22. Teddy
TEDDY
AUGUST
She looks so beautiful.
That’s the only thing I can focus on. Her being this close to me after weeks without seeing her is like drinking water after wandering in the desert, like something vital finally being poured back into me all at once.
She, however, does not look happy to see me.
Which is understandable. I’m crashing her dream vacation. Interrupting what looks like a very good time with this petite, dark-haired woman. I have no idea who she is, but she seems to know exactly who I am with the way her eyes narrow after Indie whispers something in her ear.
Indie glances back over to me, blue eyes cold, and I lift my hand in another awkward wave.
Three days ago, as I was going over the will with Stephanie—who took a red-eye—and Danielle, who conference-called into Dunk’s office, we went over Nana’s estate.
I felt my heartbeat keep a steady, but powerful, pace as Dunk explained a family history I wasn’t even aware of.
Pop’s grandfather worked in steel and owned one of the most successful mills in Indiana, which honestly felt a lot like fate. Stephanie had even nudged me with her elbow when we learned that.
The Industrial Boom, spurred by the war effort, made the Ambroses rich. They sold the mill in 1955 and retired to Florida. World War II was pretty much the only reason they clawed their way out of near-poverty during the Depression, so the Ambroses just sat on their millions.
Pop never even realized the wealth he had until his parents passed away in a car accident. He and Nana had already been married by then, and she was pregnant with my Mom.
Pop and Nana loved the way they lived, though. They were never hungry or cold; all the bills were paid; they lived in a nice house paid for by Pop’s lumber business.
There was just no excess. No fancy clothes, luxury beach houses, mansions, cars, and caviar. It was all nonsense that my blue-collar Pop and free-spirit flower child Nana wanted no part of.
But Mom apparently found out about the money, and she wanted more than what they had.
Stephanie thinks that’s what caused Mom’s rebellion, why she wanted a man like Dad, why she wanted to be pregnant with Danielle so badly.
She didn’t want to work when there was a mountain of money just out of reach.
And she tried to use me to get to it.
When Pop passed, he left everything to Nana, his heart and soul. And then, when Nana passed, Mom and my aunts were trying to delay the reading because she somehow found out that Indie was one of her beneficiaries.
Dunk said she probably figured it out when he reached out to set up a will reading, but didn’t have any of my, my sister’s, or Indie’s numbers on file.
Mom had provided him with false numbers and addresses for all of us, under the guise of being helpful.
She also told him I was mentally delicate, and he was under the impression she was trying to set up a narrative.
That I was incompetent and couldn’t be trusted with the money.
“I’ve seen it all with family,” Dunk said, folding his hands on his desk in front of him. “Money gets involved, muddies everything up, and people start forgetting about loyalty and love.”
Probably why Nana cut out every single family member besides my siblings and me.
And Indie.
Nana placed everything of hers that was priceless in a safety deposit box we were able to get from her bank with Dunk’s help. In it was everything she didn’t trust to leave at Mom’s house, and everything she was leaving to us.
And what a fucking surprise it was.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Danielle was the first to break the silence, crackling from the conference phone.
“You each get five million dollars.”
“Each,” Stephanie clarified, which Dunk nodded. “Holy shit, Nana. I knew she was sitting on something, but—holy shit, Nana.”
“And Indie?” I asked.
“Indie will receive three million dollars,” Dunk said, reading off the paperwork. “‘With two million being given to the American Cancer Society in Indiana Miller’s name.’ Eleanor said she would appreciate that.”
“She would,” I nodded, my throat tight. She devoted her life to treating patients suffering from cancer. She took care of my grandmother and gave her more time with me, with us. She’s going to be happy to hear that.
“There are also certain items you each have received,” Duke said then. “And letters she wrote for you.”
Danielle and Stephanie received a couple of items from Nana, pulled from the safety deposit box—some of her personal jewelry passed down from her parents that Stephanie and Danielle appreciated.
Then Dunk produced two boxes and placed them in front of me, along with two letters—one for me, and one for Indie.
I’m here to personally deliver them to Indie… and maybe selfishly using the excuse to see her.
Indie looks at me for a long moment before slamming back the drink in her hand and saying something to the glaring woman at the table.
My heart stutters as she stands from her table—long and tall and all breathtaking fury—and storms over to me. I stand from my seat and open my mouth to speak, to explain, when she gets the jump on me.
