Defying Our Forever (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers Book 3)

by Claudia Burgoa

  I rub my eyes with the heel of my hands when Henry asks, “What’s the plan?”

  To kill our father a second time for being an asshole?

  “Let me see what I can do,” I suggest, taking the copy. “I’ll take it home and have my team look into it.”

  “Listen, he made this foolproof,” the lawyer warns me, and I hate to agree with him. This feels like a game where I have to forfeit just after reading the rules. It’d be easy to say fuck it, but it’s not just one, but two towns and thousands of people who will suffer if we do.

  Why do I care? The answer comes in the form of a petite, feisty redhead. If there’s something she’s been teaching me, it’s to care for others. When I look around the table, I wonder how much they’ll care about it? We Aldridges are selfish bastards. The only saving grace the towns might have is me finding a way to get us out of this mess.

  “You can hire the best attorney in the country,” Parrish states. “But at the end of the day, there’s nothing you can do to stop me from executing this next month—if you’re not here, everything will be sold. You can either mobilize or waste your time. The decision is yours.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pierce

  Blaire leaves disappointed, and I wish I could assure her that I can fix this, but other than giving her money to run her charity, there’s not much I can do. I still hope I can stop this will, but it might take me longer than thirty days, and if we’re not here by then, this asshole will sell everything.

  As Parrish gathers his things, Mills snaps. “That’s it? Here are your father’s last wishes, deal with them, and you wash your hands of it and us?”

  “It’s not his fault,” I intervene.

  Shit like this happens more often than people know. As a legal counselor, I’ve done it a few times. We can’t tell the person they’re an asshole while we’re drafting their will. It’s not our place to be their ethical compass. We’re just there to provide a service. There’s always a rich person having their loved ones jump through hoops so they can receive their inheritance.

  William knew that at least one, if not all of us, would say fuck the money.

  How did he find the right thing to make us consider staying?

  He was a smart, demented asshole. The thought gives me some hope, so I ask, “When did they diagnose our father?”

  “Maybe his assistant has that information. I’m not family or a friend of his,” he says, and there’s a bitter tone in his voice that’s barely noticeable, but I catch it.

  Why are you upset, Jerome Parrish? Are you an Aldridge bastard, but you can’t demonstrate it?

  “Why does that matter?” Hayes asks.

  “He had cancer, right? Remember Carter’s hallucinations?” I explain, hoping that they support me.

  “We already tried to use that excuse to stop Blaire from getting Carter’s trust fund. It didn’t work that well,” Henry grunts.

  He’s right, and it takes us back to the deadline. Even if I can prove that our father was insane, it will take me a lot longer than thirty days. We’d have to be here while I fight something that might take years. It’s not worth it, is it?

  “He was in his right mind when he requested us to draft his will a few years back,” Mr. Parrish clarifies, and that confirms that it’s not worth bothering to contest the will through that venue. “He made a couple of adjustments three months ago, adding the potential buyers and the criteria they should follow to be eligible. Everything else has been in place for years. As I said, you can exhaust all your resources, but my firm has everything in place to sell in thirty days if you choose to ignore his last wish. We get paid the same rate either way.”

  “Do you even care about what happens to the people in this town, Jerome?” Beacon asks.

  “It’s not my job to care, but, because I do, I gave you two weeks to get together for this meeting,” he admits. “Off the record, your thirty days should’ve started when he died. That means that you would have only around thirteen days to move into your new house as of today. There are too many people depending on you, so I gave you extra time.”

  “So, you waited for us?” Hayes asks.

  “On record, I stated that we had to wait for Blaire Wilson. She’s busy doing more for the world than the six of you combined.”

  Aren’t you a sweet old man?

  That sounded slightly sentimental. Maybe I’m reading too much into this situation and he is legit. No, I bet there’s more to that statement. I better figure it out because maybe that’s the key to contest the will and rewrite the story of the town. It feels like my father held them hostage—just like he’s trying to do with us.

  “Hey, I pull my weight to save the world, too,” Vance complains and rises from his seat. “I’m not sure if I’ll stay. Let’s hope Pierce finds a loophole because being around you isn’t my idea of having a good time. In any case, Blaire gets to keep the money. You try to pull some shit on her, and we’ll have a problem. Understand?”

  “Great. Another sucker who fell for her,” Henry protests.

  I wonder if Vance knows about the charity. I don’t say a word, but I’m with him. If we do get to keep these assets, Blaire keeps her cut…maybe mine too.

  “Keep your trap shut.” Vance pins him down to his chair. “I can make you disappear, and believe me, brother, no one will miss you.”

  He leaves. Hayes goes right behind him.

  I laugh, and to be honest, even though this is all fucked up, I’m glad we got together.

  “Did you pee your pants, Henry?” I tease my brother.

  Beacon laughs, “Of course he did. He’s been trembling since Vance arrived.”

  “Shut up, assholes,” he warns us.

  “We upset little Henwy,” Mills teases him, then looks at me. “Are you bringing red with you?”

