Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
gunner
N inety minutes later, i’m still fuming when I arrive at the WinStar Casino near the Texas-Oklahoma border.
The casino manager was kind enough to put my father up in one of their hotel rooms. I pay the bill and give him a ten-thousand-dollar tip, a reward for his discretion. He thanks me profusely and promises to alert me right away if my wayward old man ever shows up again.
When I reach the room, I find dear old dad sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He looks so pathetic that my gut curdles in shame and disgust.
As I enter the room, he glances up and smiles feebly in my direction. “Hey there, son. They told me you were comin’ for me.” His East Texas drawl is always more pronounced when he’s drunk. “Looks like I fell off the wagon again.”
“No shit.” I shake my head at him. “Same damn song and dance.”
He cackles, squinting up at me as I reach the bed. His blue eyes are bloodshot, his clothes are wrinkled and he reeks of cheap whiskey.
I glare down at him with seething contempt. “Get up.”
He struggles to stand, but he’s too shitfaced to manage the task.
With an impatient curse, I bend down, pick him up and toss him over my shoulder. I’m shocked at how light he is. He can’t weigh no more than a prepubescent boy. He’s fucking wasting away.
Concern wells up inside me, but I harden my heart against it. Pity is a luxury I can’t afford and a privilege he doesn’t deserve.
“Let’s go,” I mutter, striding to the door.
“Nice suit,” he slurs. “Armani?”
“William Westmancott,” I grind out. “Cost me seventy-five grand. If you puke on it, I swear to God I’ll slit your throat and leave you bleeding right here.”
He makes a rattling sound that could be a laugh or a sob.
I carry him out to the front entrance, where the valet is waiting with the Jaguar I drove from the heliport. I dump my father unceremoniously in the passenger seat, crouching down to buckle him in like a damn child.
Before I close the door, he reaches out and clasps my cheek in his callused palm. “You’re a good boy, Gunner. You make your old man proud.”
“Spare me the sentimental bullshit.” I slam the door and stalk around the car, tearing off my suit jacket and tossing it onto the backseat before sliding behind the wheel.
My father looks at the carelessly discarded garment and raises an eyebrow at me. “Seventy-five grand, huh?”
I scowl. “Be quiet.”
He cackles drunkenly as we pull away from the sprawling casino. “Where’s your driver? You give him the slip?”
I snort. “You know all about that, don’t you?” I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles are white. “What the hell were you thinking sneaking off to a damn casino?”
He throws me a sullen look. “I wanted a little taste of freedom. You and your brother have me locked away in that old people’s village?—”
“For your own good,” I tersely remind him.
He crosses his arms, his lower lip jutting out stubbornly. “I feel like a caged bird?—”
“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT!” I explode. “You’re a goddamn wrecking ball, a danger to yourself and the public! You forfeited the right to freedom the day you got behind the wheel drunk out of your mind! If I hadn’t called in a favor, you’d be sitting in jail right now. I saved your ass, old man, so how about a little fucking gratitude?”
He slumps into the seat, his head falling back against the headrest. He remains morosely silent as I head toward the heliport.
Just when I think he’s fallen asleep, his head lolls to the side, his unfocused eyes watching me.
I stare straight ahead, grinding my teeth together until my jaw aches. When I can’t take another second of his silent scrutiny, I bite out, “What?”
He says nothing for several moments, his expression growing thoughtful. “Are you happy, son?”
I scowl. “What kind of question is that?”
“An honest one.” He turns to stare out the windshield, a burst of razor-sharp lucidity breaking through his alcoholic haze. “I had it made when I worked at Chevron. I was on top of the world, earning more money than I’d ever dreamed of. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t happy.” He looks at me. “I know you aren’t either.”
“You don’t know shit,” I snarl.
“Ah, but I do, son. I can see it in your eyes. The restlessness. The emptiness that can’t be filled with material possessions. I recognize the signs because it was the same way with me?—”
“Stop talking.”
He ignores me. “I left home at seventeen looking for fame and fortune. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas and I thought the whole world was against me. I wanted to prove that I was more than poor white trash from a backwoods town, and that’s what drove me to succeed.” His voice roughens, guilt lacing his next words. “I know how hard it was for you and your brother when we lost everything. Your prep school friends turned their backs on you. Every door that had been opened to you before was suddenly slammed in your face. My downfall humiliated you. Angered you. Hardened you?—”
“Be quiet.”
He keeps talking. “You and your brother have built an empire in Silicon Hills. You’re the dynamic duo. The twin tech titans. You’ve achieved success beyond your wildest dreams, and you’ve silenced every critic who ever doubted you. But as you survey your kingdom from the mountaintop every morning, you’re realizing more and more that it’s not enough. There’s something missing in your life, Gunner, and you’re not gonna be happy until you find it.”
I’m gritting my teeth so hard my cranium throbs.
