Chapter 8
ASHER
The next morning, my brothers and I are back at Thornwood—this time, for a cordial breakfast with our father. As soon as we walk in, however, something feels different in the mansion. The air itself seems to have shifted.
“What’s going on, Ian?” Cole asks as we’re welcomed into the lobby.
“Mr. Morgan hasn’t been feeling as well as we’d hoped,” Ian replies, “but he didn’t want to cancel the breakfast. He’s still trying to make it downstairs.”
My stomach tightens with concern. The old man has always been a mountain, a rock for the whole family to lean on. Learning that he’s growing feebler doesn’t sit well with me.
“I always imagined him going out in some kind of blaze of glory,” Toby mutters.
“He’s nowhere near dead yet,” I remind him, then look at Ian. “We’ll be in the breakfast room, and we’ll wait, no matter how long it takes, alright? Just let him know. He can take his time.”
Cole sighs deeply. “We could go upstairs and see him.”
“I’m afraid he’s not taking any guests in the bedroom, apart from Mrs. Madison. Pardon me, Mrs. Morgan,” Ian replies.
That brings a smile to my face, knowing Ian can stomach her even less than the three of us. He’s been with our family for two decades, since long before Sheila even came into the picture. Unlike us, Ian has the misfortune of dealing with her and her son on a daily basis.
“The breakfast room it is then,” Cole grumbles.
At least the table is set, plates and coffee and tea service ready, along with some freshly baked pastries, and the smell of eggs and bacon wafts in from the kitchen next door.
My brothers and I get comfortable, helping ourselves to coffee and a few bites while we anticipate what this morning might yield.
“First things first. What are we doing with Willow?” I ask my brothers. “It’s been fun and games until now, but we’re inching closer. We need something concrete.”
Toby exhales sharply, smiling as he gazes out the window. “She’s something else. Hell, she could be the one we need. She can certainly handle the three of us.”
“She’ll have to handle our twisted family, too. Sheila and Terrence included, and that prissy Katrina on top,” Cole says. “I want her; don’t get me wrong, for more than what we already have. Toby’s right. She’s different. She’s damn near perfect. But our family...”
“We’ll figure out a way,” I tell him. “We will. Sheila’s not dumb enough to come after the three of us, and Dad’s already made his peace with our lifestyle. Terrence will have Katrina and bugger off eventually, so Sheila will just have to deal with it.”
It’s clear by now that the three of us are enthralled with Willow.
There’s plenty for us to crave, want, and desire about this woman.
Her curves for one thing, even though she was often told she was too big, little does she comprehend that her figure is precisely what makes her so fucking desirable.
Plus, her smarts and her ambition, and that dirty little side of her that comes out when her clothes come off.
Part of me hopes Dad lives long enough to get to know her a little better. I know it would give him a measure of peace to learn that we’ve found our forever girl, assuming she’ll have us.
“I didn’t like the look on Ian’s face,” Cole says. “He’s worried about Dad.”
“I thought the recovery center helped him,” Toby replies.
I offer a slight nod. “It did, but given his old age and his blood pressure, I doubt he’ll get much better. He’ll probably have more bad days than good.”
“He’ll have to retire soon,” Cole mutters, then takes a sip of coffee, “which means he’ll be looking to his heirs. Right now, I’m the only one of the three of us with an executive position in the company.”
“Cole, we can still serve in an advisory role,” I remind him. “We made that clear during the meeting with Bennington the other day.”
“It won’t be enough, not in his mind, anyway. I think he’s seriously considering Terrence,” Cole says.
“Terrence is fucking useless,” Toby grumbles. “He can’t have anything close to a deciding vote. Hell, he shouldn’t get any kind of vote.”
“We can’t stop Dad from amending the will,” Cole says. “The best we can do is make sure Terrence and Sheila don’t get a big enough slice to call the shots. She’s fiscally irresponsible, and he’s the epitome of laziness and incompetence. They’ll drive the Morgan companies into the ground.”
Toby shakes his head slowly, then takes a bite out of a scone. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t go that far. Right now, Dad’s still kicking, and you both know he’s not relinquishing the helm anytime soon.”
“He’ll delegate,” I say and look at Cole. “You’ll need to step up.”
“That was never an issue. I already have full executive control over most of the fintech branch. I’ve got forty percent on the board in the banking sector, as well. I’ll handle whatever else comes my way.”
“And in the meantime, we need to keep Sheila and Terrence from messing with Willow,” I remind him. “I doubt your warning did much. Sheila can be persistent.”
“I’ll handle her,” Cole mutters with a furrowed brow.
Toby gives him a cold grin. “You’ve handled her before, brother. She’s a fucking menace. Maybe it’s time to air out the dirty laundry and kick her off the board altogether.”
“Are you serious?” The color drains from Cole’s face.
“It’s like ripping a Band-Aid off,” Toby insists. “The old man will be furious, but he’ll get over it once the truth sets in.”
Cole shakes his head. “I can’t do that to him. It’ll break his heart.”
Some things are best kept in the past, and this could very well be one of them. Toby means well, but Cole has a point, too. We always agreed to stick together and weather the storm, if the truth were to come out, but I certainly don’t want the truth to come to light in the first place.
Sheila prefers to let sleeping dogs lie, as well.
“It wouldn’t do anyone any good, especially if Dad can amend the will,” I tell Toby. “He could get angry enough to give Terrence what he wants just to punish Cole. It’s a risk we shouldn’t be willing to take.”
Terrence wanders in, looking like he just fell out of bed. His red hair is a mess, his shirt is unbuttoned, and he has dark shadows under his green eyes.
“I forgot the three of you were coming over,” he grumbles as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “You might as well leave. Dad isn’t coming down for breakfast most likely.”
He takes a sip of coffee, then winces from the bitter taste and adds sugar and milk for a more palatable concoction.
“Our father, you mean,” Cole says, giving him one of his signature glares.
We used to give this kid a hard time, but he always asked for it, often and brazenly. These days, he’s asking for a hell of a lot more, but civility and the legal repercussions have restrained us, and Terrence loves to take advantage of that, the weaslly prick.
“He became my dad the minute he married my mom, in case you forgot. I mean, I know it’s a hard pill to swallow, but you might as well accept the truth.”
“The truth is you’ve been a parasite your whole life, and your bullshit doesn’t fly with us,” Toby replies. “We’re going to wait here for the old man to come down. He insisted.”
Terrence shrugs and takes another sip of coffee. “I guess you want to spend as much time as you can with him before… you know…”
“Before what?” Cole asks, a vein twitching furiously along his temple.
“The inevitable occurs.”
A split second later, Cole is up and pressing his forearm into Terrence’s throat while Toby and I struggle to pull him back before he does something worse. The mug hits the floor with a loud crash, coffee splashing across the grey marble.
Heels click hurriedly from somewhere nearby, echoing louder and louder.
“Say that again, you piece of shit!” Cole snarls.
“Get off me, you jackass!”
“Cole, calm down!,” I can barely contain our younger brother when his temper takes over.
Not that I’d mind Terrence getting his ass whupped, but it just isn’t the right time.
With one final pull, my brother and I manage to separate Cole from Terrence just as our stepbrother’s face turns blue from the impromptu chokehold, just as Sheila storms into the breakfast room with a shocked look plastered across her filler-riddled face.
“What the hell is going on here?” she hisses and rushes to Terrence’s side. “Are you animals?”
“Your precious offspring was asking for it,” Cole says. “He seems to be under the impression that if he’s poking the bear, the bear isn’t going to bite back. I’m hoping he’s learned his lesson this time.”
“Cut it out, Cole,” Sheila replies. “You’re brothers. You can’t be fighting one another, not when your father needs you all united by his side.”
“The three of us are brothers, yes,” Cole shoots back. “I’ve got no business with Carrot Top, over there.”
“Call me that again!” Terrence makes a move to start another brawl, but Sheila’s grip on him is surprisingly tight.
“Or Little Orphan Annie, if you prefer.” Cole is relentless.
