Chapter Seventeen
Eddie
“Can I ask you a question?” Josh breaks the silence, his tone calm but deliberate. He’s been off since he offered to drive me home.
“You’re going to ask anyway, so just ask.” I don’t bother looking up from my tablet and the document on my lap. He hesitates, which only makes me more impatient. “Why are you doing all this?” he finally asks.
That makes me look up, my brow lifting. “All what?”
I look at him this time, my brows lifting. He continues, “I mean, why are you here?” He gestures around with his right hand. I counter with a question of my own: “Let me also ask you something. Why are you still here? You don’t need this job. Hell, you could disappear tomorrow and live just fine without lifting a finger.”
He shrugs. “Fair point,” he mutters. “But you didn’t answer me. So all the properties you’re acquiring are for revenge?”
I nod once and turn my focus back to the tablet, pretending to read.
“Where does the Dua Group come in?” he asks and I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair.
“Having shares is one thing but being a shareholder with voting rights, the kind that can attend board meetings and influence decisions is another.”
Josh is quiet for a beat before he says, “Wouldn’t that affect the relationship you have with your wife? Lawliss?” My heart squeezes at the mention of her name. My voice quieter now, I say, “If she’s still the same person—the woman who fights for justice—she may want in. She might even understand it.” I pause, shaking my head. “But I fear what the result will be if I involve her, so I’m leaving her out of it.”
Lawliss has always been one to seek justice for others, especially those close to her. I don’t want to think about what she will do if she finds out my parent's death was nothing but an accident. She visited me uncountable times when I was in the hospital and her parents arranged everything related to their burial. I owe them a lot. That’s part of the reason I bought the shares. My uncle is interested in them and I would rather die than have him involved with them.
Josh’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “But the way you did it makes you look like a bad person.”
I let out a bitter chuckle. “I never said I was a good person.”
“True,” Josh mutters, though he doesn’t look convinced. “But a word of advice? Make sure you don’t hurt her. Or yourself, for that matter.”
“Are you worried about me?” I ask, the corner of my mouth lifting.
“Yes, I am, Edmund. This is not our playground where we have the cops and others backing us.” That’s where he’s wrong. I’ve been building relationships long before I stepped foot back here.
“We do,” I say calmly. “And we’re taking over from the Ansah Group on Monday.” I pause, a grim smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “I can’t wait to see my uncle again after eleven years.”
Josh doesn’t say anything after that. He doesn’t need to. When we first arrived, I kept wondering who I was going to visit first. My saviors or enemies, and while we sit in comfortable silence, I wonder what my decision will be in the end. We arrive and Josh parks the car. I pick up my things and get out of the car.
“See ya,” he says and drives off without waiting for a response. I shake my head at his antics. I really should get myself a driver now that I’m back here. Or maybe I’ll call Simon and have him move out here.
I mull over the idea, lost in thought, until I find myself back at my penthouse. I pause when I spot Lawliss pacing outside in the corridor, her silhouette tense.
“Jesus Christ!” she exclaims when she turns and realizes I’m standing right in front of her.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she says, placing a hand on her chest like she’s trying to calm her racing heart.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I say as I maneuver my way to the door and punch in my password. She run away and now she’s in front of me out of her own free will. Interesting. I smirk.
“So, I bet you noticed when you were coming up here…” she trails off, her voice hesitant, like she’s expecting me to fill in the blanks.
I raise a brow at her and lean against the wall, taking her in. She’s still in her office attire, her blouse slightly wrinkled, and her face is etched with worry. The look has me on edge, though I keep my expression neutral.
“Come on in,” I say, opening the door wider. She steps inside, and the moment she does, she’s off, talking a mile a minute.
“So, I was going to call my sisters, but then I had to weigh my options. With Aria, I’d have to sleep with Janet. And with Lauren, I’d have to squeeze onto her queen-size bed. Why she rents a single-bedroom apartment is beyond me. And Elisa? Well, she’s staying in a hotel room. I could have gone to my parents or one of the other properties, but—”
“Hey, hey. Look at me.” I close the distance between us, placing both hands on her shoulders.
She pauses, her breaths uneven, then raises her head to look at me.
“Breathe in,” I instruct. She follows, inhaling deeply, and I feel her body relax under my hands.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come to you,” she whispers.
“I’m glad you thought of me,” I reply, my tone soft.
She nods, and I lead her to the couch. She hesitates for a second, then sits, her fingers brushing over the fabric as though grounding herself. Her eyes roam the room, curious yet cautious, taking everything in.
“You like it here?” I ask, watching her closely.
She glances at me, then back at the walls, her gaze lingering on the painting above the fireplace.
“Did you paint that?” she asks, pointing to the hibiscus flower painting hanging on the wall. I shake my head.
“It looks like something you’d paint,” she says, pausing for a moment before adding, “It’s beautiful.”
I don’t respond, letting the quiet settle between us as I move to the kitchen to prepare her some gin tea. When I return, I hand it to her and sit across from her, grabbing a throw pillow to cover… well, the painfully growing erection reaction I’m not particularly proud of at the moment. She doesn’t seem to notice, too distracted by her thoughts.
“So,” I say after she takes a sip and starts to calm down. “What’s going on?”
She finally opens up, telling me about the flood and the chaos at her place. I listen quietly, and when she’s finished, I lean back and say, “You can stay here. In my bedroom.”