“ Now I’m finished.” He closes his eyes, folds his hands across his stomach and promptly falls asleep.
his words haunt me throughout the trip home.
As the helicopter swoops in low over my estate, I look out the window to see Marlowe sitting on the lawn under an old oak tree. Her head is bent over a textbook, her dark hair falling forward to curtain her face.
The sight of her makes something twist inside me. Which puts me in an even darker mood.
My father wakes up and groggily looks around. “What’re we doing here?” he mumbles.
“You’re staying with me until Aspen Oaks gets their shit together. I’m not paying a fortune for lax security.”
“But—”
“No buts. You’re staying.”
As the helicopter lands on the front lawn, Mr. Leland hurries over to open the door. I climb out and clap him on the shoulder, yelling above the chopper’s whirring blades, “Is his room ready?”
“Most certainly, sir.”
“Good.” I help my father out of the helicopter. He’s still unsteady on his feet, but when I try to pick him up, he pushes me away and grumbles, “I can walk.”
“That’s a new development.” Disregarding his scowl, I guide his arm around my shoulders, clamp an arm around his waist and start toward the house.
Marlowe meets us halfway, the wind from the rotors whipping her hair around her face as the helicopter takes off.
“Well, well, well.” Dad looks her up and down and grins lecherously. “And who’s this pretty little lady?”
“None of your concern,” I growl warningly.
Marlowe falls in step beside me. “Do you need any help?”
“No,” I snap. “Go back to your studying.”
She flinches at the rebuff.
“Now, son, that’s no way to talk to a lady,” my father chides. “I raised you better than that.”
I bark a harsh laugh and drag him up the front steps.
Mrs. Calder meets us at the door, her eyes full of worry. “Oh, Dale.”
His expression softens when he sees her. “Hey there, Gemma Louise.”
She clucks her tongue in disappointment and lays her hand on his cheek. “Stubborn old fool. When will you ever learn?”
He scowls and waves her off, his face reddening with shame.
She trails after us. “Do you need?—”
“I’ve got it under control.” I want to preserve my father’s dignity, or what’s left of it.
As I steer him to the elevator, he droops and wobbles and mumbles incoherently. When we finally reach his bedroom on the second floor, he shoves away from me and scurries to the bathroom. He barely reaches the toilet in time.
I stand in the doorway with my arms crossed, grimly watching him hurl his guts into the bowl.
When he’s finally done, the smart toilet flushes automatically. He gives it a confounded look and mutters something about “fancy-schmancy crappers” before slumping against the wall and dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.
“You smell like shit,” I say flatly.
“Feel like it, too,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.
He looks so weak and defeated that for a moment I feel like I’m thirteen again, taking care of him after one of his drunken benders.
Don’t leave me, Gunny boy. Help your old man get sober before your ma wakes up. This’ll be the last time, I swear.
As the familiar resentment surges inside me, I stalk over to the double sink, squeeze toothpaste onto a toothbrush and order him to brush his teeth.
He gives me a bleary look and then crawls across the floor to take the toothbrush, grunting heavily as I pull him to his feet. He can barely stand on his own, hunching over the sink while I run a hot bath for him.
When he’s done brushing, I help him undress and guide him to the tub.
His sad blue eyes stare up at me as I bathe him with clinical detachment. Before the water turns cool, I assist him out of the tub, towel him dry and help him into clean pajamas that swallow him up.
As I tuck him into bed and pull the covers over him, he mumbles appreciatively, “Sheets feel good . . . nice thread count . . .” His voice tapers off as his eyes close.
I lean over him, silently appraising his hollow cheeks and the deep crinkles around his eyes. My chest burns with a soul-deep anger and sorrow.
“What’s wrong with you, old man?” I whisper tightly. “What’s eating you alive?”
His eyes drift open to meet mine. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I stiffen at his unexpected reply. We stare at each other, his gaze searing into me as if to peel away every protective shield I’ve erected over the years.
After an interminable silence, I step back and turn to leave.
“Gunner.”
I stop without turning around, my hands flexing impotently at my sides.
“Thank you,” he says humbly.
I swallow hard and nod curtly. Just as I reach the door, his reedy voice halts me again.
“That girl . . . your pretty maid you took to Kauai . . .”
I keep my back to him, my hand on the doorknob. “What about her?” I say through gritted teeth.
“I saw the pictures. Saw the way you looked at her.” He pauses for a long moment. “I think she’s your holy grail . . . the missing piece you’ve been looking for.”
Every muscle in my body tightens.
“Don’t let her get away, son. If you do, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Take my word for it.”
I close my eyes, my hand gripping the doorknob hard enough to crush it.
“Gunn? You hear what I said?”
“I heard you.” My jaw is clenched so tight the words are barely audible.
“You should?—”
“Go to sleep.” I walk out the door without another word, slamming it behind me.