  “Don’t call her that. She hates that nickname,” I warn him. “I’m going to try to persuade her to sign the divorce papers. This isn’t her scene.”

  “What happened?” he asks earnestly. “You two looked happy together.”

  “Wait, you know his wife?” Beacon asks. “Is she hot?”

  “She’s cute,” he agrees. “A petite little thing with auburn hair and a gorgeous face that could stand his ugly face for some reason. I haven’t met her but saw them a few times while I played in Denver.”

  “We can gossip later,” Henry interrupts us. “What’s the game plan, Pierce?”

  I comb my hair with my fingers and answer, “I’m going home. We have a great team that might find a loophole and stop this as early as tomorrow. You’re going to start auditing the businesses in case I fail. Get everyone to help you. I know we’re not this kind of family, but we have to be to avoid fucking up our lives.”

  With that, I leave hoping that I can persuade Leyla to sign the divorce. This might be just what I need to find something different. Maybe it won’t be happiness but something similar to what I had three years ago.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Pierce

  There’s an essential thing about denial; we can use it just for so long. However, there’s a point when we have to confront our reality.

  We can refuse to acknowledge the truth, but we can never erase it. I can fabricate many things, but just like lies, reality catches up to us. By the time I’m boarding the plane back to Colorado, my gut is a complete mess of knots.

  Denying my father or my brothers became useless after today. First, I had to see my family again after twelve long and painful years. Then, I spend my flight chatting with Nyx about my past and what my father did to us. It surprised her to hear that I have brothers, and thankfully she doesn’t ask questions—or she’s saved them for later.

  I confide in her because she’s one of the best on my legal team. I taught her all I know. If anyone can catch anything I miss, it would be her. She’s also discreet.

  My mother needs to hear the news directly from me. Once I land, I text Leyla. This is going to be a long and somehow painful convers
ation. Since I met her, I avoided telling her about my past. It didn’t seem important that she learned about it.

  Nothing seemed important, but us.

  We lived in a fantasy—one of those crazy fairy tales she likes to make up where everyone lived happily. Everything was fine until I came out of that stupid trance where I confused the world she created for us with my reality.

  It was like being inside a bubble where I pretended no one else existed or mattered but her and the kids.

  I have to confess that there were times when I wish life could be as simple as just the two of us building a future. That’s an impossible dream. Eventually, I grew out of the fantasy. Now, I have to be firm with her and make her sign the divorce papers.

  It’s going to be a hell of a miracle to convince her to do it. How do I make her understand that the last thing she needs is to get involved with my crazy family? The Bryants are bad, but wait until she has to deal with the Aldridge side.

  Pierce: Where are you?

  Leyla: Just finished working.

  Pierce: We need to talk. Can we meet at your place in thirty minutes?

  Leyla: You are back so soon, or did you decide to skip the funeral too?

  I growl because she knows me too well. I wish I had skipped it. Maybe that would have pushed the thirty-day deadline. Finding Blaire pushed it a couple of weeks, didn’t it? I have to review that part of the will. The dates didn’t make sense. Does it matter?

  I can’t focus on something that won’t help me revoke the will. William was thorough. I can’t just change it because it was poorly drafted. Challenging or contesting it might take longer than thirty days, depending on where I should challenge it. It was read in Oregon but probated in New York, the Monday after our father died. I dictate a message to Nyx to see if we can push the dates based on how large my father’s estate is.

  We can probably win another month, and by then I should be able to find something.

  Pierce: The funeral was fine, but afterward, the will was read, and everything is fucked up. I have to find a way to fix it. That’s also why we have to talk.

  Leyla: You don’t want me to keep Daddy’s money after we divorce?

  Pierce: Focus, Ley. A lot is happening. At least listen to your part of his testament.

  Leyla: I’m a part of it?

  Pierce: Yes, which is why I need to sit down and talk to you immediately.

  Leyla: Fine. Where do you want to meet?

  Pierce: Your apartment in thirty minutes?

  Leyla: No, we need a public place.

  I laugh because I know what she’s doing, and I want to remind her about all those times when we had sex in public places. I don’t. Instead, I agree to meet her at the Denver Cat Company, one of her favorite cafés. It’s the only place where she can be around cats outside of work.

  Buster wouldn’t let her own a cat. He’s not a fan, which is sad because we could’ve used a feline in the family.

  When I arrive, Leyla is already there petting a tabby.

  “Making new friends?” I ask.

  She smiles and nods. “Always.” Then points toward the mugs. “I got you hot chocolate.”

  I wonder if she’s civil because my father died or because she poisoned my drink. After we separated, I learned something new about my wife. She can be awful when she’s mad. She’s been pissed at me for almost a year. However, she stopped after I told her my father was sick. There might be an unspoken truce between us. I hope it lasts long enough to put an end to our relationship.

  “Thank you,” I answer, taking a deep breath. “Listen, I know you said you’d sign the divorce on your own time.”

  When she turns to look at me, and her face turns red, I know I said the wrong thing.

  “I knew it,” she says. Her voice isn’t loud, but the tone is sharp. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ll do it at my own pace. If you want to force it, well…that’s up to you.”