It’s hard to keep a straight face, but I can’t let this devolve into something worse. “Guys, come on. It’s early morning. The coffee is good. Dad’s trying to make his way down here. We should at least try to get along for his sake,” I say, not really believing a word coming out of my own mouth.
Sheila and Terrence take their seats at the table first. Cole remains standing, and Toby sits close to him.
I sit next to Terrence and Sheila. Whether we like it or not, they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Cole has a point about potential repercussions if the truth does come out, and that leaves us at an impasse.
“William is getting worse,” Sheila announces after a long, painfully awkward silence. “The last thing he needs right now is a skirmish between his sons.”
“His sons aren’t fighting each other, Sheila,” Toby cuts in. “We’re fighting your son. Spin this all you want, but that’s the truth.”
Out of the three of us, Toby hates her the most and has the least to lose if the truth about her were to come out.
Some of my assets are tied up with the Morgan estate, and frankly, I should exercise caution until a final will is sealed by our family’s lawyer.
One wrong move, and Dad might do something potentially damaging just to teach Cole and Toby a lesson.
I’d get stuck in the middle, as always, so if I can avert such a crisis, I will try.
“What matters is that Dad’s health doesn’t need us adding our conflict on top. We can take it outside some other time. Right now, the old man is working hard to get himself downstairs. He should find a peaceful atmosphere when he make it down.”
“If he makes it,” Terrence grumbles.
“You’re not helping!” I snap.
Sheila gently caresses her precious prick of a son’s cheek. His neck is turning red from Cole’s headlock. “He’s right, honey. Maybe don’t antagonize your brothers. You have plenty of other, much more important things to worry about, don’t you?”
“Dad hasn’t given me much to work with at the office,” Terrence complains.
“You have to give him a reason to trust you first,” I reply.
Cole gives me a sullen look. “What are you doing?”
“Working toward peace,” I promptly reply, “unless you prefer the bickering and the flying fists. Let’s see how far that gets us.”
“Thank you, Asher, for being the voice of reason,” Sheila chimes in with a soft smile.
“I’m not doing it for you,” I retort.
Finally, the door opens, and our father walks in. He’s still in his pajamas and wrapped in a house robe, slippers dragging across the floor with each heavy step. His breath is labored, but his smile is optimistic.
“There’s my family,” he says, eager to join us.
Cole is the first to reach his side and patiently escorts him to the breakfast table. “How are you feeling, old boy?”
“I’ve had better days, son, but I sure am glad to see you.”
“You’re still allowed coffee, right?” I ask, already pouring some into a clean mug for him.
Dad gives me a wry smile. “They’ll have to pry a good Colombian roast out of my cold, dead hands.”
As soon as he’s settled in his chair, Sheila leans in to kiss his cheek, and my stomach turns.
“So happy to see you at the table,” she tells him. “It gives me hope for the future.”
“I’m sure it does,” Toby mutters.
I’d step in again, but even I can’t fight that particularly unpleasant truth. We all know Sheila doesn’t love our father. We know whom she’s still carrying a torch for, too. But Dad’s ticker is already faulty; he doesn’t need the aggravation.
“What were you all arguing about?” Dad asks as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I heard you on my way down here.”
“The wedding,” Terrence replies with a half smile as he adds eggs and bacon to his plate. “We were arguing about the guest list.”
“We have an issue with overcrowding the greenhouse,” I say. “We can’t have too many people in there. And removing all the plants to let more people in kind of kills the whole concept of a ceremony in the greenhouse, don’t you agree, Dad?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “I do, yes.”
“But Dad—” Terrence tries to object. Sheila also opens her venomous mouth to say something, but our father raises a hand to silence them both.
“Keep the ceremony small, close friends and family only. Invite as many folks as you want to the reception. There’s plenty of space in the ballroom.”
“Honey, maybe—” Sheila insists, but Dad’s growl cuts her down with lightning speed.
“The boys’ mother curated that greenhouse with much love and care,” he says. “There are rare plants in there that would suffer even a transfer to another room. You work with what is already there or have the wedding ceremony elsewhere. End of discussion.”
Even Sheila can’t overpower the memory of our mother.