Chapter 7
What Max Left
JOHANNA
As the eldest of seven, I never particularly wanted children of my own.
Perhaps I weakened a few times over the years and even shed tears when the possibility vanished for good—I’m post-menopause and enjoying the freedom this gives me—but for the most part, my lack of interest in having children never changed.
All the more so because Anamaria, Bebe, and Caity are mine. Not my daughters of course. I don’t like their mother, but I respect their relationships with her—or lack thereof. Yet, they’re still my girls, whom I helped raise.
Watching them smile, laugh, and grow into the wonderful people they are makes any day better, no matter what storms wreck me and regardless of hurt or loss.
They also serve as a buffer between me and their father, one I didn’t know I needed.
Until I ran away this morning because Corin purred for me.
Corin. Purred. For me.
It’s one thing to hear an alpha purr from a distance, quite another to feel it against one’s body, knowing it’s for you.
My parents purred for me when I was a child, and occasionally now and again when we met up after I’d grown and moved away, but they’ve been dead and gone these last three years.
Max purred regularly, but not since before his collapse.
No distant memory of a purr holds a candle to the most recent. Full-body contact from head to toe, his chest pressed against my back. The sudden rumble accompanied by vibrations rippling outward until every bone in my body resonated.
For one long glorious moment, my whole body rushed toward an unbidden orgasm.
The next instant, it was as though I’d been doused in cold water as it dawned on me who purred for me, where we were, and under what circumstances.
Corin.
Max’s cousin.
A man I’ve shared a house with for well over a decade without any sign of sexual interest on either side.
A man whose bed I had invited myself into for comfort, nothing more.
I fled.
I haven’t managed to meet his eye for more than an instant in passing since. I’ll have to do better. The girls will notice, otherwise. They’re already hurting from missing Max. Unlike me, they hadn’t worried and mourned in advance—not that I’ve done such a good job of it.
I stand by the fridge, holding the handle for balance, and breathe deeply.
I’m a mature adult. I can handle this, especially fully dressed in a soft, comfy long-sleeved shirt over loose pants, hair tucked behind my ears, and game face on.
My toes flex inside the bunny slippers the girls all love seeing me wear.
Nearby, Caity wields a sharp knife with ease, preparing the fruit cup while calling instructions to Bebe, who’s setting the table.
Bebe rolls her eyes and indulges Caity half the time at best, though she does take Caity’s suggestion of adjusting five chairs around the table so we can see each other more easily. The sixth—Max’s—she sets aside.
They’re both dressed similarly to me, excepting the bunny slippers, as are Corin and Anamaria shoulder to shoulder at the stove, cooking eggs and pancakes.
Nearly a foot shorter, she leans into him, occasionally rubbing her head against his arm.
He turns his head to smile down at her, and suddenly, I have trouble tearing my gaze from him.
He’s both the same and different at once.
From irritating but loved family member and business partner, to all that plus an attractive man who held me all last night, keeping nightmares at bay.
Instead of loose pants, he wears jeans that cup his backside, showing nicely rounded buttocks I don’t remember noticing before.
I turn away, focusing on the girls instead.
They’re all variations on their father to some degree.
Same hair and basic coloring, same general build, many of the same gestures, tempered merely by their different designations and the extent to which they accept being alpha (easiest), beta (almost), and omega (trickiest).
I prefer not to connect what they inherited from their mother to the actual person, whom I liked—sort-of—until she failed to accept her oldest daughter’s designation with grace or even tolerance.
It's one thing for a person to choose to reject or recognize elements of themself. I supported Max in his fight against the limitations he found in being an omega. Encouraged his efforts to be different from his selfish, self-centered parents. Helped him every way I could in developing techniques for minimizing what he didn’t like about being an omega, while accepting what he couldn’t change and celebrating the aspects he loved.
But no one should learn to dislike their designation because someone else, someone close, a parent, resents their child becoming something they once longed to be.
If I were an omega or an alpha, I might growl. My hand tightens on the fridge door, though I can’t remember what I came over to this side of the kitchen for.
I must’ve made some noise, for Caity turns to me with a look of concern.
“Bad thoughts,” I say, smiling at her and deliberately not looking at the loving father and oldest daughter on the far side of the room, who didn’t hear.
“We love you, Aunty Jo.” Leaving the knife behind, Caity embraces me, careful not to rub her sticky hands on my shirt, though I wouldn’t mind too much.
“Oh, is it that time already?” Bebe finishes the table and rushes at me, practically knocking Caity out of the way. “Hugs!”
Anamaria joins her sisters, surrounding me with warm arms and smiling faces as I hug back as best I can, having but two arms for the three of them.
Corin remains by the stove, tending the pans, but can’t resist glancing over at us a time or three with a sappy grin that twists into something dark and knowing when he meets my gaze.
Whatever else I got from being with Max, he gave me this family, this pack in all but name. By accident, maybe, but it still counts.
Unfortunately, what Max left us turns out to be the theme of the morning.
Corin allows us to finish eating before he raps on the table to get our attention. I’m warm, well-fed, and feeling loved in my seat not quite opposite him.
“Clear the table, then it’s time for business,” he says.
The girls groan. A flicker of tension wells in my chest.
“What kind of business?” I ask.
“Max’s estate. Some matters will have to wait as the usual processes grind through the courts, but others need attention sooner.” He looks around, catching each of our gazes one at a time. “I want to make sure you’re all aware of the basics.”
“Of course we are, Dad—you’ve told us already.” Caity rolls her eyes from next to me. Bebe is between her and Corin, and Anamaria between Corin and me.
“And you remember it all?” He faces Caity, but the quick shift of his eyes my direction suggests he’s thinking as much of me.
