chapter 14 #2
“Erica, I need you to do something for me.” When she met my gaze, I continued. “Every time you feel like you’re drowning, call me.”
She raised a questioning brow. “Will you actually answer the phone?”
I nodded. “Every single time.”
“Why didn’t you answer today?”
I sighed. “I was being an asshole.”
Erica smiled at me. “That’s an everyday occurrence.”
Chuckling, I nodded. “Call it my love language.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Talking to Erica about Albany was a disaster waiting to happen. I loved my sister, would do anything for her, but she talked too damn much. If I shared with her what happened, she would definitely tell someone. Whether it was Cyn or Ma—or Albany herself.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
Erica studied me, her eyes searching mine. “I don’t believe you. You’re watching Sharknado for the umpteenth time.”
I glanced at the TV just in time to see a falling whale shark crush Pepa, from Salt-N-Pepa. I muted the volume. “It’s a comedy,” I replied with a shrug.
“I saw Albany this morning.”
“Oh?” I reached over and grabbed the bottle of water I’d brought over earlier, aware that I was being watched like a hawk. “What was she doing?”
Erica eyed me skeptically. “She was leaving.”
I shifted against the tightness in my gut.
My stomach roiled as I considered my choice of words.
If I let on that I cared, my sister would latch on and take it as a personal challenge to “help” me.
If I acted like I couldn’t care less, she’d accuse me of being a jerk, then try to “help” me find my conscience. Either way, I was fucked.
Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m sure you’re telling me this for a reason.”
“Well, I didn’t get a chance to talk to her, but she looked out of it, frazzled. She was wheeling out a few boxes on the cart. What if she doesn’t come back?”
I rubbed my forehead, tried to force a smile. “Maybe she’s just going away for a couple of days.” Because of me.
“I don’t think so. She didn’t stop when I called her name.”
My mind turned over all the possible scenarios.
A case, a trip back to the east coast to handle some business …
Did she quit again? Aside from the ramifications of that, I didn’t particularly want to deal with Granny asking why I’d run her PI away before she completed the job.
Because that’s exactly what would happen.
She would blame me, and I wouldn’t be able to deny it.
“Then again, she did tell me the other day that she had to return some packages.”
I slumped back into the cushion as relief washed over me. “That’s probably it.”
“Brother, you want Albany back, right?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, for one, you’re here.”
“I live here,” I argued.
She waved a dismissive hand. “Boy, please. You can say that shit to her, but not me.”
“Why don’t you talk to that one guy who asked you out?” I asked, changing the subject. “The one that lives in Ann Arbor? What’s his name?”
“Asa Young,” she grumbled.
“Yeah, what about him?”
“I already asked about him,” she admitted. “He’s off the market. Besides, that would defeat the entire purpose of my plan to marry someone I don’t want to have sex with.”
“On that note …” I stood and took my dirty dishes to the sink.
Erica followed me into the kitchen. “Can you introduce me to one of your homeboys? I take that back. You don’t really have any friends, besides Amir. And he’s off limits. And Hendrix. We’re related. I’ll ask him.”
I lifted a brow. “Be my guest.”
She bit down on her thumbnail. “Wait a minute … Hen doesn’t have any friends either. What’s wrong with y’all?”
“Says the person who calls her big brother her best friend.”
Erica cracked up. “Oh, shut up. I can’t help that we’re an insulated group.”
My sister wasn’t wrong. I kept my circle small because I learned a long time ago that maintaining friendships was hard when your last name was Batchelor. Being the son of the man who’d nearly destroyed that legacy added another layer of hardship.
“I feel a lot better,” Erica blurted out, “so thank you. Are you hungry?”
Nodding, I washed the few dishes in the sink. “Not really.” I eyed her skeptically. “You must be hungry.”
She beamed. “I am.”
When she didn’t say anything else, I sighed. I knew what she wanted, but honestly, I didn’t want to leave the house. “No.”
“Wes!” She gaped. “We should go out.”
