Chapter 5
A Broken Promise
Heston
“I’ll be home soon.”
Working all night cleaning offices and going straight to an early shift at the coffee shop, I was eager for a shower and bed, but I had an important errand that I couldn’t postpone.
I ended the phone call, and guilt niggled at me like a bellyache. It wasn’t a lie. I would be home soon, but I was worried about Dad after last night when he couldn’t catch his breath.
But it was for Dad that I was taking a detour on the way, one that led me to Father’s place. It’d been a while since I’d been there.
After Father’s burial, Sebastian had invited everyone to the house for drinks to celebrate his life.
Not us, though, but I dragged Dad along, saying we were entitled to be there.
We were family, his first discarded family, but I was damned if Sebastian was going to pretend we didn’t exist as he had at the gravesite.
Besides, I maintained Father would never have been a success if Dad hadn’t worked when they were married, allowing Father to work day and night as a realtor.
The huge irony was that after the divorce, when Father sold our family home, he rented us an apartment, saying he wasn’t sure what the future held regarding finances. He promised Dad he’d buy us a place if he could afford it.
Father could, but he didn’t. He’d saved enough during those years of working seven days a week and bought a house from a foreclosure auction at the right time, and sold it after prices had skyrocketed a year later. From there, he bought and sold real estate and earned a fortune.
I’d left my car at home last night, as it had a flat and the spare tire didn’t have any air in it. So I caught a bus to my stepfather’s neighborhood and got off at the closest stop to the house.
People in Father’s neighborhood didn’t use public transportation—not the homeowners.
The domestic staff that kept the mansion running stood in all weather—rain, cold, or blazing heat—waiting for a bus that creaked and groaned as it picked up and discharged passengers.
They reminded me of ants, scurrying to and from the large buildings that swallowed them, and spat them out at the end of each day.
It was a ten-minute walk to the house, and when I reached the wrought-iron gate with Sebastian and Father’s initials entwined in gold, I stood with my hands in my pockets, studying the gaudy house on the other side.
For a home with such huge grounds, there was little greenery, just gravel and cement.
Sebastian’s doing. I was convinced he hated the outdoors, maybe because Dad was or had been an enthusiastic gardener.
It was as though he cut anything out of Father’s life that reminded him of us, but Father had insisted I was still part of his life.
Sadly, I didn’t enjoy my weekends at the house, even though Sebastian made himself scarce. I didn’t belong in that house with the gold furnishing, fake regency furniture, velvet drapes, and portraits of Father’s new husband on every wall.
Sebastian might’ve been looking at me standing here.
He had the app and often refused to let people through if he was annoyed with them.
For sure, he’d changed the code since he’d been widowed, because I’d memorized it, and he was aware.
Some of the staff had discovered he’d fired them when their code was invalid.
I pressed the buzzer, girding myself for his voice that was a cross between screeching tires and an out-of-tune piano. There was a pause, and I stared at the camera, giving it the finger, but behind my back so Sebastian wouldn’t see.
But it wasn’t my stepfather’s voice that trilled through the intercom.
“Mr. Davidson’s residence.”
“Mylo, it’s Heston. I’m here to speak to my… to Sebastian.” I paused, in case my stepfather was beside him, running a finger over his throat, indicating Mylo should get rid of me. “It’s urgent.”
“Mr. Davidson isn’t here.”
I gripped the bars and squinted, trying to see if the yellow sports car was in the driveway.
“It’s especially important I speak with him, Mylo.” I gulped and leaned on the gate, the cool metal sending shivers through me. “It’s a matter of life and death—my dad’s life.”
“Heston, I have strict instructions never to let you in.”
White-knuckling the bars, I took a deep breath. Losing my temper with Mylo wouldn’t get me an audience with His Freaking Majesty.
“Please.” I was no longer pretending to hold it together. “My dad’s really sick.” The last word was barely a whisper as fear gripped my throat, trying to choke me.
