Breathe

by C. L. Matthews

  The drive to his mansion isn’t long as he lives only fifteen minutes away from me. I remember when he bought this place, it was before Gray even knew he still existed. He asked me my opinion, and I told him how lush and unnecessary all the space seemed to be. Of course, he argued, then bought it anyway.

  As I pull up to his huge drive, I smile at how the sun sets, orange and purple hues mix vibrantly in the west. His house faces east, a perfect view to see the beauty the world has to offer. He’s leaning on the column right outside his door. The smug bastard stands with kindness and a tinge of a tipsy lopsided grin. It’s nice seeing him at peace now when a huge part of his life had been missing. It’s so vastly different than I expected.

  “Tobias,” he announces like we didn’t just speak on the phone. I wave the wine at him, seeing his eyes light up. Whether I’m an alcoholic or not, Francis fancies his liquor as well. Even if he appears sophisticated with a bottle while I probably mirror a drunkard.

  “Frankie,” I return, using his old name. A chuckle breaks free.

  “Haven’t heard that in ages.”

  “I’m sure. It’s not posh enough,” I joke, knowing how he converted into the royal behavior. He used to piss all over it in college and high school, but that changed quickly when it was the only option he had.

  “Oh, fuck off. Let’s eat, yeah?”

  With a slight punch to my shoulder, he leads me inside, and I see how much this place has changed. It’s completely different than the empty place he asked me to check out. It isn’t familiar in the sense it doesn’t remind me of him—or rather who he used to be—or even Gray. It seems stiff and impersonal.

  In the kitchen, there’s Gratin Dauphinois and Coq-au-vin, an entire French feast that’s clearly been thought out. If not for my time in France for the expansion of the French restaurant I plan to open in Hawthorn, this meal wouldn’t have crossed my mind. French cuisine isn’t my specialty.

  Someone familiar stands at the stove, reaching for the oven below. My eyes trail the body, not realizing it may come off as pervy. Shaking my head to remove my eyes from the person standing there, I get a smack to the back of my head.

  “If you don’t stop staring at my daughter, I might have to castrate you,” Francis hisses, his tone both amused and angered.

  “Fuck, my bad. I wasn’t trying to look at her like that.” Which I didn’t. It wasn’t her ass I was paying attention to.

  “Tobes?” I hear Gray practically squeal after she sets a tray down. “Oh my God!” Her excitement throws me off. I figured she’d hate me along with everyone else. She jumps into my arms, and I barely catch her in time.

  “Hey, pretty girl.” She squeezes me, her arms around my neck. I return the love. Like Ace and Jazzy, I spent a lot of time with Gray. Taking care of all three kids as if they were my own became second nature. When everything imploded, she had the shortest stick pulled. She didn’t deserve everyone’s avoidance. They treated her too much like she, too, was fucked like her mom.

  “No fucking way.” I hear her voice. Her as in the hot as fuck, off-limits, gorgeous spitfire—my newest sous.

  Gray pulls back with a raised eyebrow. My mouth is stuck open at the fact that she’s standing here. In Francis’s house.

  “Ma coccinelle,” Francis calls out sweetly with a soft grit. The way he says it, how it rolls off his tongue, and how she blushes in return has my haunches rising. No fucking way. No. No. Nope. This isn’t happening. Not again.

  “How?” I accuse, not sure what I’m trying to ask. She heaves in a breath, one that causes her shoulders to stiffen, and offers me a glare that makes her face seem almost inhuman.

  “Are you seeing Gray?” she sputters, almost jealous? Or maybe, it’s worry. I don’t know, but I like the former better.

  “He better fucking not be,” Francis barks from behind me.

  I roll my eyes with a groan, unable to contain the annoyance. I’d never touch Gray. Ever.

  “Absolutely not,” Gray hisses. She punches Joey in the arm light-heartedly. “He’s basically my uncle!”

  “I want to hear him say it,” Joey demands of me. I laugh. Unable to keep it in, I fucking lose it.

  “You jealous, Sous?” I taunt.