“Nah, I’m good. And you just said you felt better, which means you don’t need me.”
“I always need my brother.”
It didn’t matter how adamant I was when I started a conversation with my sister. She had the ability to get me to abandon most plans for her. Typically, all it took was her big, teary doe eyes, and the sad pout she was currently sporting. The only other person that could do that was … Albany.
“We can eat a nice dinner, have a few drinks,” she cajoled. “Then, you can tell me all about Albany.”
“Nice try,” I muttered. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“I wish I believed you.” She flashed a sad smile. “Since you’ve given me your ear, allow me to give you some advice. From a woman who’s been around my fair share of dirty bastards.”
Advice was the last thing I needed or wanted. This thing with Albany had to be handled by us. Only us. As much as I wanted to move forward, I couldn’t get around how I’d hurt her. My actions had consequences. I’d apologized to her, and I would happily do that every day of our lives if she’d …
Dropping my head, I stared at the countertop. “Well …?” I prompted.
“Remember when you told me you wanted to marry her?”
It wasn’t often that I discussed my personal life with anyone, let alone my sister. Yet I recalled the moment. Albany and I had known each other practically our entire lives because our grandmothers were best friends, more like sisters.
Our first interactions were forgettable, mostly innocent run-ins in the backyard during elaborate picnics or social events.
We were toddlers, but I distinctly remembered she carried around an old doll with her.
I hated that thing. For one, it was ugly.
Add to that, the eyes didn’t close. I was scared as fuck. Ran every time I saw it.
When she started attending my school, we became real friends, not just forced friends.
I started to seek her out at the functions.
Not gonna lie, it helped that the doll was gone.
It also helped that she was cute. She had a little chip on her shoulder, probably because her stepmother was so hard on her.
But she was the smartest girl in class, always on time, always talking shit.
One year, we had a Santa’s Secret Shop at school.
We went crazy that year buying cheap gifts for our parents and siblings.
Albany presented me with a gift right before Christmas break.
A book. More specifically, it was The Kids’ Book of Weather Forecasting.
And although I already had the book, the fact that she’d thought of me at all sealed the deal.
I knew then she would be Mrs. Wesley Batchelor.
Although I was smitten with Albany, I was also popular.
Other girls wanted my attention, too. Since I was still a cocky asshole, even as a tween-slash-early-teenager, it took me a while to get my shit together and tell her how I felt.
But once I did, it was over for me. I only wanted her. I still do.
“I remember,” I murmured. “But we were kids.”
“Still, even at that age, what you two had was special.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
She squeezed my shoulder. “I don’t think that’s true. If you’re sincere, if you are willing to place your heart in her palm, she’ll keep it safe.”
“But will she give me her heart?”
“I hope so. I always told you to use your words. A simple conversation, a confession, goes a long way. Tell her the truth.”
There was no way around this. My sister was a great lawyer for a reason. She had the badgering the witness piece down pat, but I was done talking about my feelings. “Give me an hour or two,” I relented. “Then we can grab something to eat.”
She sighed, grabbing her purse and walking to the door. “Fine. I’ll pick the place.”
“You usually do.”
“I’m the youngest.” She stuck her tongue out. “It’s my prerogative.”
“Get outta here.” I tossed a dish towel at her. “I’ll meet you downstairs in about an hour.”
After my sister left, I turned my phone back on. No missed calls, but there were two messages. From her.
Albany: Thank you for keeping your word. I know it was hard.
Albany: Last night was nice.
A smile tugged at my mouth as I reread the texts. The despair I’d felt seconds earlier morphed into a sliver of hope. I’d told her to set the pace. It was hard as hell to let her go, to not go after her, to not camp out in front of her door. Now, I was confident I’d done the right thing.
In business, I’d perfected the art of closing a deal.
Every day, I navigated complex transactions, negotiated pricing, and handled conflict.
The key was persistence, transparency, strategy, and a little finesse.
I also knew when to walk away. In this case, my decision to give up would depend solely on her.
I wouldn’t push her, but I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet.