4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Thea
“ F uck. Did they ever throw anything away?” Brooks whines as we go through the boxes from the attic at Owen and Hazel’s house. He’s been full of surprises in the days since the funeral with how unguarded and open he’s been. I was stunned when I got his message this morning asking if I’d help at the house. He said he wants to clean it up, do some renovations, and put it up for sale. There are too many memories here to keep it. I don’t blame him for making the decision to sell. It’ll be sad to see someone else moving in, but it’s sad just being here without Owen and Hazel anyway.
“Do you remember how much shit we had to go through before we started the work on the diner? I love your mother dearly, but the woman was a true pack-rat.”
“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” he quips back, both of us chuckling at the memory of her reaction anytime someone mentioned throwing something “sentimental” out. It didn’t matter what it was or how long it’d been since she’d seen it last, if it had any memory connected to it, she called it sentimental. As one can imagine, that meant everything was “sentimental” and nothing was ever thrown out. I miss them so much, but it’s nice to feel something other than grief-stricken when I think about them.
“Hey, umm…” Brooks clears his throat and shuffles from foot to foot. His hand comes up and scratches the back of his neck as he says, “I’m going to do right by RED… and you, okay? I know I haven’t been the most responsible—or even reliable—person in the past, but… I just promise I won’t run shit into the ground. I want you to know that.”
I’m stunned silent by his declaration. Clearly, he isn’t ignorant to the fact that it’s hard for anyone to take him seriously based on his past actions and reputation, but I guess he’s going to use this tragedy as an opportunity to step up, and that means the world to me.
I meet his eyes as I say, “Thank you, I really appreciate that.”
We settle into a comfortable silence, neither of us saying anything more. We continue to fill trash bags with things we can either donate or throw away. Every once in a while, we’ll ask each other for an opinion on something if we aren’t sure which pile to put it in. It’s the calmest I’ve felt in days.
Going through Owen and Hazel’s things, though heartbreaking, is bringing back some fond memories. I’m comforted remembering all of the moments we shared. And I’m able to turn off my brain a little with the physical labor of sorting and tossing.
I’m touched Brooks asked me to be here. Carrington is in town, but he still reached out to me for help with this. The thought forms a lump in my throat. This family means so much to me. Losing Carrington felt catastrophic, but finding the Grants and Brooks again after the fallout felt like kismet. Now we’ve lost them, and everything feels bleak again.
I stretch my arms over my head to pop my back when I catch Brooks looking in my direction. “What?” I ask, confused by the musing look on his face.
“Nothing, you just… well, I’m just glad. You seem happy.” His words catch me off-guard, and I make a weird choked sound before finding my words.
“I—what? I seem happy? Right now? In the wake of… everything that’s happened?”
“Oh. Shit. No, sorry. I just mean with Rip. You two seem happy together.” He brushes his fingers over his short hair, his nerves showing. He typically keeps his hair buzzed short, but hasn’t touched it up in over a week now, so it’s longer than usual.
“You do realize how fucking random that was?” I throw a wad of the newspaper we’ve been using to pack up the things he’s keeping.
He throws his hands up in front of his face to block it from hitting him before speaking again. “Not really. I spent all day at the funeral watching him dote on you and make sure you were okay. I guess I hadn’t realized before how serious you two are since you keep it professional at work.”
I busy my hands by closing up the trash bag beside me, refusing to make eye contact with him. “Oh, right. Yeah, uh, I guess so,” I tumble over my words as I try not to sound too awkward.
He chuckles then says, “Just makes me realize how we never would have worked out even if you had given me a chance.” I look over and catch his lips quirk up teasingly.
My cheeks heat, and I cover them with my hands to make them stop. I’m still embarrassed by how I handled that whole situation. “Oh my God, stop. I’ve apologized so many times for that! You’re basically my older brother. Besides, you never liked me like that anyway,” I grumble back to him.
He brings his hand to his heart as he dramatically says, “Jilted by the one and only Thea Ashford who wouldn’t even grace me with a pity kiss. I don’t know how I survived.”
I’m full on covering my face now as I try to keep my laughter from bubbling out. We’d gone on a whole two dates, both uncomfortable and amazingly awkward.
The people of this small town always seem to be trying their hand at matchmaking until things end disastrously. Then they all act like they never suggested the pairing in the first place.