  “Listen, Ley, this is a clusterfuck, and I’m trying to save you from it,” I say, not falling into the trap.

  She laughs. “Really? You’re justifying yourself by saying that you are saving me? You’re priceless. Is this about the money that your old man left you?”

  “No, I don’t care about the money,” I say.

  “He’s one of the ten richest guys in the world, right?” she asks, and I nod. Did she research Dad? I should ask what she knows and why she does? Because you’ve never told her anything about yourself, asshole. “Well, that much money divided by six—”

  “Seven,” I correct her.

  “I thought one of your brothers died.”

  “Yes, but his widow gets his cut.”

  She frowns and asks, “There’s a widow?”

  I sigh, “Long story.” I wave my hand. “It’s one of the many reasons why you don’t want to be involved.”

  “Could you for once stop making decisions for me? It infuriates me that you take away my choices and impose yours. You think I’m incapable and stupid, don’t you?”

  And I hate that she’s upset but not yelling. She’s just giving me that look of disappointment that makes me feel less than an inch tall. She’s smart and capable but also lacks self-preservation. It’s just like the time she was done with me. Instead of asking for the divorce to get things over with because I was hurting her, she expected…what was she expecting from me?

  Why can’t she let me go? I am wrong for you. Can’t you see it?

  “That’s not why I’m doing this,” I clarify. Well, in a way I am, because Baker’s Creek isn’t a place for her. My brothers are vile, and I don’t want to kill them if they behave like my cousins do with her. “It’s complicated. You should just do it.”

  “Well, then start from the beginning. I’ll be making my own decision. I want to know everything, so don’t try to cut whatever you think is inappropriate. I’ll be the judge of that,” she demands.

  “The beginning?” I ask, confused.

  She nods. “From the day you were born.”

  It takes me more than two hours to give her the highlights of the shit show my father created more than thirty years ago. We move next door to her place so we can be more comfortable. As I tell her how I grew up only seeing Dad a few times a year, how one day everything imploded, and about the annual visits to Baker’s Creek, Nyx and I text about the will and how fucked up I am.

  She can’t find shit and agrees with me. They drafted a foolproof will. But there’s always something that can be used to make changes, and we will find it. If anything, we will try to amend it so we can work around it.

  “All those concerts and hockey games we attended make sense now. It could’ve been cooler to invite your brothers to stay over—or to have a meal with them,” she says once I’m done, and I hate that she’s right. “How is Mills’s knee?”

  Her concern surprises me. “We didn’t talk about it. Maybe Hayes can help him since he’s an orthopedic surgeon.”

  She sets her attention on Buster and asks, “Did he bring his son?”

  “Arden,” I say, then clear my throat. “His name is Arden.”

  “I like that name,” she answers. “I’ve seen a couple of pictures of him. He’s pretty cute. It makes me…”

  When she trails her voice trails off, I want to punch myself because I know what she almost said. It makes her want one. She wants one, and for almost two years I made her believe that it’d be possible. I’m not sure if I should change the tone of the conversation or tell her more about Arden. Yet another reason why she should sign the divorce papers.

  This entire scene is more excruciating than anything that has happened to me today. We sit across from each other trying to do something I keep saying is for the best, but is it?

  In all honesty, I really don’t know what I’m doing here. Searching for comfort, trying to finish what we started, or searching for the only thing that brings me peace. Her company.

  I’m stuck in a place where I want to keep my distance from her but also treat her t
he way I used to. I want to fill the silence, erase the anger, and start again. But we both know how the story ends. Love never lasts, the loss is unbearable, and I don’t understand why a part of me still has hope.

  After a long, tense silence she finally speaks, “Can I give you some advice?”

  I nod.

  “Stop letting your mother dictate your life or who you care about,” she says. “You pretend to be independent, but at the end of the day, you care too much about what she says. I’m not sure if it’s because you want to make up for what your father did to her, or she conditioned you to be that way.”

  I want to protest, but unfortunately, she got some of it right. My mother knows how to guilt trip me into doing stuff. Leyla doesn’t know much about my relationship with Mom. Things haven’t been the same since she began insulting my wife. Do I expect that she’ll change once I divorce?

  It doesn’t matter. Things between us broke and sometimes it feels like it’s beyond repair.

  “Duly noted,” I say coldly, because adding this to the pile of issues I have to comb through isn’t worth it. Instead, I refocus the conversation. “Signing the divorce papers is the most sensible thing to do.”

  She studies me for several minutes. My heart is beating because I know ending us is the right thing to do, but what will happen after this?

  It’ll be over. I’ll lose her forever. My insides pang because what is going to be left of me?

  My heart aches more than it has since the moment we called it quits. Everything ahead of me looks dark. She’s my light. How am I supposed to live after this? I’ll end up right here begging her to take me back.

  Not if I’m in Baker’s Creek, far away from her. I’ll stop coming back to her.

  Is this the answer to my prayers?

  There’s a house with a good foundation where I can live. It’s the only way to save myself or at least the pieces I have left of me.