by Cora Brent
I see no reason to dress up. Liam, always manscaped and tailored, will take one glance at my faded hoodie and worn jeans and think that I look like an idiot.
Let him think that for now.
My phone pings when I’m on my way out the door and it’s Danny. He wants to know what I’m up to today. I’ve been feeling guilty about hanging out with him so much when he has no clue that I felt up his little sister last weekend. Gretchen obviously hasn’t told him and I’m not about to discuss it either.
I’d like to say I just suffered a moment of weakness and forgot who she was but none of that is true. Maybe it’s a testament to just how scrambled my head is but I’ve been wanting her since I laid eyes on her again. When I found her alone in the dark, being all sassy and sad and honest, I couldn’t refuse.
The temptation to take her right then and there was almost the end of me.
Luckily, I stopped before I did something.
Well, something besides stick my tongue in her mouth, push my hand up her dress and touch her tits.
Then I went home and jerked off to ideas of how hot it would have been to go down on her right there in the backyard.
What a motherfucking prince I am.
Hopping into my Range Rover, I glance at the grey house down the street. I fire off a text to let Danny know I’ve got a meeting to deal with but I’ll be around later.
Yesterday he asked me a tough question. He asked what I would do if I were him. I’d already figured out that Danny hasn’t evolved into the most responsible guy. Settling down and having a family is not a thought that’s crossed his mind and now here he is, the guardian of two little girls in a town that doesn’t have much to offer a baseball player. It’s clear that Gretchen wants him to stay and suspects that he won’t. She’s already made up her mind to give up her own plans and dedicate herself to caring for her nieces right here where Jules wanted them to be raised.
Gretchen is a goddamn warrior. Those girls are lucky to have her.
I told Danny I had no idea what I’d do if I were him.
The weather has improved since the weekend. The sun is shining and the calm lake glimmers, looking deceptively warm. Though the outside temperature has climbed to the mid fifties, the water will still be icy.
Cassini Brewery was founded forty years ago when places like The Rosebriar Resort were still having their moment. Carmine Cassini knew little about the beer industry but his grandparents had owned a small vineyard in Sicily and he used to spend summers there. He learned fast and he was a damn good businessman. He was proud of what he’d built and made sure I knew he had faith I’d make him proud when my turn arrived to run the place.
It seems like there are more year round residents in Lake Stuart than there used to be. It also seems like every square foot of empty land surrounding the lake has been captured. Things look less crowded the farther I get from the water.
My favorite place in town was actually not my dad’s brewery but up the hill at the dead resort that used to be owned by the Aaronson family. From certain spots there were excellent views of the distant lake and it was peaceful in a way that it wasn’t peaceful elsewhere. The old resort buildings and cabins had been left to rot because no one got around to tearing them down and deciding what to do with the property. People would make up nonsense about the place being haunted but I never found anything the least bit creepy about hanging out up there no matter what time it was.
The exterior of Cassini Brewery has changed. The broad, architecturally simple building with wood paneling and the company logo painted in white above the main entrance has been redesigned. Someone had the bright idea to add a stone veneer that probably cost a fortune and installed huge brightly lit signage that can be seen all the way from the lake at night.
It’s tasteless as shit and unnecessary. Two things my dad always hated.
There’s a red Porsche in the parking lot. That was always Liam’s car of choice. He would drive one for a few years and then trade it in for a new model.
There are other cars here too. Some pickups and two minivans that likely belong to the folks who do the real work inside. I can also see a Jag and a handful of higher end Teslas.
Just beyond the main entrance of the brewery there’s a large bar that’s open to the public a few days a week. The fermentation tanks and bottling and distribution centers are all in the back. The admin offices are up on the second floor.
The leaden brick in my gut is made of dread and hatred. It’s been a long time since I’ve been face to face with Liam and I hope I can keep my cool.
While I’m taking a moment to control my anger, I look at Rosebriar Hill. The morning I was arrested, Liam called the cops to yank me out of my bed before I even had a chance to get dressed. I heard the accusation and was outraged but not too worried. After all, I didn’t think anyone would believe it. To me, the shittiest thing was hearing my father’s confused voice. He asked what was going on. He asked who we all were. Liam watched things unfold and stood back grinning like a clown.
The image of Gretchen’s face drops into my head suddenly and now I remember that she was there.
All the Aaronson kids were there.
Gretchen watched from the front seat of a car as I was taken away in my underwear. Danny was yelling. Jules was trying to keep him from hassling the cops. But Gretchen just stared. That was the morning she was being driven to some hospital in order to get her head back together.
I remember laughing at the view of her shocked little face because I’d never had the slightest thing in common with Danny’s younger sister. But there we were, me and Gretchen, both of us imprisoned inside in our messed up realities and feeling sorry for each other.
The next time I saw Gretchen Aaronson she was standing in the dining room of her old house on the day of her sister’s funeral.
I know I shouldn’t have kissed her.
We’ve barely spoken since that night and we haven’t found a reason to be alone together.
No, I definitely shouldn’t have kissed Gretchen Aaronson.
