54. Now
FIFTY-FOUR
now
“Son.”
The moniker, which used to fill me with dread, now only gives me a small prick of sadness. How many more times will I experience my father’s gruff disapproval before I never hear it again?
Turning away from my office window, I find him standing just inside the etched glass door, considering the sleeves of his tuxedo instead of looking at me. “I trust you’ve rehearsed your remarks?” he huffs.
“Of course.” My left hand absentmindedly goes to my jacket pocket, where I’ve stashed a notecard with my talking points. “Mom’s collected Olivia?”
Dad moves from fidgeting with cufflinks to yanking at his black bow tie, still scowling. “Yes,” he mutters, “I expect they’re well on their way by now. Barnes has them.”
The thought of Olivia Twats—who I found wholly objectionable just one week ago—leaves me curiously blank. A small flicker of annoyance flares in my chest and then drops down to the pit of numbness stretched taut through my middle. The same blanket of nothingness that’s smothered every other feeling over the past three days. Since leaving Ella at Idealogue on Monday morning, I’ve dedicated myself to absolute apathy.
That evening, when Amir handed me the stack of files he gathered on her past, I directed him to remove them from my apartment altogether, along with my shoebox of scraps, the green scarf, and the gift I never brought myself to unwrap. He did so without a word. Inspired by his indifference, I also deleted Ella’s book from my Kindle library.
Since watching the digital volume disappear, I’ve felt oddly empty. As if my mind and heart have undergone a factory reset. Just one final obstacle stands between me and the rest of my life, sans a certain blonde.
This godforsaken gala.
The thick curtain of numbness suffocates my frustration before it even begins. I checked my watch.
6:38 .
Hell bent on distraction, I run through a list of the evening’s requirements, checking them off. We have catering, entertainment, valet service, and a silent auction for a charity aiding urban homelessness. The ballroom on the second floor of our building will serve as the venue—over the week, it’s been lavishly appointed with all the trappings of an elegant event. Or so I’ve been assured.
My second-in-command, Daniel, did most of the planning, along with his father, my mother, and, of course, my omniscient assistant, Beth. They’re a dream team as far as parties are concerned. My father and I are lucky. If left to our own devices, my mother likes to claim, we’d surely plan the dullest event in the history of the city.
“Everyone in Bed by Nine, if your father picked the theme,” she chortled to me. “Or, An Evening of Brooding Silence, if you had your way, mi amor .”
She isn’t wrong. Without the distractions I’ve used for years—and without Ella’s memory haunting my every move—I mostly spend my time alone, surrounded by quiet.
It probably isn’t healthy for me to be by myself every night. Maybe it would be good for me to take Olivia home. I know she’d be willing…
But she also won’t have blue eyes that beam. Or sweet touches that give instead of taking. Or a heart that makes my knees weak.
Swallowing hard, I check my watch again.
6:38 . Still.
Damn it.
Dad harrumphs while he tugs on his tie, pulling the whole thing off-kilter. Without a second thought, I cross over to him. “Here. Let me.”
It’s fucked. I unravel the knot to start from scratch. While I adjust the black silk, I realize that I’m looking down at him. My father—who always seemed to tower over every other person in every room—is now smaller than me.
The moment catapults me back to so many occasions during my adolescence when he’d fixed bowties for me. I remember looking up at him, wondering if I’d ever figure any of it out. How to tie the damn bowties, how to run our family interests.
How to be a man.
But here I am, tying his tie. Running his company, making remarks in his stead.
And I’m still not half the man he is. I still need him to teach me.
Tamping down the hoarseness suddenly blocking my throat, I ask, “Any advice for me? Things I need to do? ”
Dad raises his head, pinning me with his muddy eyes. As if he can read my thoughts, he says, “You don’t need me. You know what to do. You’ve taken this company in hand and run with it, exactly as I always knew you could.”
Exactly as Ella knew I could .
The thought breaks through my careful cover of indifference, sending a stinging barb of grief into my heart.
She never doubted me, even when I doubted myself.
Finished with his tie, I step back, dropping my eyes. “You overestimate me,” I reply, masking sincerity with ruefulness.
“No.” The steady ferocity of his voice makes me look back at him. “I under estimated you. On purpose. Because I know I had to to make your education as thorough as possible. But secretly, I always had high hopes for you, Grayson. You’ve exceeded them all.”
His regard softens and intensifies at once. “Which is why I’m announcing my retirement tonight before your remarks.”
Dismay washes over me. “No,” I deny. “We have a plan. You’re retiring next summer. Fall, even.”
Mason Stryker rarely acknowledges his weakness. He shifts on his feet before admitting, “I’m sicker than I expected to be, Grayson. You know that. I can’t even tie my damn bowtie. I’m not saying I’m dying tomorrow or even next year, but I am dying, son. And I want?—”
He stops himself. But I know what he wants to say. “You want to be home with Mom.”
He clears his throat. “Yes. I do. This company has been part of my life; the biggest part, some could argue. But you and your mother… you are my life. She is my life. And that’s what I want to spend the remainder of… of my time focusing on.”
It makes sense, of course. And I’ve always known, in the back of my mind, that this day was coming. But that doesn’t stop the surge of gag-inducing terror that scrapes up my throat.
“Fuck,” I hiss, gulping down the riot. “Dad, don’t do this to me. Not now. Not tonight. I can’t—” I can’t handle losing you and Ella at t he same goddamn event. “I can’t run this place without you.”
He doesn’t waver. “That’s not true, son. Besides, this is why we brought Ted and Daniel back in, if you recall. They’ll continue to help you. And I’m not dead yet. You can always call me if need be.” His scowl evaporates into a pensive line. “But I really don’t think you’ll need to.”
He turns to the door, gesturing to the title carved under my name. “You are the CEO of Stryker & Sons, Grayson. You’ve done it. Congratulations.” With his head bent, he makes to exit. “You should be proud. ”