Henry and I used to find it there all the time when we were teenagers. Sure enough, I find it. A brand new Macallan. I don’t bother to find a glass.
I just open it, lift it, and say, “For you, old man. May you find some peace after destroying so many lives.” Then I take a long swallow.
Not sure how much time passes, but when I realize that I’ve drank half the bottle, I’m also aware that I forgot to eat, and I’m drunk. Inebriated, yet I still don’t feel sad about the loss of William. All I can think of is the anger and the resentment that’s been eating away at me for all these years.
I’m a fucking wreck.
Is it just me? Maybe my brothers are happily married, or at least have a relationship with someone who, in a way, might fulfill their lives.
Me … I can’t even have a fucking relationship.
“And whose fault is that, asshole? You had it all and threw it away!”
After two perfect years with the most fantastic woman in the world, I just told her it was over.
“Coward,” I yell, and my voice continues to echo around the penthouse. “You were a fucking coward.”
Yet, the first chance she had she married my fucking brother. She couldn’t wait for me.
“Did you ask her to wait?” I continue talking … more like yelling to myself. “You just left her there, crying, after you told her it was over.”
But how could I stay? What if she left me? My father taught me that nothing is permanent, and no one ever stays. Keeping people at arm’s length has always been easier. That way, they can’t abandon you; they can’t fucking hurt you.
Yet, here I am.
Alone.
I remember that book, Walden by Thoreau, where he went to the woods because he wanted to live with a fucking purpose. Yet, he realized he isolated himself and never really lived.
That’s me, isolating myself from everyone because I am terrified that, at some point, everyone is going to leave me or hurt me.
Years later, my life is inconsequential. It’s now when I’m older that I realized it is people who make it worth it. What was the point of avoiding emotional entanglements and evading the messiness that relationships bring? Sure, no one ever disappointed me, but I disappointed myself.
“Look at you, asshole. You’re a fucking mess.”
I’m fucking envious of my brothers who I’m sure get together at least once a year. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who has pushed everyone away.
Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?
“Fix your life. Face your fears.”
What if I look for Blaire and I show her…?
Nothing. I’m such a contradiction. I can’t just show up at her door and say, Here I am. Love me. I bet she’s married, with children, and living the life she always planned. I couldn’t mess up a good thing. All I want is for her to be happy, and I wouldn’t dare to jeopardize her life, just because I am a fucking failure.
How am I supposed to live without her?
After twelve years, I’ve never even tried to forget her. I still love her with all my heart.
What we had was eternal love, wasn’t it? Perhaps we were too young to feel so strongly for each other. Nobody could understand us and what we had.
We existed for each other. I still exist for her.
If only there’s such a thing as second chances.
Three
Hayes
My parents met in college. Mom was studying pre-med and Dad was working toward his master’s degree in business. They dated for a couple of years and married right after she graduated. It was a small ceremony in Baker’s Creek, followed by a religious wedding and a huge party in Mexico City with Mom’s relatives.
That year, she was accepted at Johns Hopkins, and they moved to Maryland. Well, Mom moved to Maryland, and Dad commuted to New York City. She was busy with med school, and Dad spent weekdays in New York City where he worked with my grandfather at Aldridge Enterprises.
Needless to say, that’s where he met his first mistress—Debra Merkel. The heiress to Merkel Hotels and Spas. That’s also when he fathered Henry, who happens to be a year older than me. It’s no surprise my big brother resents me.
He’s the first born. How is it possible that I got to have a dad, and he didn’t?
What he doesn’t understand is that I barely saw our father. He was too busy closing deals, traveling, settling into a different city, and fathering more children.
Henry and I have a complicated relationship. When he’s not being an asshole, we get along pretty well. Unfortunately, he thrives on being a fucking prick.
I open the door to Henry’s office, and his deep forest green eyes, just like mine, stare at me. We both look a lot like my father: tall, chestnut brown hair, straight nose, and well built. It’s not like looking at the mirror since I have olive skin, but everyone could guess that we’re related.
“You’re my one o’clock?” Henry asks, annoyed as I enter his office without even knocking. Just like his assistant instructed me to do.
“I’m surprised your assistant isn’t outside waiting for you to bark some orders,” I comment, pushing the door closed.
“She’d sue me if I make her work on Sunday.”
“Saturday is an option?” I ask sarcastically.
“Sometimes,” he confesses, and I’m starting to believe that this guy is worse than me. At least I have the excuse of saving lives, but he … what is he saving? His fortune?
“You have five minutes,” he says. “Use them wisely.”
“No, I’m pretty sure your assistant said one to three,” I amend and grin when he gives me an annoyed glare.
“Like you, I wasn’t a fan of our father. To this day, I still don’t know how to feel about him,” I say directly without rushing. Though, I’m not sure when he’s going to kick me out. “He died. I should mourn, but I’m not. The point isn’t how I feel or if I even care to dissect my emotions.”