  “Sous... really? Don’t have anything original?” she mocks, placing her hands on her hips.

  “You aren’t denying it.” I smirk, loving how she narrows her eyes hotly.

  “So, dinner,” she deflects with a clap, “should be done in ten.” She ignores me by going and checking on all the food. I turn to Francis, pointing with my thumb toward his study. He nods pensively, leading me the way. Unable to resist, I turn and glance at Joey, seeing her staring at me with many emotions. Fear. Trepidation. Anger. After winking, I follow Frankie down the thick expanse of the hallway.

  “Why is she here?” It comes out as an accusation, because from where I’m standing, there’s something going on between them. With the short time I’ve spent with Joey, I know that blush only comes from attention she’s been given.

  “Not that it’s a matter to you, but she’s staying till she gets back on her feet.”

  “Why?” I ask again, my voice strained with aggravation.

  “Because she caught her boyfriend fucking some chick, and her dad is a piece of shit,” he answers. How does he know this much info?

  “And you know this—”

  “She’s Gray’s friend, and Gray let me know so I wouldn’t kick Joey out on the streets.” As if he knew I was about to ask, he hurries and continues. “I’d never do that, but she was definitely worried. We’re still new to each other. Also,” he pauses giving me a pointed look. “How do you know her?”

  I swallow, not knowing how to answer that loaded question. Nodding to gather the courage to admit how I fucked up two days ago, I let out a sharp exhale. “Uhm,” I start and stop in the same breath. “Last night...” I don’t know how to explain any of this. The quizzical expression he gives isn’t one of amusement. It’s one of hostility.

  “Did you fuck her?” he prods. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or worried for her. Both? Neither? Why do I care?

  “What does it matter?” He shuts his mouth, almost saying something but changing his mind the last second.

  “She’s young,” he offers instead.

  “Yeah, but she’s an adult,” I argue.

  He nods disappointedly. “That, she is.”

  “You guys done debating over me?” Joey pokes her head into the study. “As much as most women enjoy being talked about by two men, I’m neither impressed nor endeared. Dinner is ready, so let’s eat.”

  “Bossy little thing,” I mumble.

  “What’s that, old man? Let’s go,” Francis demands, his tone throws me off more than her living here. Why is he acting this way? And why does it seem like he’s hiding something?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Present

  Joey

  Francis’s attitude during dinner polarizes me, putting me in an awkward state of wanting to leave but also not knowing where to go. This is my temporary home after all. There’s nothing I can say or do to keep me here, and if I’m unwanted, it won’t take me any time at all to pack up my shit and hit the road.

  He can’t blame me for whatever happened between them in the office, right? They seemed heated, and that’s the last thing I need. Two men vying for my attention when my focus is simply to survive.

  Men make zero sense to me. Especially since Wes, by no means, was a man. He may be twenty-two, but he may as well have been fifteen. He didn’t fight for me, argue about my well-being, or really care for me. At least, only for as much as I could help him. Every time Toby brought up me living here, Francis’s face masked into indifference. I’m not sure why, but it made me feel like a leech. I’m a guest, this much is true, but feeling absolutely isolated for a reason I couldn’t control hurts me.

  Whatever silent battle they’re having, I don’t want any part of the war they are waging.

  “So, Tobes,
what’s it been like since I left?” Gray breaks the mold of pregnant aggression. Toby grabs his glass, bringing it to his lips all while staring at Gray—not in annoyance or appreciation, but in more of a silence contemplation kind of way—as she waits for his response.

  “Yeah, Tobes,” I mock dryly, watching as my best friend turns her head to me, eyeing me as if I’ve grown a dick on my nose. The man in question sets his drink down, his jaw clenching a little while he directs all his animosity to me instead of Francis. These two are a goddamn handful, and I barely know either of them.

