Chapter 4
Thane – POV?
I think I should be alarmed at how easy it was to walk away from everything, but I wasn’t.
In fact, it was a relief to be rid of the constant tug-a-war that I have lived with for the past two decades in various cities, trying to keep up appearances and dodge the manipulative undercurrents of the elitist.
I probably would still be drowning in that toxic environment if not for the scandal that nearly ruined my career. My assistant, Sarah, someone I considered a friend, spread false rumors that blackballed me from the community, tarnished my name and reputation.
Although, I couldn’t prove why she started ruining my career, I knew it was because I repeatedly turned her down.
In the beginning, I dismissed the lingering touches, the invasion of personal space, the whispered words, yet I always made sure we were never alone, and I didn’t cross the line, so when she offered to stay late and help with a project, I shut her down gently … at first.
Then she became more blatant, more vocal about her pursuit that I had to have a meeting with her and HR.
When I had called her into my office, a part of me regretted not giving her a heads up that it was a meeting with HR, however, when she walked in with her red silk blouse unbutton to show off an indecent amount of skin, holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a pair of glasses in another,
it helped proved that I wasn’t the one pursuing a relationship.
When she saw Katherine Price, head of the HR department along with Yara Callahan, her assistant, standing in my office shocked by her outrageous behavior, she began singing a different tune.
How I was a monster that stole her ideas, that I was abusing her emotionally and was pushing for a sexual relationship.
That I should be the one fired.
It went nowhere. She was escorted out by Ms. Callahan and four security guards, who told me she went crazy, screaming at the top of her lungs about being mistreated.
However, it wasn’t long before she went to the papers and blew up the social media platforms with false accusations that I had used my authoritative position to force her to design plans that I stole and used for my gain.
That it was her blueprints that I used to win numerous awards and accolades, that I used her designs as the basis for my own and that I should give her compensation for years – years! – of hard work.
I took her ass to court and won. I had solid proof that I was responsible for the success of my career, that I was the one who put in the hard work, the blood, sweat and tears into every creation and despite her claims had been doing so for years before she was even in the picture.
Unfortunately, the damage was done. Rich, snotty bastards didn’t want a man who had a smudge on his name, his reputation, to build their extravagant homes, especially when I charged a premium to ensure their house was a top of the line, eco-friendly home that was a perfect blend of nature,
amenities and luxury.
So, here I am, the prodigal son returned, with my tail between my legs and resentment the size of Everest growing in my stomach. I have retreated to one of the many properties my family owns on Mt Happily After and for the last two years have become a shut-in of sorts.
I still go into town, still visit my family and the handful of friends I have, but I don’t go out of my way to be polite, to be nice when in the end it is all for nothing.
The people will believe whatever they want, the more ridiculous, the more outrageous the better, no matter if it ruins people’s lives, so I have stopped trying to be the picture-perfect person.
Most of the older members of the town know me, since I grew up here in Once Again and my family has lived generations here.
The Barrows name was as close to royalty as one could get in a small town, but over the years that I had been away, the sleepy, little town had grown and many of the new comers didn’t know me.
So, when I come into town, they all give me space, carefully moving to the other side of the street, or ducking into stores as I pass by.
Now that I think about it, maybe I have taken the whole ‘grumpy recluse’ thing too far, because I don’t bother correcting people, I don’t smile and wave at everyone like others do.
I just silently go about my business, ignoring people, so when I passed the bakery and see a tiny little human standing in the way, I’m confused.
Again, most people disappear when I show up, and not that I notice others, I am familiar with most faces, yet this little girl was new.
We end up staring at one another for an unreasonably long time.
She was cute, in a chubby little kid’s way.
Her dirty blonde hair was a messy riot around her face that had what I hoped was a chocolate streak across her chin.
Her clothes were simple, just a long sparkly pink t-shirt with a unicorn on it and black shorts with white tennis shoes.
Nothing designer about her outfit and nothing any of my clients would have put their children in, but for once someone dressed a kid to actually look like a kid.
I looked back at her face and noticed her eyebrows were scrunched over her eyes that shifted from honey to a green color, her lips pursed like she was thinking something.
I hated to admit it, but I felt my mouth quirk in a smile.
She really was a cute kid.
Before I could say or do anything, whatever she was thinking went off like a light bulb, because she raised her hand, pointed a tiny finger at me and screamed, “bear!”
Just like that. No warning, no indication that she was going to cause attention, just blurted it out like it was normal.
“You’re a great big bear!” she said happily, like she solved a mystery.
I raised my eyebrow and knelt down at her level. It didn’t matter, even kneeling I towered over her. “If I’m a bear, then you are a troll.”
At her shocked gasp, I realized what I said.