“What’s the point of this conversation?”
Last night, while I drank my dad’s expensive scotch and reflected on my life, I realized I wasn’t much different than him. I don’t have one meaningful relationship. Not even with my brothers.
I’m not hoping to spend the next fifty Christmases with them, but maybe, we could stay in touch. Today’s goal is to get my brothers together and find out what the old man wanted to do with his beloved town.
“I took care of almost everything. His assistant will be closing the penthouse,” I say, taking a seat across from him.
“Are we having a funeral?” he asks.
“Should we?” I refute. “It’s not like we were close to him. What are we supposed to say? He was a shitty father and a horny asshole.”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Well, he had business associates, friends. I’m sure whoever continues the Aldridge legacy has to keep with appearances and make sure he shows that our father mattered.”
“Who is going to keep his legacy?” I inquire because I only know medicine, and bones are my specialty. “I’m a doctor. You’re the closest to what he used to do. I read that you’re a hotel mogul.”
He nods. “They left me everything. I had to rise to the occasion.”
“They?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
His face falls slightly. “Mom died a couple of years after Carter. It was a car accident. I began to take over her responsibilities as CFO of the company. Then my grandfather died a couple of years ago, so it’s now all mine.”
“Sorry to hear about Debra,” I say, feeling like an asshole, because she never married, and they weren’t that close if I recall.
“Hey, life sucks and you just deal, you know. Mom and I weren’t too close. She was always busy, and sometimes, I was just another one of her employees.”
My chest tightens when I hear how distant he sounds about the death of his mother. Mom and I might have our differences about my life and my future, but we have a good relationship.
“How’s Cassan
dra?” he asks.
“Mom got married a few years ago. She retired and moved to Sweden with her husband.”
“How about you?” he asks. “Are you married with children?”
I chuckle. “Nah, and you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t have time, and I doubt I can be faithful to a woman.”
“My feelings exactly.” I nod in agreement.
“No, you did have someone. I’m still trying to understand what happened with Blaire—how things ended up all fucked up between the two of you.”
Pain cuts through my gut at the mention of her and the memory of our fucked-up ending. How did it really end?
Me leaving, or her betraying me after I left?
If only that’s what I remembered about Blaire Wilson: the end when she didn’t love me anymore. Not the beginning when I fell madly in love with her, not her cool ice blue eyes that contrasted with her tanned skin and dark hair, but the pain I felt after everything was over.
She broke me. That’s what I should remember. Not the times I brushed my lips against her forehead at night while I held her against me as she slept. Those are the kind of memories that sneak up on me at night. The ones where I nuzzled her hair after making love to her. My lips still remember all the times I took her mouth, exploring every corner of it, searching for her flavor as I ignited the fire within her.
It’s been over a decade since it all ended, but my body still misses hers. Her soft skin, her heat enveloping me when I was inside of her. Being inside of her used to be my favorite place—the only place I liked to be. My entire being aches, and I don’t know what is happening to me.
What I miss the most is talking to her at night before we fell asleep after a long day at school. She would listen to me rant about my teachers or the EMT training I was taking. Sometimes, I’d talk about the latest astronomical discovery or some random scientific article. She not only listened, she also contributed. Deep down, she’s just as nerdy as I am.
She’d tell me about her classes, or the kids she visited while she volunteered at the hospital. With her, I was never alone. Blaire was the only person who could make me feel like love existed and that maybe there was more to life than just science. That there were some things you couldn’t explain. You just had to believe in them, like faith and love.
I push my mind away from Blaire. She’s a bittersweet memory. If I could, I’d shred it. But then, if I do, I will have nothing left of her.
Does it even matter?
The answer is yes. She’ll always matter.
“Let’s concentrate on our father,” I say, focusing on the now and the future of the company.
For the next few minutes, I brief Henry about my conversation with Jerome Parrish.
“You’re only coming to me because I’m the business guy, so why not dump the responsibility on him. I have enough on my plate, and I honestly don’t care about him or his legacy,” he says firmly.
“No, you’re misunderstanding. This is a one-time thing. As I said, we meet in Baker’s Creek, he reads the testament, and it’s over.”
“What’s going to happen with his fortune?”
I shrug. “Who cares about it? We’ll sell, donate, and walk away from everything.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t want his money?” he asks, suspiciously. “You’re his legitimate child. I guess you deserve the name and all the shit that entitles.”
This should be the part of the conversation where I tell him that his perception of my position in the family is outdated.
Who the fuck cares about being the legitimate child? I don’t think that’s even important in modern life. We were all the same to William Aldridge—nothing. Just products of his irresponsible sex life.
“Why should I care about his money?” I ask. “I make half million a year. I haven’t touched the trust he gave me.”
I don’t know why Dad gave us three trust funds. Out of guilt, a way to say I’m done pretending we’re a family, or just because he had too much money. Either way, each one of us received three different amounts. The first one when we turned eighteen for two billion dollars. The second for the same amount when we turned twenty-one. The final payout to happen at twenty-five for six billion dollars. We each have ten billion dollars—except Carter, who only received the first because he died at twenty.