“No!” she exclaims, her voice sharp with surprise. I chuckle, raising my hands. “Relax. I wouldn’t be in there with you unless you want me to be.” Her face flushes, and I suppress a grin.
“It’s just that my guest room is a mess, and no other room is ready for you to stay in.”
“I’ll take the couch,” she says firmly.
Now that makes me laugh. Lawliss, who has lived like a princess most of her life, wants to sleep on my couch. Sure, it’s comfortable, but still.
“I’ve slept on couches before, Ed. Don’t insult me,” she says, her tone daring me to argue. I raise my hands again in surrender. “Not on my watch,” I say. “Come on. Let me show you around.” She stands and follows me.
She steps inside the bedroom and stops cold. I know the look—wide-eyed, her lips parting slightly like she’s trying to take it all in at once. It’s the same expression people give when they think they’ve walked into something otherworldly.
Her eyes twinkle—a mix of amusement and surprise that has me shifting on my feet. I can’t help the flutter in my stomach when I ask, “What?” I try to sound neutral, but even I hear the curiosity in my voice.
“You kept bits of your old personality,” she says, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Now I’m intrigued.
“What does that mean?” She steps further into the room, her fingers brushing the edge of the pristine white dresser, her gaze sweeping over the neatly made bed, the white sheets tucked tight like I’m expecting an inspection.
“Well…” she starts, dragging out the word as if organizing her thoughts. “… when we met in Florida, you had these rough edges around you but you still felt like the Eddie I knew.” She tilts her head to look at me, a teasing glint in her eyes. “But since you returned to Louisville, there’s this dark aura about you. You try to tame it around me, but I can still feel it. It’s like you’ve changed, just like I have. There’s a wall you’ve built, and even though you try to hide it, it’s there. But this—” she gestures around the bedroom, “this tells me something else.”
“What exactly does it tell you?” I cross my arms and lean against the door frame, masking how much her words have me pinned.
Her lips curve upward. “ The Edmund I knew—the one who claimed black was his favorite color but secretly wore white more often than he’d care to admit—is still here somewhere. Under all that… mystery.”
“Black is my favorite color,” I say automatically. She ignores me entirely, dropping onto the bed with a sigh. She bounces once, testing the mattress, and smirks up at me.
“The white suits you, though. It always has,” she teases, stretching her arms overhead like she owns the place. The movement pulls at her blouse, and I look away before I start wishing for a repeat of what happened in my office.
“Make yourself at home while I deal with the plumbing issue,” I say, pushing off the door frame.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice quieter this time, almost sincere. I nod and slip out, my pulse quicker than it should be. Entering the living room, I pull my phone out and call Josh. The line rings twice before he picks up.
“Find me a plumber,” I say, cutting straight to the point.
“Already breaking things, boss?” Josh snickers on the other end.
“Don’t start. And make sure he takes his time. I mean it—delays, excuses, whatever it takes.”
Josh laughs like he’s in on some joke. “Oh, so this is one of those jobs. I get it. I’ll make the guy crawl there if you want.”
“Just handle it.” I hang up and toss the phone onto the couch, running a hand through my hair. The plumbing’s a problem, sure, but it’s also a gift. Lawliss is here, and I don’t want her leaving just yet. For once, I’m not overthinking how wrong or right that is.
When I walk back toward the bedroom, I pause just before the doorway. She hasn’t moved from the bed. She’s lying back, staring at the ceiling, her brows furrowed like she’s thinking too hard, lost in her own world.
I leave her to it and head into the guest room, which currently serves as a storage space. Everything from the old house and London has been brought here, but I haven’t had the will to sort through it yet. It’s easier to leave things boxed up, untouched.
I weave through the stacks and open a box near the center of the room. Inside, I find albums and old report cards. Memories, packed away. I pull out the first album and pause, the weight of it settling in my hands.
I really lucked out in the parent's department. As their only child, I got all the love and attention they had to give. There wasn’t a single event they missed—school plays, football games, graduations. I had the kind of childhood people envy. And yet, to think… they died because of an event I insisted on.
My chest tightens at the thought. The guilt never really goes away. It gnaws at me, whispering that I’m the reason they parked that damn car in the first place. But beneath the guilt, there’s something darker—a deep-rooted hunger to do unto my uncle what he did to them.
I sigh and flip open the album, careful with the old, worn pages. The first photo stops me cold. It’s my dad, kneeling on one knee, the ground littered with autumn leaves. My mom stands in front of him, her hand covering her mouth, surprise and joy radiating from her face. I can almost hear the echo of their laughter.
I smile despite myself. My dad used to tell me that his proposal was spectacular, not because it was flashy but because he knew my mom’s heart. He picked her favorite season—autumn—and her favorite place in the world: our Louisville park. That park became their place. Their anniversaries, their picnics, their little celebrations. And when I came along, it became mine too. I can’t count the number of times we spent there as a family, wrapped up in a kind of happiness I didn’t know to treasure until it was gone.
“I miss you guys so much,” I whisper, the words barely audible.
I shake my head, push the memories back where they belong, and turn the page. One photo leads to another, each one tugging at me a little harder than the last. Eventually, the weight of it all gets the better of me. I don’t remember closing my eyes, but somewhere between one page and the next, I fall asleep.