They’d spent a whole year after I got back from Seattle asking me what happened with Carrington and if we’d reconcile. Then, suddenly, everyone moved on to shipping me with his brother and started badgering me to “give him a chance.” Ms. Lucille down at the bank had even gone as far as commenting on what beautiful babies we’d make together. I shouldn’t have let them talk me into something I knew wouldn’t work, but I figured if I gave in and tried, showed them it was a terrible idea, they’d leave me alone. Which is exactly what happened… after I leaned away when Brooks went in for a kiss on a very public dance floor. He’s never let me forget it.
I stand up and grab the two full trash bags beside me before rolling my eyes in his direction. “You managed just fine, don’t pretend like you didn’t. Both Nat and Tiffany have shared way too many details with me. I really wish you’d stop sleeping with the women who work at RED.” I shudder and cringe at the memory of the stories I’ve heard about Brooks in less than appropriate situations.
The moment I turn around to leave the room with the bags, I see Carrington standing silently in the doorway. Immediately, I wonder how long he’s been standing there and what he may have overheard. His face looks more like Brooks’ than his own with the angry expression painted across his features giving me all the answers I need. I don’t hesitate another moment before walking out of the room, pushing past him without saying a word.
Air . I need air. Every encounter with him is filled with so much tension that it steals all the oxygen from the room. The weight of his gaze is like a physical thing—it’s suffocating.
I set the two bags on the sidewalk beside the mailbox for trash pickup then lift my face to the sun, letting it give me the strength to deal with whatever comes next back inside the house. My eyes are closed as I soak it in for just a moment longer before taking a deep breath, releasing all the tension in my body.
“Excuse me?” I jump at the sudden voice coming from a man I’m not familiar with standing right beside me.
When the fuck did he get here?
“Y-yes?” my voice cracks as I try to slow my heart rate.
“I’m sorry to startle you, darlin’. My name is James Elsher. I’m looking for the Grant boys and Ms. Thea Ashford. I’ve tried calling the number I have on file which is for a restaurant without success. This is my next attempt to contact them.” His voice is warm with Southern charm, but he must notice the shock on my face because he hurries to add, “I’m the executor of Hazel and Owen Grant’s will, I just—”
“Right, of course. Let me introduce you to Carrington and Brooks so you can handle that privately with them,” I cut him off before he can say any more, motioning toward the house.
“Thank you, Miss…” his voice trails off, allowing me the opportunity to fill in the blank for him.
“Ashford, actually. I’m Thea.” I turn and start to walk toward the front door when he stops me with a hand on my arm.
“Oh, I actually need to speak to all three of you, if that’s alright,” he says calmly.
The confusion must be evident in my face because he starts shuffling through his papers like he’s checking to make sure he isn’t mistaken in the matter. I glance over at the house to see Carrington and Brooks standing in the open doorway staring at me and the stranger with matching expressions I can’t place. It looks like protectiveness, but that can’t be right, not from Carrington at least. I haven’t seen that look on his face in years now. Possibly since high school.
“Yes, yes, right here. Thea Carina Ashford. That is your full name, correct?”
“I—yeah, yes, it is. Let me… get them. Do we—is it done here? Now? Or…” I let my voice trail off with my uncertainty. I don’t know anything about wills or how this is handled, and I’m still stunned by his sudden appearance that my thoughts aren’t translating into coherent words.
“No, no, darlin’. We can handle this at my office,” he says as he hands me his card. “It’s in Southbury, if you don’t mind making the drive. I just figure since you’re all three in town currently, this may be the best time.”
I can only assume I’m needed because the restaurant I consider my second home is about to switch hands just as we thought it would.
Despite asking for my help, it’s possible Brooks will destroy RED if the mood strikes him. Carrington will sell it without batting an eye. I won’t be able to win with the two of them. I don’t think I have enough money to buy it from them. All the what-ifs spiral in my head as it finally becomes real that it’s no longer something I can call mine. Mr. Elsher tilts his head down to meet my eyes, my internal struggle must be apparent from the concerned look on his face.
“Ms. Ashford? Would that be okay?” His voice is soft. This is his job, I’m sure he’s had this exact conversation many times. He’s probably watched countless bereaved loved ones try to make sense of the situations they’re left in.
