way to start one. Do you want to talk about what’s really going on?” She studies me like she can see inside me.
I don’t like it.
I walk away without engaging her further.
I’m gone before the girls are up. I have a slammed day that will require all my focus as it is. It’s becoming more difficult with each passing day to turn off the life around me and focus on business only.
Quade doesn’t show for two of the meetings he was scheduled for, and I’m not surprised. He isn’t one to make light of his feelings. When he’s hurt, he doesn’t hide it. I know I hurt him, but tough shit. I don’t have the capacity to worry about that right now.
“You ready?”
“For what?” I look up from my computer to see my brother standing in my doorway.
“It’s Tuesday. At six.”
“And?” I ask, my fingers tapping on my keyboard. I’ve only made it through a few hundred emails today. I have a few hundred more to go.
“And it’s five after. We’re already late. Let’s go.”
“I don’t even know what you are talking about. What’s ‘Tuesday at six’?”
“You didn’t talk to Samantha today?”
“No. I’ve been busy.”
“She’s starting a new tradition. Well, an old one with a new twist.”
“Finn, I swear to God I don’t have time for this beat around the bush shit. Just get to it. I have work to do.”
“Sam heard about the dinners the Oxford Five always had on Tuesdays. She is starting it back again. It’s being held at her place.”
“It’s my place,” I growl. Finn rolls his eyes.
“Are you coming with me or not?” He turns and leaves me in my office. He knows I’ll follow him. I can’t not.
Maria has our lift waiting and a few floors later, I exit to the sounds of…well, everyone. They’re all here. Pierce, Colin, and Quade. Along with Sam and her group. The only ones missing are Zinnie and Poppy.
Dishes are being placed on the table and people are milling about. The doors to the veranda are open and the sounds of the city are just audible below. Stevie Wonder is playing in the background and Charlotte is telling Colin that Stevie is Sam’s favorite. They look happy, like they’ve all known each other for years.
“You’re late,” Sam says to Finn and me disapprovingly but with a smile on her face nonetheless. She places a bowl on the table.
“I wasn’t aware I needed to be here,” I counter.
“I knew Finn would bring you.” She shrugs a shoulder and then turns her back on me. If we were alone I would push her against the wall, hands pinned above her, grinding my cock hard against the crease of her arse. Right before I lifted the hem of her dress and deep-dicked her in one swift, solid stroke, I would remind her that you never turn your back on your opponent.
Holy fuck what is wrong with me! I shove Camilla to the front of my mind, forcing myself to remember that Sam isn’t mine to do with as I please. For some reason, that frustrates me. Almost as much as everyone being in my house.
Sam’s mobile rings and I hear her giving Zinnie a time to be home.
“Where are they?” I ask.
“Poppy is with her grandmother. Zinnie is out with Darren.”
“Who’s Darren?”
“Her boyfriend.” That halts the chatter. All the men in the room stop and gape at her like she has lost her mind.
“Since when?” I ask, so shocked that I sound nearly calm.
“At least three months.”
“You allow Zinnie to have a boyfriend?” Colin accuses me.
“Does this look like a face that knew she had a boyfriend?” I bark back.
“Sit,” Zoe says loudly, pointing to the chairs around the table. Sam and I each take a place at opposite ends of the table. Boys on one side and girls on the other. Finn is to my right. “Grace.” Zoe looks to her friend and the girls all join hands.
“The fuck?” Quade says.
Grace raises a brow. “It’s called prayer. You could use some,” she says before gesturing the blokes should hold hands. They do, but not without mumbles.
Grace prays. I was raised Anglican, like most of England, but my family rarely practiced. There is something sweet, almost comforting, about the prayer Grace gives. It’s clear it means something to her, that she trusts in it. And I can’t help but wonder if some of her words might sprinkle over those of us that need it most.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You can start passing the food.” Charlotte rolls her eyes at my boys who are sitting stock-still.
No one says anything for several minutes. All more interested in our plates than we should be. I must admit whoever cooked did an ace job.
Sam is the first to break the silence. “I asked you all here for a reason,” she says putting her fork down and taking a sip of wine. “I spoke with all of your assistants today and scheduled your weekly dinners back onto your calendars.”
“Our weekly dinner?” I ask in disbelief, but she mistakes it for ignorance.
“Yes, I understand you guys had a weekly dinner with Everett before he died. I’m starting it back up.”
“Don’t talk about him like you knew him,” I spit.
“Then start acting like someone who did. All of you. I understand grief—”
“No, you don’t,” Quade says softly. “You have no idea what this feels like.”
Zoe starts to say something, but Sam cuts her off with little more than a glance.
“I’m not here to argue. My heart breaks for each of you. I am truly sorry for your loss.” She pauses. “The fact remains, he left his children in your care. All of you. The girls need you all to heal so they can heal. I’m thinking the weekly dinner is the best place to start. Tuesdays at six. I expect all of you to be here. Unless you are out of town, this will be your number one priority. The girls will know they can rely on this consistency, no matter what you boys are arguing about.”
“My assistant told me about it today. I’m in,” Pierce says. One by one, the others agree.
&
nbsp; “You need to stop,” Sam says to me, suddenly.
“Stop what?”
“Stop doing this all on your own when you don’t have to. You have a family.” She points to the guys. “The girls need that. These women are stepping up. The girls need strong female role models in their lives, too.”
“Can I speak to you for a minute, please?” I stand, motioning to the other room.
“No, anything you need to say can be said here. In front of family.”
Holy fucking hell, if I could put my hands on her right now. “You’re fired.”
There’s an audible gasp from the table. The ones who know me know I’m not fucking around.
“I’m not fired. You don’t intimidate me and I could never be scared of you. I am, however, getting pissed,” she says, standing at her end of the table, glaring at me. “And you don’t want that.”
“True,” Finn validates.
Traitor. He moves his hand when I make to stab him with my fork.
“You will do right by these girls, which means putting them before yourself. It means making sure they are surrounded by friends and family. It means making sure they know there are boundaries. It takes a village, this is yours, so stop pissing all over it like a spineless…” she turns to Charlotte and asks out of the corner of her mouth, “what’s something that’s spineless?”
“Fire urchin,” Charlotte blurts.
“Fire urchin?” Zoe whispers.
“They have no spine,” Charlotte says matter-of-factly.
“Obviously, you understand my point,” Sam says to me.
“Can’t say that I do actually.”
“Why? Why are you being this way? It’s clear you love the girls. It’s clear these men would have your back no matter what. Everett believed in you. What you’re doing isn’t fair to the girls. You’re taking it out on the people you need the most. Get it together!” She raises her hand as though she wants to hit the table to emphasize her point, but thinks the better of it.