4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Lennon
The moment the words on the page began bleeding into one another, I knew it was time to call it.
My ass ached from sitting in the same position for what felt like an eternity, every muscle protesting as I shifted for what had to be the hundredth time.
If I didn’t stand soon, my imaginary physiotherapist was going to materialize out of thin air just to lecture me about posture and poor life choices.
With an exaggerated groan, I flop backwards onto the pathetic excuse for a backrest I’d built out of couch cushions. It looked supportive when I made it. It lied.
“If I have to look at one more energy bill,” I groan, dragging a hand over my face, “I think I might actually lose my fucking mind. Go off-grid and live in the mountains.”
Veronica snorts from somewhere beneath the pile of paperwork surrounding her.
“Bitch, you have no idea. I now know far more about Patrick’s medical history than any human being should. Did you know the man had a gnarly case of the clap back in the nineties?”
Revulsion crawls up my throat and I clap both hands over my ears.
“Nope. Absolutely not. There are some things I’d prefer not knowing, thank you Veronica Rocket Carlisle!”
Veronica’s eyes widen in absolute horror.
“Oh my God, you bitch! I told you that in confidence!”
“And I said it confidently!”
“Traitor!” she shrieks, throwing a cushion at my head. Absolutely it was deserved. I barely manage to stifle a laugh.
“Wait…” Bronte breathes out, a grin spreading across her face. “Your middle name is Rocket? Oh that’s incredible!” I can’t keep it in any longer. Both Bronte and I dissolve into hysterical laughter. Not because it’s a bad name, it isn’t. But because Veronica despises it.
“I hate both of you.”
“Please…” Bronte wheezes between fits of laughter. “How does one happen upon a name as unique as Rocket and decide that this beautiful little baby would be the perfect candidate for such a perfect name?”
“She was destined for greatness,” I say with a solemn nod.
“She was destined for therapy,” Veronica deadpans, which only makes us laugh harder.
“Okay, cool. Alright you guys have had your fun. Keep laughing and I'll make a post about how you all piss your nests on the regular!”
After a beat, once we’ve managed to wipe the tears from our eyes, Bronte collapses back onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling with a dramatic sigh.
“So, where did it come from?”
Veronica pinches the bridge of her nose.
She had told me a little about her past before getting a job on the team, but nothing deep enough that would explain why she was on her own at such a young age.
I hadn’t questioned it, not wanting to pry into business that was not my own.
I figured she’d tell me one day if she wanted to.
“My parents were always high. I’m just grateful it isn’t worse.” She shrugs. “It could have been Moonbeam or Sparkplug.” She points an accusing finger at both of us. “I hate this conversation.”
“You know,” Bronte says, pushing herself up onto one elbow to look at our best friend. “Veronica Rocket is like the ultimate stage name!” Veronica narrows her eyes. “Oh my God! Yes. If ever you decide to change occupations, girl. Ronnie Rocket is fantastic!”
“I’m begging you,” Veronica groans. “Please stop talking.”
“I’m not talking! I’m branding!”
“If it helps, my middle name is Constance,” Bronte admits, looking a little sheepish.
“Okay. Yeah. I can see that.”
“Wait. See what?” Bronte frowns, looking between the two of us, before fixing her questioning gaze on Veronica.
“You’re a constant pain in the ass.”
I snort so hard it nearly chokes me. Bronte stares at us for a beat before clutching dramatically at her chest.
“I deserved that, so I’ll let it go. But you’re buying dinner.”
I needed this.
And a part of me knows they knew it. Neither of them had pushed me to talk about how heavy today was.
They hadn’t offered empty platitudes or tried to convince me everything would be okay.
Instead, they’d done what they always did.
They’d found a way to make me laugh. For a little while, the boxes surrounding us, the heaviness of this whole ordeal, the weight of everything we’d uncovered and what we didn’t, they’ve managed to make this situation better somehow. Less suffocating. Easier to carry.
My joints complain as I climb to my feet, my body demanding I fold myself back into the pretzel shape it’d been trapped in all afternoon. “I mean. I wouldn’t say no to a hamburger.”
Bronte stands, a lot quicker than I did, brushing the dirt from her clothes.
