Fight For Me
Page 23
He places a sweet kiss on my forehead, the mischievous smile appearing right away. “I love that you try, but I guess pretending isn’t something I love to have between us.”
I get it. Part of our job is to be undercover for missions. As fun as it is to pretend to be Wonder Woman or that I’m a tourist, he prefers to be with me.
Just me.
Once inside our place, he shuts the door and arms the security system. Then, he presses me firmly against the wall.
“You know what my fantasy is for tonight?”
He lifts my hands, holding my wrists together, and placing them above my head. His lips trail down my face, my jaw, my collarbone, and across my breasts where he lingers for a couple of breaths before taking a step back. That’s when I see it. The foyer is illuminated by candles and flowers and Vivaldi’s Autumn piece begins to play in the background. He takes my hands, kisses them, and smiles.
Pulling a red velvet box out of his pocket, he drops on one knee and opens it.
Inside, there’s a rose gold solitaire ring.
“Harry,” I whisper, covering my mouth lightly.
My heart thunders inside my ribcage as I hold the happy tears threatening to cascade down my cheeks.
“Luna, you came into my life unexpectedly and I had no idea how much you’d change it. You shook my entire world, showed me true love, and have remained by my side during my best and my worst times. Every day with you is a new challenge and a new adventure. Whether we are at home, on vacations, or working on a mission, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
He takes a deep breath. “I love you. You’re my life—the best part of me. Please, fulfill my ultimate fantasy. Would you be my wife?”
“Yes, yes!”
I take his face with both hands, feathering kisses on it. “Of course, I’ll be your wife. Have I told you yet that you bring happiness into my life? I can’t imagine life without you.” I lean forward, hugging him tightly. “I love you forever.”
His arms go around my back, our lips brush, then press together. We kiss long and hard, exchanging new promises without words and igniting that fire that never stops consuming us.
“You’re all I need, Luna. My only fantasy. My entire world. I love you for always.”
Excerpt
I hope you enjoyed Fight for Me for Me and want to read the stories of the Everhart brothers, here’s an excerpt of Fall for Me (Hunter’s book) and Perfect for Me (Scott’s book).
Fall for Me
Willow
“What brings you here?”
I stare at the flowery, yellow wallpaper, concentrating on one of the white flowers. The answer shouldn’t be hard. It’s his tone. To my ears, it’s condescending. I bet he’s thinking another one with a broken life.
Well, yes hello, that’s me. Willow Beesley. The woman with a fractured mind and a tortured soul.
He doesn’t know how screwed up I am, not yet anyway. On the outside I look like an average New Yorker visiting a middle-aged man with rimmed glasses and a crooked nose holding a notebook. Everyone sees a therapist these days. It’s a trend. If you don’t spend two hundred and fifty dollars a week to visit one, you’re nothing.
It’s like the Paleo diet or the gluten-free infatuation. As I feel ready for the scene, I turn my gaze toward him, flashing him one of my sweet smiles. He doesn’t know who I am, and I’m not ready to show myself. Not yet. I made sure to pull my hair up this morning; keeping my cheeks clear from any strands so he can notice my flawless face. The makeup I wear is subtle, natural. Like the girl next door, I wear a pair of jeans and a green sweater that brings out the color in my eyes. This is the part where I should answer with a sophisticated tone that I’m here because I need help with a character.
All my life I’ve gotten into the right character to get noticed, be loved, or simply disappear because I don’t want anyone to know who I am. I fear they would hate the person I am.
“There are too many reasons that brought me to you. The most important of them, I want to live.”
He nods as if saying, “go on.”
Since I can remember, I’ve been on the verge of drowning. Staying afloat is a full-time job—my brain is always set on survival mode. There’s this gut-wrenching pain deep inside my body and my soul. There’s no source and I can’t soothe it. Some days, I feel like it’ll be easier to disappear. To die. I might finally be in peace—forever.
My mission is to stay alive because someone else depends on me. That would be my little sister. She’s been my anchor to this world for as long as I can remember. I love her as much as I resent her. What an ambiguous thought. It’s because of her that I can’t just say: “Fuck it all.” It’s because of her that I still cling to this life.
The first time it happened I was around ten. My head hurt, my skin felt foreign, and I wanted to disappear. Our parents had left for a couple of months on a mission trip. They dropped us with the neighbors. I felt uncomfortable being around so many people. There was so much noise I walked out of the house. Hazel, my little sister, followed behind, watching me as I continued walking toward the water, hoping it’d remove the ants crawling over my limbs.
“Where are you going, Willow?” her little voice inquired. “You need your swimming suit if you’re going into the water.”
“I want the ocean to take me away,” I responded, watching the waves crashing against my feet. “Far from here.”
“You’ll drown,” she stated the obvious. “What will I do without you?”
Those six words stopped me from acting that day. The words still resonate inside my head when I feel lost. They have ceased throughout the years. Seeking help and all the therapy isn’t about stopping, but finding my motivation to live. Finding something different than those six words. I want to keep going. I just don’t know how.