But I’d like to do it again. That, and a whole lot more.
At least thinking about Gretchen for a minute has sidelined my anger. I think I can step through the door of Cassini Brewery and face Liam without guns blazing.
I’m not expecting to walk right into a party but that seems to be exactly what’s happening. The place that I ran through a million times as a kid could have been described as modest rustic style with high quality wood everywhere. It’s been inexplicably reformed into an opulent art deco imitation with lots of black and gold amid splashes of blood red. I think it’s ugly as hell.
There is a group of women in the middle of the room, a knot of high heels, sleek legs and hair extensions. They all hold glasses and some faces swivel in my direction, instantly becoming coolly interested. One of them separates from the collection and sashays over.
“Hello.” Her smoky eyes sweep over me and she tosses a long swath of wavy brown hair over one shoulder. “I’m Whitney Cassini.” She presents an artificial smile and extends her hand.
I shake it, as briefly as possible. “Trent Cassini.”
Her laughter is piercing and phony. “Yes, I already guessed that we are family. You look just like your brother. It’s nice to finally meet you, Trent.”
“You’re Liam’s wife.”
She nods. “Coming up on five years. It’s too bad you couldn’t make it to the wedding.”
I don’t know if she’s fucking with me or if she truly knows nothing. I would bet that she knows nothing, or at least very little. With a critical eye, I check off the details of this sudden sister-in-law.
Whitney Cassini looks expensive. She’s all designer clothes and cheek filler and pretension. I bet that Jag sitting outside is hers. She’s also sliding me a look that swears she’ll gift wrap her tight ass if I snap my fingers.
I could do that.
It wouldn’t be much fun. She seems about as interesting as wallpaper. But fuck
ing Liam’s wife would be a pretty sharp knife in his eye.
However, I’m more interested in taking something he can’t replace so easily.
Whitney drinks from her glass and flutters her long eyelashes. I knew Liam was married and remember hearing that his wife is a model, or used to be. I never dug into her history because I don’t give a shit about her.
“We’re all here for brunch.” She gestures to her friends, who are looking at us and cackling amongst themselves. “I would love for you to join us but I’m sure you’re here to see Liam. He’s been hoping you would drop by.”
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
“Is he in the office?” I ask and hear my own tight anger.
“Yes, he’s in his office. It’s just up those stairs and-“
She quits talking when I walk away and don’t give her another look. I don’t need anyone to give me directions to my father’s old office. I can hear Whitney returning to her buddies, full of bubbly excitement, and her annoying words blend together. I take the stairs three at a time, land at the top and turn left. The second door, the one with a view that includes Lake Stuart, is the one I’m heading for.
I don’t knock. Why should I? There was never a lock on the door and there’s not one now.
But I wouldn’t have flung open the door so quickly if I’d known I was about to be treated to the sight of Liam Cassini sprawled in a cushy chair with his trousers open as he watches porn on his laptop and beats the hell out of his own cock.
“Christ,” he yelps and nearly falls out of the chair. Then he groans as he comes all over himself.
I just do not need to be a fucking part of that at all so I slam the door shut.
“I’ll wait!” I yell.
There’s a riot of noise in the office as Liam curses while presumably pulling his pants up, snapping his laptop shut and cleaning up his own mess.
“What’s wrong?” Whitney stands at the bottom of the landing and gapes at me.
“Your husband is trying to glue the shreds of his dignity back together.”
I must have used too many big words because she shouts, “WHAT?” and begins to climb up.
The office door opens and there’s Liam, a little out of breath but mercifully clothed.
“Goddammit, Trent,” he says and grins like we’re old pals.
The sight of his teeth makes me want to kick them in.
“Did something happen?” Whitney has reached the top of the stairs. She notices her husband. “Your brother is here!”
“I can see that, babe.” He holds his hand out to me and his grin broadens. “It’s been too long.”
“Passing on the handshake,” I mutter and squeeze past him into my father’s old office.
He’s redecorated in here too. The painting of the Sicilian vineyard over the stone fireplace has been replaced with a painting of Whitney wearing a string bikini and stretching out on (what else?) a leopard skin rug. Classy. The furniture is all shiny and black. The photo of my mother that used to sit on the windowsill was likely thrown in the garbage.
Only the view is the same. I look out at the town and squint against the sparkle of Lake Stuart in the distance.
Meanwhile, Liam dismisses his wife and shuts the door again.
“Wish I had some warning you were on your way,” he says.
I step away from the window. “Clearly.”
He snorts and drops into a black leather armchair. He motions that I ought to sit down in the chair’s twin but I ignore the suggestion. I stand back with my arms crossed and take a long, hard look at my only living blood relative, a man who eagerly turned my life into a living hell and took me away from my father during his final months.
“How have you been?” he asks, pretending we’re not mortal enemies.
I shrug. “I’m getting by.”
“Yeah, I hear you’ve done all right for yourself. Glad to see you outgrew all that teenage rebellion. I like to think I had something to do with setting you straight.”
I say nothing but I clench my right fist so tightly I can feel my knuckles crack.