“You and your burgers. Alright, fine. But I’m getting a Kebab.”
The shrill sound of my phone ringing tears me away from the contract that has become so painfully uninteresting that I have been reading the same paragraph for the better part of five minutes without absorbing a single word.
I frown when I glance down at the assistant manager of the Cardinals’ caller ID.
I don’t answer it straight away. Instead, I just watch it vibrate against my desk, its persistent buzzing filling the otherwise quiet room, for a few seconds before finally picking it up.
“Lennon speaking.”
“Miss Gilmore, it's Clive Roberts, how are you?”
I almost scoff at the question. Really, Clive?
How the fuck do you think I am doing? Instead of being a smart ass like I really wish I could, I slip effortlessly into the polished businesswoman persona that years of meetings and negotiations have taught me to wear, feigning a professionalism I have absolutely no desire to offer him.
What I really want to do is to tell this spineless cunt exactly what I think of him, along with every ounce of cowardice he displayed during the months my legitimacy as Patrick’s heir was dragged through the mud while he stood back and watched it happen.
“Fantastic,” I reply, not wanting to give him anything else.
“That’s great. Yeah. So anyway, the reason for my call, Lennon…
” he trails off, searching for the right words, which only tells me that whatever it might be is only going to piss me off.
“I’ll be honest with you. Things have been…
rather bleak back here. Ratings have dramatically dropped in the months since you left.
The team has been struggling to develop any kind of consistency.
We’ve had a considerable amount of memberships canceled.
In other words, everything’s gone to shit since the verdict of your inheritance was handed down. ”
Clive scoffs bitterly. As if he can’t possibly believe that bystanders and staff that witnessed my very public demise would sit still and allow it to happen.
I didn’t expect the reaction, by any means, but if the situation were reversed, and I watched someone denied what they had worked so hard for, I’d walk away, too.
I wouldn’t have any faith in the club anymore.
How would I know I could trust them after the lack of support they gave me when I packed my things and left.
I didn’t have a choice, but they did, and I won’t forget it. Not ever.
“The board and I made a mistake when we chose to let you go,” he continues, and while it’s rather thrilling hearing him grasp at the straws he chewed up and spat out, I can’t help but feel disappointed in hearing it.
I love everything about the Vadena Cardinals. They’re just as much a part of me as anything else I’ve loved, more actually, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over that kind of loss.
“We’ve been blinded by the murmurings of the press, as you can imagine, and the pressure that was put on you wasn’t anything we expected.”
Please.
What else did he think would happen? The minute there’s a scandal, the masses flock to it like flies on a pile of shit and no matter how much damage control there is, there’s no stopping it.
Once people have made up their minds about you or the situation, it’s always going to be a shitshow in the media.
My life was on full display to the masses before I had time to even process the grief of being told my father wasn’t even my real dad.
But I knew that level of scrutiny came with the job.
I was prepared for it. Well, about as prepared as you can be.
But I wasn’t prepared for corporate to turn their backs on me quicker than I could blink after they’d told me the news.
“We should have trusted in what Patrick had determined from the moment the Will was read. No matter what claims that were made, you were—are—a Gilmore and that is what should have been upheld.”
I shake my head, a spike of anger in my chest at his empty words.
Because that is all they are. Empty. Maybe if this had been said months ago, it might have made me feel something more.
When I stood in that boardroom filled with Alphas, watching the life I had always known fade away from my grasp in real time, that’s when he should have said it.
Was Patrick a good guy? No. I’ve learned this, not that it was an easy pill to swallow.
I’ve put people behind bars for much less than he did.
But to learn I was all alone in this world, and that the only family I had was a total stranger to me at the time while I was being exiled, that’s when I knew that whatever was said after the fact, wouldn’t matter.
Because I saw who they really were that day.
Clive didn’t care for me, or at the very least, what I had been going through in such a short span of time while still coaching the team.
He only cared about himself and his pockets, pulling the proverbial rug out from underneath the Omega, and sending me backwards to a place I refused to visit, but had no option but to go.
The place where I realize I am alone in this.
I would never get to know the life I began to believe was made for me because he didn’t defend me when he should have.