“Good point,” he agrees and runs a hand through his hair. “Send a text with the town’s information and the date to Sophia. I’ll meet you in Baker’s Creek.”
“What about the funeral you suggested?”
He sighs. “I guess people are expecting that from me.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Which people?”
“Father and I haven’t spoken in years, but we ran in the same circles. Everyone knows I’m William’s child.” He rises from his seat and walks around. When he stops, he says, “I don’t want anyone I know there. Let’s do it in Baker’s Creek. We can make an excuse about the wake. Maybe something like, he only wanted us—his sons—present.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I agree and check my watch.
I’m all tapped out for today and my flight doesn’t leave until tonight. Maybe I’ll go to the airport, and while I wait for my flight, I can call the other four.
“Have the others agreed to see you?” he questions before I leave.
I shake my head. “None of them have answered my calls.”
“Who is next on your list?”
“Honestly, I don’t have an order, but we should contact Pierce,” I answer.
He scratches his chin. “Give me a second. I think Mills is in town.”
He pulls his phone closer, pushes a few buttons, and the speaker comes to life. The dial tone is the first noise heard, followed by some beeps.
“It’s Sunday,” an annoyed female voice answers the phone. “What do you need?”
“Where are the Orcas playing this weekend?”
“They’re at Madison Square Garden,” she answers screaming, “GO DEEP!”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m here and you’re interrupting the game. You owe me a pair of tickets for the next home game, since you’re ruining it.”
“I’ll get you season tickets, Ms. Aragon,” he says, rolling his eyes, “If I ask you to call Stewart to ask him for a favor?”
“What do you need?” she grunts.
“I need a word with Mills.”
“Aldridge?” she asks curiously. “You told me you weren’t related.”
I arch an eyebrow, and he shrugs answering, “It’s complicated.”
“Well, your non-relative has been out for the season … no, no, fucker, the net is the other way.”
I can’t help but laugh. This woman is passionate about her hockey.
“So, he’s not here,” my brother confirms.
“He’s here, but not playing. If you’re related to him, get me an autograph, and I might forgive you for breaking the rules.”
“Well, I might have to live without your forgiveness, won’t I?” He says and hangs up the phone.
“Do you have his number?” he asks me.
I try it, and the call goes to voicemail.
Fucker 2: Mills, I’m in New York. Can we meet?
Mills: No, I don’t give a fuck if the old man is dying.
Fucker 2: HE DIED YESTERDAY. Henry and I need to speak to you.
Mills: Where do you want to meet?
“Where can we meet?” I ask Henry.
“I have work to do,” he responds.
“I’ll ask him to come here. In the meantime, order some food,” I request.
Fucker 2: Here are the details. How soon can you arrive?
Mills: I’m on my way. Apparently, the fact that my old man died gives me a pass to leave the arena early. Lucky me.
Four
Hayes
Dad was a moving body. His home base was Baltimore, where he shared a place with his wife and newborn, me. He traveled every other week to New York, but while
he was doing business with the Merkel Hotels and Spas, he was also sharing his life with Debra Merkel—and Henry.
Needless to say, the Merkels trusted him. Mom’s theory is that they were hoping to fuse both families—through marriage. He was working his way to become the CEO of Aldridge Enterprises while managing some of the Merkels’ acquisitions. During those deals, they wanted to buy a resort in Aspen, and they sent Dad to close the deal.
He closed the deal and also hooked up with their Colorado lawyer, Sara Bryant. During the process, he acquired a brewery too. His excuse to return to Colorado. Hence, he had to buy a house in Denver and establish yet another residence. It had nothing to do with business and a lot to do with his new mistress and his son, Pierce.
And then, we were three.
So, while we wait for Mills, Henry suggests contacting Pierce. Even though they don’t get along, he knows how to reach out to him. According to Henry, he is one of the partners at Bryant LLP, which is the Pierce family’s firm. I can’t believe they still handle the Merkel’s hotels in Colorado. Instead of calling him, Henry sets a video conference.
His hair is jet black, his nose has a small hook on the bridge, but he has the same green eyes we all share. He has a fucked-up temper like Henry. I guess we all do. And just like me, he doesn’t want to do shit with our father or his inheritance. He claims to be too busy to deal with any family affairs.
He doesn’t specify if it’s Aldridge family affairs or any family in general. Do any of us stop working to be around our families?
I love Mom, and yet, I haven’t taken any time off to visit her in Sweden.
“You’re not the only one who has to work,” Henry says, squeezing a stress ball. “I get it, Pierce. You don’t give a fuck about him—me neither. However, we have to at least see this through and close that chapter.”
“So what if you miss a weekend at the slopes,” I say, as I look at the snow mountains behind him. “Where are you? Aspen?”
Loved You Once Page 3