“You’ve forgotten what day it is, Heston.”
I blinked away tears, frustrated Mylo wasn’t responding to my plea for help. “What?”
“It’s Friday, and what happens on Friday?”
Friday? What was he babbling about? Gritting my teeth, I spat out, “I don’t freaking know. Just tell me.”
He sighed. The distorted gurgle through the intercom sounded as though he was clearing his throat. Sebastian was our last chance, and it felt as if the whole world was against us. And Mylo wasn’t helping. I wanted to scream but held it together—just.
But as I pressed my face on the metal bars, probably leaving an indentation on my cheeks, a memory flickered and then formed in my mind. Friday, Sebastian went to his country club for lunch. Every Friday.
Not that knowing where he was helped me. The house was miles from the club, which was on the outskirts of the city, and I didn’t have a car.
“Thanks. Sorry I almost lost it.” Mylo didn’t deserve my anger when I should have directed my fury at my stepfather.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
Was he referring to Dad’s health or Father’s death?
My father had passed a while ago, but I hadn’t seen Mylo since the funeral.
I thanked him and turned away from the gate.
But as I walked toward the bus stop, calculating if I could return here tomorrow, a car slowed.
Like most of the vehicles in the neighborhood, it cost more than my college tuition.
A darkened back passenger window lowered, and a hand waved at me.
“Heston.”
“Mrs. Simmons.”
The elderly woman lived next door to Father and Sebastian, and on the weekends I visited, she often walked her dog past the house and we’d chat if I was outside, kicking around a soccer ball on the concrete.
“Can I give you a lift somewhere?”
“I don’t think so. Unless you’re going to the Oakridge Country Club.” I threw that out there on the slightest chance that was where she was headed.”
“Guess it’s your lucky day.” The door opened.
Her driver drove through the country club gates. On one side were tennis courts, on the other a path led to the golf course, where buggies trundled around the green, depositing golfers and their caddies.
Straight ahead was the imposing building where members dined, played cards, and held fundraisers, but they also made connections. This ensured the money stayed in their circle, enriching themselves.
“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked. Mrs. Simmons made no move to get out.
“No, dear. I just gave you a lift. I’m going shopping.”
My lack of a tie would not get me inside the club, but I hoped Sebastian would come outside.
“Good afternoon, sir.” The doorman looked me up and down, his lips curling in distaste at my scuffed shoes. “Are you joining one of our members for lunch?” He sniffed, knowing an exclusive club like Oakridge would never welcome the likes of me.
“My stepfather, Sebastian Davidson.” That wasn’t a lie. The man hadn’t asked who invited me.
The guy furrowed his brow as he checked a tablet. “You don’t appear to be listed, sir.” He dismissed me by speaking to another guest.
But he didn’t know that I had had enough of being knocked down. There was a fire in my belly as I raced to the door and shouted, “Sebastian Davidson! This is your stepson. You know, the one you cut off so my dad has no medical insurance and I had to quit college. That stepson.”
“That’s enough.” Oops, seemed I wasn’t the only one who was fired up. The doorman placed a hand on my shoulder, but as he yanked me back, a scent wafted around me, tickling my nostrils.
What was that? It wasn’t the guy intent on tossing me out. I took a deep breath and pictured the aroma spreading through my veins like someone being infected with a deadly toxin in a sci-fi movie. I wanted to be wherever that smell was.
But I was jolted back to reality when I remembered why I was here; money for Dad’s operation.
The doorman’s walkie-talkie buzzed. Other than saying yes, he just listened to the voice on the other end as they yelled. When he shut it off, he handed me a tie from under the desk.
“Must be your lucky day. Mr. Davidson is in a private dining room. Kenneth here will take you to him. And next time you pull a stunt like that, I’ll toss you out on your ear.”
Taking a chance the scent was coming from him, I leaned toward him and sniffed.
“What in the—”
I dashed after Kenneth, not wanting to hear the rest of the sentence.