“Wow, fancy meeting you here,” she says, her tone dripping with faux-amazement. She sets her jaw, her eyes narrowed, and if looks could kill… well, I’d be dying a very happy death right now.
At least I’d be looking at the woman I love.
“Indie—”
“You know, it’s interesting,” she cuts in, crossing her arms. Her voice is razor sharp, and I feel each word slicing me open. “Nine hundred miles was too far away from Mommy, but four thousand is apparently just fine.”
“Indie, please listen—”
“No,” she slashes a hand between us, and it makes me snap my mouth shut. “All I’ve been doing is listening to you for the last seven months—no, you know what, even before that. And now you’re still not listening to me—what do you think goodbye means—”
“It’s about Nana,” I blurt, which makes her pause. “She had a will we didn’t know about.”
Indie studies me, searching my face like she’s looking for the lie. And that hurts, not because she’s trying to hurt me deliberately, but because I allowed the trust between us to erode so much. She doesn’t trust me anymore, and that’s fair.
I’ll earn it back. If it’s the last thing I ever do.
“And…” she asks, drawing out the word.
“And you were in it, Indie,” I say, my voice soft. A cheer goes up in the bar as someone scores on the television, before they launch into some song. I step closer to her out of necessity, raising my voice slightly. “She left you something.”
“Indie, are you alright, love?”
The woman Indie was with appears by her side, her words for Indie, but her dark eyes are glaring holes into my skull.
“I’m fine, Petra,” Indie smiles down at her, the look so devastatingly soft and fond.
God, she’s so fucking beautiful. When’s the last time I’ve seen her smile like that? Not from anything I’ve done lately, and that realization is a kick to the nuts.
Petra returns her smile before she turns back to me. It’s almost funny as she steps in front of Indie, like she’s trying to protect her, and crosses her arms. I peer down at this five-foot-nothing woman who looks me up and down like I’m shit at the bottom of her shoe.
Apt description.
“You must be the prick,” she says, accent sharp and her words cutting.
I nod easily, though, because her words are true.
“Yep, that’s me—I’m the prick,” I say, pointing to myself with my thumb. There isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in my voice as I say, “Glad my reputation precedes me.”
Indie’s lip twitches—barely—but I see it. Not softening, not at all, but just a flash of amusement. I used to say stupid stuff to rile her up, deliberately playing up my clumsiness because it made her laugh.
Then she would ramble about niche topics to help me feel better while I listened to her sweet voice, enraptured.
“Let’s talk outside,” Indie says.
“Oh, but don’t take too long, darling,” Petra purrs to Indie, wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling her cheek into Indie’s shoulder.
The heavy weight on my chest keeps me from breathing easily as that green-eyed monster settles on it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
It’s like my greatest fear being played out in front of me as Petra bites her lip, and drops her voice as if it’s a secret between the two—but she still wants me to hear.
“You said you would show me your hotel suite so we can get better acquainted.”
Petra’s dark eyes meet mine, and she smirks in victory. And my entire body burns, my fists clenching at my sides, my teeth grinding together, and my back tensing.
When we would go out to bars and men and women would look at her with interest because Indie is beautiful—that’s objectively true—but she’s also an accomplished doctor.
She’s kind, funny, and so fucking sexy it makes me stupid.
I used to think I’d had good sex in my life, with previous girlfriends who never commented negatively, or if they did, I fixed it.
Then I met Indie, and was given the right to touch her, and realized that those experiences were nothing. Less than, even.
Indie was pure sensuality, confident in bed, communicative, and told me what she liked and what she didn’t like. And that throaty, husky voice she used made me hard as steel as she guided me to her pleasure.
More than that, though. Indie was the most incredible partner, and anyone would be lucky to have her.
So I would feel proud when men and women checked her out, puffing out my chest and wrapping an arm around her waist. I’d pull her closer to me and kiss her sweetly, smiling against her soft lips.
And I would think to the people looking at Indie, yeah, go on. Look your fill, but it’ll be my head that her legs are wrapped around. It’ll be my name on her lips when she comes. It’ll be my bed she’s sleeping in.
I’m the lucky bastard she chooses to love.
My stomach burns with a jealousy I’ve never felt before, making every muscle in my body lock.
I had her.
And I allowed mistreatment that pushed her away.