All I can do is nod my head as my fingers find my rings and start twisting them around, letting them ground me enough to take a full breath. They’re all yellow-gold, my favorite. Some of them I’ve had for years, some are new. I never tell anyone this, but a couple of them are from Carrington. I usually don at least one on every finger, and I rotate them out so I’m able to wear them all. Or well, all but one.
There’s exactly one ring I never wear anymore. It’s simple, just a single band with a lemon wedge. I haven’t worn it in years, but I know precisely where it is. I could save it in a fire—and I would. I just won’t wear it. Not anymore.
He places his hand on top of mine causing me to meet his eyes. “I am so sorry for your loss, dear.” Again, all I can bring myself to do is nod as a small sob breaks loose. The first one today. I bring my hand to my lips to keep it from turning into more as he walks away.
It’s not until Carrington and Brooks are walking toward me that I start to wonder how to explain we’re all needed at this meeting.
Carrington is still at least six feet away when he starts speaking to me.
“Who was that?” he says as his eyes meet mine.
I hold the card out for him to take so he can read it for himself. “Your parents had a will. That was their executor. He wants us to meet him at his office for the reading of the will.”
Carrington’s eyes don’t leave mine as he says, “Today?”
“Yes. Now.” I finally break eye contact to look over at Brooks who hasn’t taken his eyes off of the car Mr. Elsher drove off in.
I don’t wait for either of them to say anything else as I start toward my own car. “I’ll meet you there.” I ignore Carrington as he says my name, knowing there is nothing left to say. This isn’t something I know how to deal with or maneuver. There’s no manual for how to handle seeing your ex-boyfriend after almost a decade because his parents, who you were closer to than he was, died. So, I’m choosing not to. I’m choosing to walk away and drive to the next situation I have no fucking clue how to handle.
I walk into Mr. Elsher’s office to see three chairs lined up in front of his desk. He’s sorting through the piles of paperwork strewn in front of him, so it takes a moment before he realizes I’m even here. His desk is covered in documents and file folders that don’t seem to be in any sort of order, and I wonder how he manages to work at a desk that’s so disorganized.
“Ah, Ms. Ashford, please, take a seat. I presume the Grants are on their way?” he says as he stands up to lean over his desk and shake my hand. The folder he’s holding slips from under his elbow as he extends his hand to me, the papers inside falling to his desk and the floor. He makes a grumbled sound before picking them all up and shuffling them back together.
A lump forms in my throat at the phrase the Grants . I’m so used to the phrase referring to Hazel and Owen that it hits me out of nowhere. He must realize I haven’t answered, so he raises his gaze to find mine, and I just nod. For someone who usually can’t shut up in stressful or awkward situations, I’m finding it hard to speak to the man in front of me. This is all too surreal.
I sit in the chair closest to the window, furthest from the door, setting my purse down beside me as I wait for Carrington and Brooks to arrive. My leg bounces uncontrollably. I’m already chewing on my bottom lip as Mr. Elsher greets them a few minutes later.
Carrington sits in the middle chair—right beside me, so close I can feel the heat from his arm on mine—leaving the chair closest to the door for Brooks. Not that he sits down in it. He leans up against the door frame, his hands deep in his pockets with a look on his face that says he’s ready to burn the whole world down. Clearly his mood has taken a downturn since I saw him thirty minutes ago.
“I know this is a tough time for you all, but I find it’s easiest to handle these things as soon as possible. So, let’s get started, shall we?” Elsher’s voice is still comforting, but it’s imbued with an authoritative undertone like he’s switched into business mode.
None of us speaks, but we all nod in agreement.
“In the interest of time, I’ll skip over the legal jargon and just get to the meat and potatoes. Per the will of Owen and Hazel Grant, they left the balance of their personal bank accounts, savings, and their residential property and all personal belongings, including personal vehicles, located at 358 South Windsor Avenue, Indigo Hill, South Carolina to Hugh Brooks Grant.” He raises his gaze to the three of us as his words settle in the space around us. I don’t know what he’s expecting. Maybe people get mad or upset once they find out what’s left to whom. This isn’t unexpected. There’s no reason for them to leave their house to anyone other than Brooks. We already knew this would be the case.
Mr. Elsher must realize there won’t be any backlash on the matter because he clears his throat, looks back down at the papers, and continues.