Jesus. I have been reduced to talking to a kid this way! What the hell is wrong with me?
I was preparing myself for her to start crying, maybe run away from the mean man, but no. She dropped her bag to the ground, squealed and ran towards me, her arms opened wide.
“A troll! Like Poppy!”
Stunned, I sat there stooped on the ground with her little body in between my knees, hands patting my arms. “You think I’s like Poppy! I’s so happy.”
“Ava!”
I jerked my head up at the sound of a woman slamming through the door. A beautiful woman with long brown hair, deep chocolate eyes and curves for days.
“Coco, Coco,” the little girl sprinted away. “The big bear said I’s like Poppy!”
I slowly stood up, watching the woman try and figure out what the little troll was talking about.
“Bear?” She whispered, those dark brown eyes drifted over me, taking me in from head to toe. “He said you’re like Poppy?”
“No, he said I’s a troll.”
The woman’s eyes widened, then narrowed on me. “What?”
“Yeah, but Poppy a troll.”
She turned her whole body to square off against me, and I had to admit, I liked the view.
“You called a four-year-old a troll?”
I held up my hands, “in my defense, she called me a big bear.” Jesus, this was all so ridiculous.
The woman named Coco shook head and turned towards the kid. “Ava baby, get your bag, please.”
She calmly waited for the girl to gather her bag, before she knelt down. “I would like for you to apologize to the man.”
“But why?”
“Because we don’t go around calling people names.”
“But he looks like a bear,” she whined, her lip trembling, “he…”
“Ava.”
I felt awful. She didn’t mean anything by it, and if she did, who cares, she was just a little kid. I was about to say that it was not necessary but, the little girl, Ava, turned to me with wide, wet eyes.
“I’s sorry, Mr. Bear.”
Before I could say anything, she burst into tears and ran back to the woman, who scooped her up and started to walk away.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Coco.”
“Hmm.”
“He looks big and strong … just like a bear,” she cried.
“Even still, we need to be respectful to others, and they may not like being called a bear… even if he does look like one.”
I watched as they moved down the street, their voices echoing, until they disappeared from sight. My body frozen as I replayed the last few minutes.
Was this the person I had become? Someone that spoke to a kid like that? A man that made others feel like they had to apologize for something so inconsequential to the point it made them cry.
Granted, I wasn’t making fun of the girl - Ava. She really did look like a troll with her crazy mop of hair going in every direction and her face smeared with chocolate but was it necessary? No, no it wasn’t.
Fuck! This is not who or what I wanted to be.
Disgusted with myself, I went inside Sugar-Candy Bakery and grabbed my mother’s standing order of cookies and cake before I got in my truck and continued on to my parents’ place.
Every Wednesday and Sunday, she insisted that all of her children come over for dinner and if one of us missed it, we were forced to host dinner the next time.
None of us missed it.
Pulling into the parking lot of Sweet Dreams Inn, I saw that I was the last to arrive with my two brothers and sister already parked, and Hunter and his son dismounting off that bloody horse he insists on riding.
There was another truck in the lot that I didn’t recognize but brushed it off as I got out of my truck with the bags of deserts.
“Hey, Uncle T!” Ethan called out as I got closer.
“Hey there big man,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Could you do me a big favor and take this in the house for me? Grammy would be sad if she didn’t get her cookies.”
“I can do that!” he answered, then raced off inside the house.
“You, okay?”
I stared at Hunter, sighing, and I just blurted out, “outside the bakery, I called a little girl a troll, her mom got mad and made the kid apologize, which caused the kid to cry and,” I looked up at the sky, bracing my hands on the railing, “it hit me that I’m an asshole.”
It was quiet for a moment, then Hunter started laughing.
Like holding his stomach, leaned over, laughing his ass off - laughing.
“Man, if that was all it took for you to realize what a funk you have been in since you came back, I would have paid Ethan to cry in front of you a long time ago.”
I turned around and slugged him in the arm. “You would do that to your eight year old son?”
Hunter chuckled as he leaned back against the porch railing. “I’d just think of it as an investment into his future. He can cry at the drop of a hat or on queue and then go back to normal like nothing’s happened.”
“You speaking from experience?”
Hunter grinned, scratching at his stubbled chin.
“He ducked into the bakery one day, with tears in his eyes and asked for one of those delicious chocolate, fudge brownies since dad can’t cook and he was desperate for something yummy and Mrs. Stella handed it over without question.
She gave me an earful about growing boys and I should indulge him once in a while. I took him outside and didn’t know whether to tan his hide or give him a standing ovation.”
“And what did you decide to do?”
Hunter shrugged and moved towards the front door, “I ruffled his head then took a big bite of the brownie.”
I laughed and followed him inside.