Chapter 36 Andrew
A shrill sound cuts through my pounding head, dragging me from a haze of deep sleep. My phone vibrates insistently on the nightstand, and with a groan, I reach out, squinting as the harsh light pierces my eyes.
“Damn it,” I mutter, memories of last night flashing by in snippets—the whiskey, the bitter words spilling from my mouth, Daniel seeing me unravelling.
My father’s voice crackles through the phone, jolting me further awake. “I heard Ace is gone?”
For a second, the words don’t land, then the reality crashes down, flooding me with that sick weight in my stomach.
“Yes,” I manage, voice raw. “He’s gone.”
A pause stretches between us. “Come by the house. We need to talk.”
I rub my face. “Yeah, I’ll stop by.”
I toss the phone aside, groaning as I sit up, my skull feeling like it’s trying to split itself open. The faint sounds of scratching at the door echo from the hallway.
Bruno and Bear are probably hungry and eager to start the day, blissfully unaware of the mess their human has made of his life.
I force myself up, dragging my feet over to the door. They rush past me, tails wagging, bouncing around my legs. I head downstairs to the kitchen, grab their bowls and fill them with food. After they’ve eaten their fill, Iopen the backdoor, letting them bound out into the morning sun – all of it on autopilot.
I make my way to the shower. The cold spray hits like needles, and for a second, it’s torture. But slowly, it works. The fog in my mind lifts a little, though it doesn’t wash away the regret coiled inside me.
Why the fuck did I drink so much last night? It solved fuck all.
I grip the sides of the shower, remembering the words I threw around last night, my anger unraveling like a thread I’d lost control over .
After dressing and grabbing my keys, I head out, steering toward my parents’ house in a fog that’s half hangover, half emotional numbness.
I feel like an old man as I park my car and amble to the front door. My mother greets me at the door, her face drawn and eyes rimmed with red.
She gives me a quiet hug, and together we walk into the living room where my father is waiting, seated with his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
I take a seat across from them, the silence heavy and expectant. My mother’s gaze searches my face. I know they have as many questions as I did.
“So, what happened?” my father finally prompts, his voice low and serious.
I swallow, and the words spill out—how Emily’s father had been in a coma all this time, how she’d kept it from me, from everyone, pretending he was simply off traveling.
I lay it all out, every lie, every moment of deception.
My father nods slowly, absorbing it all, and then he speaks with that familiar, pragmatic tone. “Well, this doesn’t change anything as far as our partnership is concerned.”
I nod, relief that we’re talking business. I’m too drained for anything else. “I agree,” I say.
My mother breaks in, her voice trembling. “But why didn’t Emily tell us? Tell you, Andrew? You’re her husband.”
“I’ve been asking myself that question since yesterday,” I say, the anger a dull ache now.
My father sighs, looking as if he’s working through a puzzle. “Maybe she was worried about how it would impact the company’s reputation. I imagine keeping it quiet seemed like the safest choice for her.”
My mother’s brow furrows, and she glances over at me, pain in her eyes. “Didn’t you suspect something was going on? That’s a huge secret to hide and you lived with her Andrew. ”
There’s an accusing tone in my mother’s tone. I don’t blame her. I’ve gone through everything with a fine toothcomb, but, the truth is that Emily was very clever.
She showed no signs of keeping secrets. She seemed open with me and honest. As for going to her parents’ home so often, I chalked it up to them being close. After all, she’s the only child.
I shake my head, my chest tight. “I was in the dark too. Found out yesterday when she got that call to go to the hospital.”
There’s a pause, and then my father speaks up. “We have to keep moving, keep building momentum from the launch.
“This could be a turning point for the company—take advantage of these wins while we have them. How far along are you with the Lakeside Riviera project?”
I’m about to answer when my mother interjects, horrified. “You can’t be thinking about business right now. Emily just lost her father, for heaven’s sake.”
My heart hardens. Emily herself felt no qualms about lying to me. For months.
“No,” I say firmly, ignoring the flicker of my mother’s protest. “Father’s right. This is business. That’s all there is now.” I turn to my father. “I’ll go forward with the renovations, make sure Lakeside gets the same treatment as Army Base.”
“Good,” my father says, satisfaction in his voice.
With that, I leave the house, heading straight for the Riviera.
As I step into the building, a somber atmosphere greets me. Phones ring incessantly, and the staff’s usual chatter is subdued, everyone restrained in light of the news.
Half an hour later, Catherine knocks lightly on my office door, and steps in, a file under her arm.
“The press are asking for a statement, sir,” she says, her voice hesitant. “What should we tell them? ”
I close the records I’ve been reviewing. “That’s Emily’s call,” I say, trying to keep my tone even, though just the thought of her sends a mix of emotions surging through me.
Catherine nods but shifts uncomfortably. “The thing is, there are rumors circulating. Speculation that Mr. Young had been in a coma for months.”
I let out a sigh, pressing my fingers to my temples. “I’ll get a hold of Emily and let you know.”
I pick up my phone, scrolling to her contact, and hit call. It rings twice before her voice comes on the line. Just hearing her voice sounding fragile and lost, tugs at something deep in me, but I push the feeling aside.
“The press is all over this,” I say after we’ve exchanged politely painful pleasantries. “What information do you want to give them?”
There’s a pause on her end. “I don’t know,” she whispers. I can almost hear the struggle in her voice. “When will I see you? Will you come over?”
Her question hits me hard. I can feel her waiting on the other end, the silence stretching between us, thick with everything left unsaid.
“I can’t, Emily.” The words leave me before I can second-guess them.
Another pause, then, “I understand,” she says, her voice barely audible.
We disconnect the call, but I’m left with a strange ache, one I can’t quite shake. She sounds so lost, so vulnerable, but then again, she’s the same woman who lied to me, deceived me about something monumental.
I remind myself of that, forcing myself to remember why I need distance.
I sit back in my chair, staring at the phone in my hand, fighting the temptation to call her back. No. This is where I draw the line.
Instead, I type up a statement for the media, something neutral but respectful .
Ace Young has been ailing for some time. At this moment, the family is asking for privacy as they cope with their loss.
I read it over a few times, ensuring it’s precise and leaves nothing more to be questioned. Once satisfied, I call Catherine.
She enters, and I hand her the draft. “Use this for the statement,” I say, keeping my voice even.
Catherine glances at the words, nodding slowly. “Thank you, sir. It’s such a shock for everyone in the company.” She looks up, her expression one of genuine concern. “I can only imagine what it must be like for you.”
If only she knew. This is just as big a shock for me as it is for everyone else, maybe more. I nod, dismissing her as she leaves with the statement.
Sitting back, confliction whirls in my mind. Emily’s voice haunts me. She sounded so broken. All my instincts are screaming that I should go to her.
But in doing do, won’t I also be lying? Best thing is to keep my distance. I’ll attend the funeral service, but not as Emily’s husband. That part of our life is over.