With some validity, perhaps. Max and I updated our legal forms every decade, but it’s been six or seven years since we last talked through everything.
I’ve been focused on the memorial service and our business, and holding everything together, versus worrying about the details since Corin is Max’s executor—and would’ve been mine, had I died first, because Max was sure that in such a situation, he wouldn’t be capable of doing much for ages.
Yet Max wrote to Dan over the years, and Dan came to Max’s memorial service from wherever he lived. I’d been careful not to keep track.
What else had Max done?
The taste of maple syrup lingers in my mouth as the pancakes and fruit sit heavy in my stomach.
The girls laugh and it’s clear I’ve missed something, perhaps Caity guessing some detail about Max’s will wrong? Plates and utensils clank as they clear the table and joke with their father.
Corin smiles, but not with his eyes. He glances at me, then away, as we wait through clanging and chatter from the kitchen. The soft growl of the dishwasher starts, then the girls return.
“Let’s start with physical things.” Corin steeples his fingers. “Johanna, he left you his share of the house, so we now each own half.”
I nod. No change there, Corin having bought out his ex-wife’s rights during the divorce.
“Most of Max’s belongings are likewise yours to keep or dispose of, apart from a few keepsakes, which he listed.”
Also as expected. I have vague memories of Corin checking with me about them so some could be distributed before the memorial service.
“If any of you would like anything from Max’s room or office, let me know.” I duck my head, breathing through my mouth to avoid the growing scents filling the room. “I’m not ready to clear them out yet, but taking more things to give to people might help.”
Anamaria grabs my hand and holds it, her skin warm against fingers I hadn’t realized had gone cold.
“Maybe we could look it over?” Caity asks, adding hurriedly, “Not today, but next week, or something like that?”
My fingers twitch as I nod. I’m waiting for whatever it is that Corin is set on sharing and wishing he’d just get to it, but he insists on ticking items off one at a time, evidently keeping the weightiest for last.
Max left his share of the business to Corin and me, as planned. Apart from a few bequests, most of the money he earned from the business is divided into trusts, one for each of the girls.
“These are safety nets,” Corin cautions them. “Don’t go running around jetting off to Paris or splurging without regard to cost. They’re supposed to supplement whatever you do to support yourselves, give you the freedom to take a risk or try new things.”
“We know, Dad.” Another eye roll from Caity. “It’s not like we haven’t heard you and Uncle Max and Aunty Jo talking a thousand times about budgets and how they work, and how to make an ethical living while dealing with businesses trying to screw consumers.”
“Yeah, given all the million times you’ve talked about ethics, we know how much you walk the talk and don’t take too much money from your business.
” Bebe shrugged. “None of us expect big inheritances. You’re too busy saving companies’ money by figuring out how they can produce omega-related products more efficiently without sacrificing quality—on the condition that most of the savings are passed on to omega consumers like Ana. ”
“Thank you!” Anamaria says, squeezing my hand, but her interruption hardly stops her youngest sister.
“You hire good people, pay your staff well, and keep your salaries in line with theirs. Reinvest all other profits in the company or make sizable charitable contributions. Gave forty-percent ownership in the company to your employees to be held in common.” Caity ticks off on her fingers.
“You’re exemplars of proper corporate leadership, sadly underappreciated by your colleagues. We bow before your greatness.”
I blinked, but the three of them still gazed at us with an oddly innocent delight and pride. “We’re what?”
For the first time in ages, I laugh, full belly ripples; my shoulders shake for minutes, all my tension draining away. I’m the first to succumb, but Corin’s deep chuckles underscore mine as he, too laughs so hard, moisture wells in his eyes.
“I hadn’t realized how saintly we come off!” I wipe tears from my face. My lungs ache, but it’s a good pain, albeit tinged with some embarrassment over how much Max, Corin, and I must have preached and bitched over the dinner table about business practices. “Or should I say sanctimonious?”
“No wonder our peers flee rather than talk to us at conferences.” Corin grins across the table at me, the two of us staring right at each other. “They must fear our pursuit of virtue is catching.”
Our eyes meet a moment too long. I force myself to turn away, toward Caity, who’s pouting but with a calculating gleam in her eyes. Anamaria and Bebe are giggling.
“Truly, we’re not that good,” I protest. “We’re just better at walking our talk than most of our competitors.
That, and having reliable, well-paid staff means we don’t have to work every hour of the day and can have real lives.
” Sort of. The demands did keep creeping into off-hours—possibly one reason Max kept putting off doctors’ appointments in favor of putting out work fires.
Plus, the three of us working and living together made keeping work out of our home lives a difficult proposition. We too often failed.
“And Max did leave a sizable estate,” Corin adds. “It’s just that most of his money, including revenues from various patents, is directed to a new charitable trust that he set up and now wants us to develop further. Our first meeting is in a few days.”
A rush of cider flavors the air. Corin grimaces, and it lessens, though not before tension floods back into me. My arms press against my sides, feet hard against the floor, as I brace for whatever comes next.
“Us?” I gesture at the five around the table in forlorn hope.
“Not quite.” Corin turns to his younger daughters first. “Max didn’t name you two now, though he left open the possibility of your participation.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind less work.” Bebe shrugs.
“And it being Uncle Max, he probably wants to focus on omega issues, so Anamaria makes sense.” Caity’s lips are tight as she glances between Corin and me, and she asks for me, “Who else?”
“Anamaria, yes,” Corin gives her a nod, which she returns “Johanna, myself,”—he’s back to staring at me—“and he asked us to include two others.”
The sudden rushing in my ears at the first name drowns out the second
Dan Eveson.