“Per the will of Owen and Hazel Grant, ownership and all rights to Ripple Effect Distillery and Restaurant, the land it sits on, and all business bank account balances are to be split between Carrington Dillon Grant and Thea Carina Ashford. Carrington will retain fifty-one percent of the business and all accompanying property, and Thea will own the other forty-nine percent.”
The second the words leave his mouth, my whole world comes to a crashing halt. I’m not entirely sure I heard him correctly. I feel my pulse all the way in my cheeks, as the air in the entire room shifts.
Before I even have a moment to figure out why, I look over to realize Brooks must have come closer once Mr. Elsher started speaking. He’s got his hands braced on the back of the empty chair. His face is flushed a violent shade of red, and he’s brimming with anger like I’ve never seen before. Suddenly, he erupts, shoving the chair to the ground. “This is fucking bullshit,” he spits out as he storms out of the office. I get up to go after him, but Carrington gently grabs my arm and pulls me back down to my seat. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares right into my eyes, but I can’t read his face. I have no idea what he’s feeling. He must be angry too, right? He just doesn’t show emotions like Brooks does.
He turns to Mr. Elsher, his searing touch still on my arm, my leg still bouncing with anxiety, as he says, “Thank you, Mr. Elsher. I apologize for my brother, this is difficult for him, but we greatly appreciate your time. Is there something we need to do now? Something we need to sign?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mr. Elsher nod his head as he thumbs through his papers looking for the one he needs. “Yes. Yes, you do. I have it right here, one moment.”
The room starts to spin as I wait for him to tell us what we need to do next. “Ah, here we go,” he says, laying the papers in front of us. He then shuffles the stacks of paper on his desk, pulling pens from underneath with a triumphant hum. “I’ll need you both to sign on the line under your names. Once this is done, I’ll start the deed transfer process. It generally takes a week or two and will need another signature to finalize it before the property transfer is official.”
He sounds so matter-of-fact, like this is just another day, another business transaction. He’s using such clinical words like ‘property’ and ‘process’ as if the last twenty minutes didn’t set my whole life ablaze.
I never thought RED would be mine. I thought losing it was inevitable. Losing what I’ve worked so hard for over the last three years entirely was one thing, but losing it in this way will hurt even more. Partial ownership gives me a sliver of hope for RED’s future that I know I shouldn’t hold on to. I may own forty-nine percent, but there’s no way Carrington will carry out our plans; he’ll probably sell it the moment he has the deed in hand. I won’t get a say. I’ll be forced to watch him do with it whatever he pleases.
The way Mr. Elsher delivered the news made it seem like this was something we expected and went into with eyes wide open. He knew Owen and Hazel—how well is unclear—but he knew them and their wishes. He doesn’t know us or the complicated history we have. He doesn’t realize that none of us predicted this. Mr. Elsher has no idea he just turned our lives upside down—or at least mine. Carrington doesn’t seem fazed at all which shouldn’t come as a surprise to me.
The moment we’ve both finished signing on our allocated lines, Carrington stands up and fixes the chair Brooks knocked over. He then reaches over to gently pull me up, but quickly drops my arm, turning and walking out of the room. I look down at the place his hand just held—I can still feel it like a phantom touch.
I let out a deep, shaky breath, feeling like I’ve been holding it in since Mr. Elsher said my name outside of the Grant house. “Thank you,” I say as I reach down to grab my purse.
“Could you please ask—” he looks down at the papers on his desk, “Hugh to call the office? There are some documents for him to sign as well with regards to the house.”
I nod. Everything feels like a haze as I walk toward the door that leads outside. I don’t see Carrington or Brooks anywhere, so I start to panic. I take a deep breath trying to get my nerves under control, but I’m shaking from the shock. There’s no way I can drive myself home, and the last thing I want right now is to be around the Grant brothers. I pull out my phone and scroll to Ripley’s name, typing out a message to him.
Me: I need you, can you come pick me up?
Ripley: Yeah, of course. Where are you?
Me: Southbury. I’ll explain when you get here, I’m sending you a pin.
Ripley: Okay. Be there soon.
How am I supposed to feel about this? I never expected them to leave RED to me but to leave it to us both with Carrington having the majority stake? What the fuck were they thinking? How did they think this would work? After years of fighting for what I wanted, years of waiting for my career dreams to come true, they finally did with RED.
Now, the person I broke so he could keep his dream just got handed the keys to mine on a silver fucking platter.