Handling emotions, relationships, and even jobs are hard. I go from zero to one hundred in nothing flat and lose my fuel almost immediately. What I would give to be loved—to be understood and get better. All the same, I wish to die; to stop existing as the useless piece of shit I am.
Is this the byproduct of my parents neglecting me?
Or is it the constant need I have for attention?
Do they correlate?
“I’m here because this might be my last chance.” I wait for his comeback. A retort about how over dramatized my words sound. This is why I try to keep my thoughts inside my head. No one cares about a nobody like me.
He scribbles in his notebook, then looks up at me and says, “Then, I hope you’re ready for the next step.”
What’s next? The rehash of my life from the beginning until I walked out of the subway station and into this building? I’ve done that for the past several months with different therapists. None of it has helped.
“Can you place yourself in a time when you felt an emotion you couldn’t handle?”
The room goes still and my lungs collapse every time I see him. Nothing makes me happier, sadder, angrier, or more joyous than Hunter. He’s the biggest emotion I’ve ever felt. I can’t handle it. He isn’t just love; he’s everything I love and hate to feel.
Perfect for Me
Scott
All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother. ― Abraham Lincoln
* * *
“What three words best describe you?” the reporter on the other end of the line asks after I disclose the projected revenues for the next quarter.
I stare at my phone and pinch the bridge of my nose, thinking. There are more than three. Committed, resilient, stubborn, impatient, quiet, reserved … I drum my fingers on top of my desk searching for the best words to use in this case.
As a businessman, I’m— “Persistent, fearless, and adaptable,” I respond promptly, checking the time. This interview is taking longer than I anticipated.
My brothers would say I’m logical, disciplined, and heartless. They have given me a few nicknames like The Tinman and Ironman.
“Adaptable?” The reporter’s v
oice carries a hint of curiosity. “I like that word. Would you mind expanding, Mr. Everhart?”
“Well, it’s my policy that our company adapts to the economic, social, and political changes our world experiences, just like we all try to.”
“Would you say that your philosophy is to adapt or die?”
“Isn’t it everyone’s?” I ask, not caring how she responds, only how long she takes.
I frown. Adaptation is a verb I often use when asked about the key to my success. The truth is, I have continued the legacy my father left behind, but I never say that out loud. I avoid mentioning my parents, hating the intrusive questions about their deaths. They are officially off-limits. I still remember the pity looks and sad, morbid stories printed about the orphan raising his younger siblings.
Everyone remembers September 11th. But the date holds a different significance for me because I lost my parents that morning. I press a fist against my chest, pushing away the sad memories. Their voices, their directives, continuously play in my head. Their last words, their requests, and the need to remind me that no matter where they are, they were still right next to me.
The call came through in the middle of class. Although I barely used my cell phone, I answered it when it rang. My parents only called me when there was an emergency.
“Scott, I need you to come back home.” Mom used the calmest voice she could fathom, but I sensed the edgy tone of desperation.
Something was wrong. My stomach dropped, but I didn’t ask any questions. I rose from my seat, grabbing my things, and left the classroom.
“Talk to me, Mom. What’s going on?” I asked, rushing toward the dorm.
“Harrison will explain everything,” she said, her voice breaking.
My limbs tingled as the anxiety in her voice spiked.
“I want you to remember that we love you,” she sobbed. “I love you so much, Scotty. You’re my strong, sensitive boy. Please remember everything I taught you. I’ll be watching you from the moon, and I’ll love you forever.”
I froze, shocked by the finality of her words. My pulse slowed as she repeated the words she said when she tucked us in when we were younger. A phrase she made up from two of the books she used to read us when we were little.
“Mom, wait.” I felt sick to my stomach. “What do you mean?”
My limbs tingled. Fear rushed through me as I waited for an answer. For some reassurance that they’re going on a long trip, but I’d see them soon. Panic buzzed in my ears. Every second that passed felt like a year.
“I need you to be the glue of our family, keep everyone together.” I heard her cry, and my father murmuring in the background.
“I can’t, Chris,” she wailed, calling Dad.
“Mom?”
My father answered. “It’s time for us to leave, Scott. I’ll take care of her. You help Harrison take care of your brothers.” I could still hear Mom in the background, crying.
His voice was dry, sad… desperate. He didn’t break as he reminded me of their will. The lawyers, the safe, all the essential details.
I remained mute, trembling.
Still.
Unable to understand what’s happening.
“I love you, son,” he said. “Be the bridge. Stay strong.”
My parents used to say I was the link between my brothers. I was the one who kept the peace—or started the biggest fights.
“I love you both,” I mumbled as the line went dead.
My eldest brother, Harrison, called me almost immediately. “I have no idea what’s going on, Scott. Two planes crashed into the Towers. There’s a rumor we’re under attack. Maybe this is war.”
With a huff, I pushed away the sadness, keeping my shit together while we spoke. “Not another one of your conspiracy theories, Harrison. You need to stop making up shit.”
“This isn’t a joke. The World Trade Center is burning down.” He stopped, exhaling several times. “Raging fire is consuming the steel and glass along with all the people who are trapped. Mom and Dad included. We need you back.”