The bastard is amused that I’m here, a visitor in the very place that he stole. He’s gloating.
Liam drums his fingertips on his knee. “I have to admit I was surprised to hear you were back. If I’d known you might want to live in the old house I would have held onto it for you. I would let you have it for below market value.” He winks, thinking he’s made a joke.
Yeah, hell of a joke that he sent me to a private torture camp in order to put our father in a grave and steal everything that was supposed to be mine.
Hilarious.
“How’s business?” I ask flatly and his smile drops.
Liam scratches at his jaw and I get a glimpse of the flashy timepiece on his wrist that’s got to cost more than some cars. Liam was always a sucker for appearances and still is. The Porsche. The trophy wife. The lakefront house. The pricy brewery renovations.
He wants everyone to think he’s a king even if it is all one big fat fucking lie and in reality he’s been running our father’s life’s work into the ground. He’s mortgaged in every direction up to his eyeballs and makes nothing but bad decisions. His marketing campaigns suck, he refuses to expand flavors and the showy packaging redesign he invested in a few years back has been a miserable miss. Revenues have declined by forty percent since he took over. He’s a parasite and he’s been sucking Cassini Brewery dry. The only way he’s been able to keep swimming is thanks to the novelty that a local brewery brings to the table in a town where there’s a lot of money begging to be thrown around.
That, and he keeps finding suckers willing to write checks in exchange for a piece of the company.
Liam won’t be able to hold on indefinitely. And he’s too stupidly stubborn to figure out how to set the ship right.
“Business is good,” he lies. “Real good.”
I keep my face neutral. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“In fact…” He leans forward and attempts to look shrewd. “There might be an opportunity to buy into a partnership if you’re interested.”
I’d rather not say a word right now. There will be profanity.
“I mean,” he continues with a shrug, “I’d be willing to open something up given your connection to the place.”
My connection to the place?
He’s daring me. He’s got to be. He’s trying to figure out how much of a pussy I am.
Fury threatens to boil over. And it will if I don’t change the subject.
“I guess you heard that Julianne Aaronson died.”
He averts his gaze, bored with the topic already. “Yeah, what a shame.” He rises from the chair and yawns. “Well, Trent, this has been a real treat seeing you again but I’ve got a lunch meeting that can’t be rescheduled. Grab one of my cards over there on the desk and we’ll make plans to catch up for real.”
I ignore the command to take one of his cards. I know where to find him.
Liam begins to automatically offer me a handshake and then remembers why I refused the first time. He stuffs his hand in his pocket instead.
The observation from Liam’s wife is correct. We share many of the same features. We’re both black-haired, square-jawed, and dark-eyed like our father. Liam appears to have grown soft in some important places, though. Back when I was sixteen, he was capable of overpowering me with ease. Hell, he worked me over the night before I was arrested. He would provoke me deliberately with taunts about my mother, knowing fully well that was the quickest way to blow my fuse.
“That gold digging bitch is waving at you from hell, kid.”
Naturally, I flew at him. He knocked me to the floor, kicked my ribs and pounded a fist into my face. He wouldn’t be able to do any of that now. Somehow, I wish he’d try. I wouldn’t need much of an excuse to cripple him.
“I’ll be seeing you,” I say, more of a threat than he can guess.
Liam’s lips bend into a creepy smile and he nods. “Definitely.”
/>
Now that I’ve done what I came here to do, I just want to escape. Seeing Liam again has rattled me more than I thought it would. Every scrap of my willpower was used up when I stopped myself from seizing him by his crisp white shirt, slamming his body into the nearest wall and demanding to know the thing that’s haunted me for eight long years.
WHY????
I’m his only brother and I was a kid. I understand that he never forgave our dad for divorcing his mother and starting a new family but he could have gotten me out of the way without going that far.
There’s only one answer why.
He did what he did because he’s a sadistic bastard who enjoys putting people through terrible shit.
Liam Cassini deserves far worse than financial ruin. It’s anyone’s guess who else he’s hurt or plans to hurt.
Whitney calls my name and I hear her heels rapidly clicking on the floor as she rushes over. I keep walking with grim, purposeful strides until I’m back to my truck and then I waste no time getting out of there.
But instead of driving straight back to town, I choose a detour over the gravelly road that winds up Rosebriar Hill. Sometimes flimsy road barricades would be set up to discourage trespassing but whoever owns the land must have given up because the narrow road up the hill is all clear.
Right now, the pine trees are the only greenery. In the summer it’s a different story and the hill is a thick screen of leaves and flowers. There’s still one lone sign advertising The Rosebriar Resort and it’s just a shingle hanging by one nail. The buildings are a sorrier sight than they were the last time I was up here. The roof of the main recreation center has caved in and the scattered cabins give the location a real horror-movie-in-the-woods vibe. The sunken amphitheater is still intact and I take a seat at the edge. Down in the center is a big smudge mark from the bonfires we used to set all the time. I asked Danny if the kids still come up here and he didn’t know.
Perhaps Gretchen would know. From what I hear, she’s visited Lake Stuart over the years far more often than her brother.