Chapter 5 #2
Dad ruffles his hand through my hair and I look up to see a proud smile on his face, though his eyes don’t match; they’re sad. I hurt him today.
“You can go back to bed,” he nods, his voice low and gentle, like the tone he used to use when I was little and needed comforting. Suddenly, I feel like I’m five years old again, asking my dad if I can sleep in his room because I had a bad dream. “I’ll be right here.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze, then I drag my feet across the floor, forcing them to pull me to my actual bed instead of the couch that I’ve been living on for the past eighteen days.
My head barely hits the pillow before I crash, the sound of glass and metal clinking beyond the door playing through the room.
The sound of my dad cleaning up my mess.
·
The morning sun pours into my room from the window above my bed for the first time in weeks.
Dad must have opened it after I came back in here yesterday.
I reach to my nightstand for my phone, which he must have plugged in for me.
It’s seven in the morning; I haven’t been up before one in so long, it feels like I should go back to bed.
I pull myself from my soft blankets and move at a snail’s pace out of the room with my head feeling as if it’s been run over by a steam roller. Slowly. A couple of times.
More sunlight streams in through the rest of the now-open windows in the house, illuminating the life that I had kept in the dark and forgotten about.
My living room is completely spotless with not a single piece of trash to be seen, the fresh scent of detergent hangs in the air, and a brand new microfiber couch sits in place of my old one, calling my name.
I settle into one of the deep blue cushions and let out a satisfied sigh.
Not even ten minutes later, my front door opens to my dad walking into the living room with several shopping bags looped over his arm.
“Good, you’re awake,” he says. He reaches into one of the bags he’s toting with him and digs out a tupperware container. “Rowan sent breakfast. With extra bacon.”
I gratefully pluck the container from his hands and take it over to the kitchen island, where I take a seat and dig into my meal.
While I eat, Dad starts to unload the bags that he brought with him, almost all of the contents being fresh produce and meat that isn’t out of a plastic package or a box.
“What’s all that?”
“Everything green in your refrigerator had gone brown, bud,” he tells me with a soft chuckle.
He continues unpacking the groceries that he brought over, working as he goes to put them away while I eat. Once everything is unloaded and where it belongs, his hand comes down onto my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Go on and get dressed, you’re coming into the office today.”
“Dad—”
“Even if it’s just for an hour or two,” he insists, “you need to get out of this house, stay sober, and do something.”
I sigh, knowing I won’t win this fight. When my dad digs his heels in on something, that’s the end of it. And part of me feels like I owe him after everything he just did for me – for everything he’s always done for me.
After dropping my dishes into the sink, I head back toward my bedroom and dig some clothes out of my dresser.
I might concede to going into the office, but I’ll be damned if I’m wearing a full suit.
Instead, I throw a blazer over a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and I call that a win.
They’re clean, they look alright paired together, and they’re not wrinkled. That’s the best that I can offer today.
·
Being in the office feels weird, like I’m new here all over again, or like I’m not even supposed to be here at all, but I push through the feeling and make my way toward my office, keeping my head down and hoping that no one tries to start up a conversation with me.
Settling into my chair, I turn on my computer and open my email browser, which shows over a hundred and fifty emails missed since I was last here.
Today is going to be a busy – and boring – day.
I’m fine with boring, and honestly I’m a little thankful for the busy part, too.
The more that I can distract myself, the better.
“Coffee delivery!” Rowan sings as the pushes through the cracked door and moves to take a seat on the edge of my desk.
She sets the hot paper cup down in front of me and fixes me with an unreadable look.
“Are you doing okay?”
“No,” I chuckle, answering honestly. “But I’m here. Did Dad…?”
She shakes her head. “Mm-mm. If you want me to know, you’ll tell me. He just said you were in a rough spot.”
Slipping off of my desk, she pulls her phone from her pocket and punches in her password before walking over toward me.
“Things you missed while you were out sick,” she announces as she shoves the phone into my face.
Her younger sister smiles at me from the screen, holding up each of her hands in a peace sign.
Next to her is a series of jars and a large poster board with photos glued all over it.
“Mace entered the science fair with one of her little projects,” she tells me. “She absolutely killed it, too.”
As she talks, running me through the office and family events that I missed, I catch a glimpse of Nash Montgomery walking through the building. His chest is puffed up as he lumbers down the hall and his pair of half-pint goons follow closely behind him.
His eyes lock onto mine as the three of them pass by my door while he unbuttons the cuff of his shirt and rolls up the sleeve.