When I reached my room and opened the door, I began searching for my duffel bag.
“Dad mentioned it, and I’m already packing.” I used my cool voice. If I wanted him to treat me as his equal, I had to show him that I was strong.
“Good. Jensen is locating a car service for you. From this point forward, we are in charge. You can’t lose your shit. I’m picking up Hunter from school.”
Harrison was planning, making decisions, and pushing away all his feelings. I had to do the same and be ready for what would happen next. For a couple of hours, I allowed myself to cry. I cried until my eyes dried. Until I felt strong enough to help Harrison and care for Hunter and Fitz.
I adjusted, as everyone expected. Harry’s rage was so intense that he chose to enlist in the Army, leaving the company to me. I didn’t mind taking over, even when he had the experience. Everything I do in regards to Everhart Industries is with my brothers in mind.
“They warned me that you’d be cryptic.”
I arch an eyebrow toward the phone. Who is she talking about? I’m curious, but I resist asking. I want this interview to be over soon. I text my brother Fitz while I wait for her next question.
Scott: Do you have the contracts ready?
“I think I got most of my answers,” she sighs on the other line. “For my last question, I’ll be quick.”
“What fulfills you?” she asks. “I’m sure there’s more underneath. CEO suits you, but what makes you…you? What makes you want to be a better Scott Everhart?”
I turn to my computer screen, holding the phone with one hand and clicking the mouse with the free one until it wakes. The home screen is the snapshot of the one person who fulfills my dreams, my fantasies, and my life. She’s the one who makes me want to be a better person.
Hazel Beesley
Her long brown locks draped over her bare shoulders. Those mesmerizing hazel eyes stare at the camera, and her smile is wide and bright. Of all the unforeseeable curveballs thrown my way, she’s the biggest, brightest, and best I’ve had to confront in my entire life. She’s the most terrifying challenge and the most amazing reward. My heart aches with her absence, just like my skin withers without her touch. She makes me want to be a better Scott Everhart.
“My family.” I don’t elaborate any further. “If that’s everything, Miss Krauss, I have a plane to catch.”
“Your relationship status is on the do-not-ask list, but is it true that you’ll be merging your company with Beesley Enterprises?”
My pulse accelerates as she’s about to ask about Hazel. She’s not up for discussion. I dislike when people try to pry into my personal life, but I hate it more when they drag her along.
“Is there some insider information you’d like to share, Miss Krauss?” I counter. “The last time I checked, Grant Beesley isn’t planning on retiring.”
“Well, no, I assumed since Miss Beesley, his granddaughter, and you—”
“I think you have all you needed, Ms. Krauss,” I say through clenched teeth, keeping my temper under control. I exhale, trying to relax my shoulders as I massage my temple, calming my tone. “Turn the draft into my public relations department for review. Have a nice day.”
I punch the speaker button to end the call before she has a chance to respond and dial my younger brother’s number.
His voicemail picks up on the fourth ring. “You’ve reached Fitzhenry Everhart. You know what to do…beep.”
Fuck!
I grab my cell phone and try a couple more times. Each call does nothing but add to my anger.
“I swear … Scott”—Fitz yawns—”what do you want?”
“The contracts for the acquisition,” I say, refreshing my inbox. “You haven’t sent anything yet.”
“It’s three in the freaking morning.”
“In California,” I protest, checking my watch. I have a flight to catch in less than two hours. “I have to review and signed them b
efore noon.”
“I have plenty of time—”
“The contracts, Fitzhenry.”
“You can’t expect me to have everything ready every time you snap your fingers.”
I exhale, rubbing my face. He’s got to be fucking kidding me. He’s not just my brother. He’s my lawyer. I should’ve sent them to Hunter.
My fingers are already typing the message before Fitz has a chance to respond.
Scott: Can you check your email? I sent you a couple of contracts. They need to be signed today. I need you to read my notes and amend them.
Hunter: As I told you the last time, we restructured the law firm. Fitz oversees the business, entertainment, and international cases. Not me.
Scott: But you are a lawyer, Everhart Industries is also yours, and I need them today.
Hunter: Do you ever sleep?
“Why the fuck are you sending them to Hunter?”
“Because the acquisition of Byrne and Murray Consultants closes tomorrow. They need the contract today by noon. You should’ve sent them over to me before you left for San Francisco,” I reprimand him.
“I was busy helping Hazel get her shit together. Do you remember Hazel?” He uses a sarcastic tone. “Not that you’ve paid much attention to her, but she moved out of New York.”
Of course, I remember her. I remember everything about her. I remember the first day I met her the summer she came to live with her grandfather Grant Beesley. He has been my mentor and a huge supporter since my parents died.
“Your point?” I feign disinterest. He doesn’t have to know that the distance between Hazel and me is killing me. Being without her causes pains in my chest so deep I didn’t know I could feel them. She’s not mine anymore.
“You’re an insensitive asshole,” he declares.
“Look, I have a company to run, a plane to catch, and you haven’t finished the one thing I asked you to do days ago.”