  “Well,” he starts and then lets out a heavy exhale. “I’m here because Mi Casa in Hollow Ridge needs a chef.” It’s not explanatory to either at the table. But to me? The chef in question. It’s a big fucking deal. That’s who he is? Tobias Hayes, owner of all twenty Su Casa locations and their sister restaurants? Wow. He’s much bigger than I gave him credit for. I’m absolutely shocked and hope it doesn’t appear that way on my face.

  “What are you supposed to do?” she asks, making me slowly scoop potatoes in my mouth to seem busy and not nosy as hell. My fork clinks as his next words escape those stupid heart-shaped pillow lips.

  “Just ask little Sous over here. She’s the new chef.”

  All heads turn to me, but it’s Francis’s expression that takes my breath away. His nostrils are flared, the vein in his forehead seems larger and more pronounced as though it’s as pissed off with me as the man himself. If diamonds could be cut with teeth, the grinding of his molars would turn them to dust. I hadn’t had the chance to inform him of my new job... not that it’s his business or that I knew Toby was his so-called best friend. This is so stupid.

  The silence envelops us like a bubble of stale club air. It’s unappealing, unpleasant, and definitely unnecessary, but here we are. I’m not sure what to say, so I swallow and bite the inside of my cheek. After several long and awkward minutes, I cross my arms, feeling the utmost uncomfortable sensation of eyes on me. It’s not something that appeals to anyone of my solitude-loving caliber, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

  Folding my arms to give myself some semblance of peace, I hear someone—Gray—clear their throat.

  “You didn’t tell me Uncle Tobes hired you,” she muses, but behind the soft words is hurt and betrayal. Is that information so vital to both her dad and herself? Why does it matter? I don’t even remember taking the job. If anything, it was a fuck you to the rich go-getters and schmoozers like my parents. It wasn’t intentional for me to get selected like a whore for the taking to become some chef. Now that I know it’s for Mi Casa, I’m absolutely thrilled. Having that on my resume will change my life, no doubt.

  “Honestly, I don’t recall that night much. Didn’t seem pertinent enough information,” I nearly spit, hating the way it sounds escaping my lips. Toby’s glare makes the hair on my nape rise, and the fact that I can feel him and his emotions is more telling than the fact that him being upset has me giddy.

  “It should. This is your livelihood. I’d think it matters,” Toby chastises, shaking his head at me. My heart races with the disappointing tone. Well, shit luck. He doesn’t own me, my personality, or how I react to anything.

  I take the napkin off my lap, wiping my mouth before standing up. No words are shared between us. Gray looks confused, Francis is silently raging, and Toby won’t look at me. These people, for as much as they call themselves family, they don’t act like it. If anything, they seem as if they’re almost strangers. Besides me, there’s something deeper going on here. It’s more than what I’ve walked into. It has something to do with what Francis won’t tell me, what Gray refuses to accept, and whatever has Toby stiffening whenever Lo and Jase are brought up.

  Whatever they shared before I came into this home stifles the room with a bubble of discomfort. One I have no intention of sticking around to experience along with them. I have enough baggage myself; there’s no reason to carry more or continue this charade.

  It’s clear that I’m not welcome.

  Whatever.

  Even though I don’t feel like being polite, like the lady Mom and Dad raised me to be, I tuck in my chair, bow my head a little, then practically rush from the room. If they think I’ll stay here and be some punching bag for all of their insecurities, they’re mistaken. My father and Wes did that enough for a lifetime. Continuing that kind of frustration and pain isn’t in the cards for me.

  I don’t stop for a coat because it’s not cold enough here for it. Either way, I’m leaving. Opening the door, I try not to let the built-up pressure in me tumble over. It’s not my style. Level-headedness is something I pride myself in. But as Toby’s words sink in, my heart hammers in tandem of my rising anger. It presses against my temples, letting me know this won’t be easing up anytime soon.

  After shutting the door, my feet tap easily on the stoned pathway. Francis’s guards don’t pay attention to me. Like the first day I arrived, they stand, arms together, almost like British guards. Seeing yet unmoving.

  That must be one helluva job, to act like there isn’t a care. When in reality, the safety of everyone pertinent to the cause has to be watched without being shown they’re being watched.