It’s almost like a ritual; instead of pulling on a suit of armor to prepare for battle, he takes some off to display the power he holds just in his arms alone.
He doesn’t need the armor, and he wants everyone to know that.
He throws a condescending smirk my way before disappearing down the hall, probably headed for either Dad’s office or a conference room. I’m not sure – there’s no mention of his visit on my calendar anywhere.
I’m part owner in the company now, shouldn’t I be involved in this?
“What’s he doing here?” I ask, jerking my head toward the door.
“Ugh,” Rowan sighs, her eyes rolling over in her head. “He wants to buy in on ownership of the nightclub. He’s been here every day for the past week trying to make a deal.”
“He must be intimidated then, huh?” I muse. “To want to get his feet in on something that hasn’t even opened?”
“I dunno,” she says, waving her hands in front of her. “I leave all that to you guys. I don’t do alpha males.”
I chuckle as I reach for the steaming cup of coffee in front of me and I bring it to my lips for a drink. Even in the heat of summer, it’s refreshing. Relaxing, even. I take another sip as my friend’s arms find their way around my shoulders and she squeezes me tightly, just for a brief moment.
“I gotta get in there, but we’ll have lunch, right?”
“Sure,” I tell her. “Sounds good.”
Truthfully, I don’t know if I’m still going to be here come lunch time, but for her and for Dad, I can make the effort to try and stick it out.
I spend the next half hour responding to emails, occasionally glancing at my door for any sign of this mystery meeting coming to an end, but I eventually give up and just dive into work.
I’ll ask someone about it later. I’ve gotten through a decent chunk of the emails that have built up in my inbox, most of them fine with a cookie cutter response, and I’d really like to at least get through all of them before I call it quits for the day.
If I can get through that, I can call today a win and justify leaving before the end of business.
I grab another cup of coffee and a protein bar from the vending machine in the lounge before slinking back into my office, where I pull up my personal email.
I don’t know why I want to know if she’s sent me anything.
I don’t know why I care so much. I’ve spent twenty-five years without her and I’ve been fine.
So it makes no sense to me that those voices only get louder when there’s no message from her.
“Hiding out in here? Or were you just not invited to play with the big boys?”
I glance up to see Nash standing in my doorway, leaning against the door frame with his forearm. That same smug look from earlier is slapped onto his face, and for a second, I think about climbing over my desk and leveling him.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” he continues. “Back here, you can’t hurt your daddy’s precious company by agreeing to terms that you weren’t even paying attention to. Being easily distracted is a pretty major character flaw, you know.”
“Are you a dick to everyone?” I ask him. “Or am I just special?”
His hazel eyes narrow at me as he saunters toward my desk and plucks the protein bar from it, tearing the wrapper open.
“You’re not special, pretty boy,” he says, and then he laughs as if he’s having some sort of sudden realization. “That’s all you’ve got, isn’t it? You’re just…pretty. No fire, no substance. Nothing of import to make you stand out from the rest of the world. A pity, really.”
Shoving the bar into his mouth, he turns and leaves my office without another word.
·
It’s harder to keep to myself in the cafeteria.
Several of my friends shout their hellos to me, so I throw them a quick smile and a wave in response as I walk through the room until my eyes land on Rowan, and I hurry to join her at our usual quiet table off to the side.
I’m grateful that she doesn’t push for much conversation while we eat our meals, even though the concerned pursing of her lips and the frequent glances between me and her lunch tell me that she really, really wants to.
I know she wants all of the gory details, because she wants to be able to fix me.
That’s probably part of why she and my dad fit together so well; they’re both fixers.
See a problem, make a solution, the problem goes away.
But she’s my best friend, and if I tell her about all of my broken pieces, she’ll just cut herself open trying to pick them back up again, and my wounds will leave her bloody.
“Hey, loners!” Mariah shouts to us as she struts over to our table. She pulls back one of the chairs before dropping into it and scooting herself closer to the table to reach over and grab one of my french fries. “A few of us are going out tomorrow night, you coming?”
A quick glance passes between Rowan and I, and I consider passing on the invitation – I really do.
“Sure,” I shrug.
Rowan shoots me a sideways look, but instead of scolding me, she pinches her lips together in a tight smile and simply says, “I guess I’ll be the DD, then.”
“Cool! I’ll text you the deets. Look hot!” She instructs us both as she stands, blowing a kiss in our direction. “Love you!”
“I love you,” Ro tells me quietly as Mariah leaves us, “but this is a bad idea.”
Yeah, she’s probably right.