  I roll my eyes as even more frustration settles inside me. I’m so angry that when my toe stubs on a rock, I yell.

  “Fuck you!” It slips from my lips, and I continue my warpath to my car. All of the vehicles are aligned in the massive driveway, all with plenty of room separating them, but mine stands out the most. Unlike all of theirs, it’s the cheapest. Francis drives a Land Rover that makes my Avalon look like a tin can in comparison. Toby—or I think it’s his—drives a Stingray. It not only shows his maturity level, but it also pushes me to believe he’s loaded.

  When you’re a kid raised by wealthy adults who have more money than they know what to do with, you notice other people with the same predicament. Me? I’m homeless, loveless, and penniless. It didn’t dawn on me that my dad would abandon me and make me live in debt. At first, when I’d pissed him off, it felt like he cared again, but it soon was proven that he didn’t. It wasn’t even him cutting me off that hurt, it was her. Marsha. Who he let control him.

  It never bothered me that he wouldn’t pay for schooling. Between scholarships and me willing to work, I wanted to make something of myself, and he underestimated it. At first, I thought it was tough love, and when I showed him how well I was doing, he didn’t care. But no, it wasn’t tough love; it was a woman who told him I used him.

  It’s true, I was dramatic and made mistakes. Hell, I even dated Wesley to garner his attention, but she made me out to be reckless and childish, and told him to not help me anymore.

  Without siblings, the sole pedestal was on me. All the marks against me were too heavy, and when he brought that gavel down, it made me realize his standards were always going to be too high. It’s why I let myself go. Allowed myself to love Wesley, to go to school, work two jobs, and be independent. What I didn’t realize in all of that was that he wasn’t going to be there for me in the emotional times.

  Like Mom’s birthday.

  Whenever that day comes, I don’t celebrate, I mope. How do you celebrate the life of someone who could be dead or alive? She’s missing. It has been six years. I should be over it. I’m not. Dad moved on too fast, too quick for me to realize it, and now he has a woman who’s soulless, stealing his heart and money with a flick of her wrist.

  Why her?

  Why not some stay-at-home mom and not a hot model who spreads her legs easily? She’s barely older than me. He definitely fucked my mind with that tidbit.

  I hate him.

  Everything he’s changed into.

  He disgusts me.

  My hand connects with the door of my car and when the handle pops from me pulling, I nearly fall to my knees with tears. Life was never meant to be fair. It has always been burdensome and mopey, like a teen that doesn’t get their way. But does it eventually settle? Like when they finally surpass the hormonal age an
d grow up, would life do that?

  I smack the window as saddened anger rides me like a trainer to a horse. It hits me again and again like a crop, whipping me until I’m near tears and wanting to just give into the darkness. I let out an unladylike growl and bow my head.

  Going back inside, I look for my purse. Toby makes a beeline for me. It doesn’t take a genius to know he’s up for a confrontation. Turning back to where I came from, once again forgetting my goddamn keys, I run.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Present

  Toby

  “Where are you going?” I practically spit, watching her short legs move faster to get away from me. It’s funny, seeing her try to speed up when she’s so short.

  “Anywhere. Just not here,” she hisses, not giving me her eyes—those goddamn telling eyes.

  “Scared to admit you feel something?” It’s a dumb question. Why should I expect her to feel anything when we’ve only just met? Fuck, we have an insane amount of chemistry, even if it’s only filled with hatred and lust. It’s something. Saying otherwise would be a mistake, and we both know it. Even if it’s like pulling out her teeth to get that information from her. Before dinner and even during, I could feel her. For some reason, I know she somehow felt me too.

  “The only thing I feel, Tobias, is a headache. One you’re bound to be behind.”

  Joey’s steps falter, and she finally stops, letting out an annoyed breath when she tries to open her car door, but apparently doesn’t have the key to open it. She didn’t think this through; anger and something else drove her out here. If she was prepared, she’d be rushing out of this courtyard and probably across town.

  She’s a runner.