Chapter 16 #2
While I was at the house the other day, I went through some of the boxes still unpacked in her living room.
Digging through it all wasn’t difficult since she only moved with belongings that could fit in her truck bed.
I found a storage container containing account documents, passwords, old taxes, and other vital documents.
You should be more careful with personal belongings, Taryn. You never know who’s lurking, waiting to steal that information.
“Doesn’t matter,” I quip. “All that matters is that everything you’ve worked for can be gone instantly. So, it’s either you have nothing in your bank account with Citibank, or you play house and make more than you’ll ever see in your profession.”
She blinks blankly at me a few times, the only sign of apparent anger in how her fists ball at her sides. Taryn’s knuckles are so white I expect the bones in her fingers to burst through the skin.
“Want to come see my room?” Elena’s small voice impeccably slices through the tension in the room.
Her tiny hands hold that power.
Taryn glances down at her, but Cameron gets up as she opens her mouth, cutting her off.
“I think Miss Taryn has had enough for today, Elena. You can show her tomorrow,” Cam says softly.
I catch Taryn dramatically rolling her eyes and mouthing Miss Taryn to herself.
I bite my bottom lip to withhold my smile at her frustration, but it still shows.
“No! I want to. Can I? Please…” she drawls.
Taryn’s begging has my eyes drifting to the ceiling in a pathetic attempt to ignore the word’s hold on me.
And God. The way she says it? Yeah, I could have her repeating that one breathy plea all day long.
“I need to be out of that room for a little while, or I will go insane.”
Brennan eyes her suspiciously.
If Little Ghost wants to run again, she won’t get far. At this point—after the other night—I bet the twins are itching to drag their rough hands all over her soft tan skin with a dusting of freckles.
Jess stands to her feet. “I can go up with them.” She turns her head toward Tristan. “Do you want to come up with us, Tristan?”
His focus doesn’t stray from the device. The only answer he gives is a brief shake of his head as his light, dirty blond hair flops onto his forehead. Tristan is a quiet but kind kid. Sometimes I wish he would give me more, but he knows I’m not his father.
With Elena and Tristan, I’ve dipped the tip of my finger into what fatherhood is like.
Elena was a newborn when Mom disappeared. But sometimes, it’s hard to shake the feeling that I’ve failed with Tristan. When Christian, my father, was arrested, Tristan was barely two. He doesn’t remember anything; if he does, he keeps quiet, keeping the memories of that horrific night in his head.
The mistakes I’ve made with them—my family—over the years are immeasurable, but I have matured enough to comprehend them.
I have matured to understand that those moments are a blip in time, and I hold the power to decide what kind of man I am after my faults.
Am I the man who lets his errors devour him or the one who stares straight ahead, using those mistakes as a guideline for things I never want to revisit?
Five years ago, I looked forward to becoming a father—seeing a new generation of little Lindenvales love this property as much as I do. It’s amusing how fast directions can change.
Cameron, Brennan, and I were thrown into the father role because my narcissistic father let himself go and let his obsession control him.
We were three young men—the twins, nineteen, and me, twenty-two—who were irresponsible one day with only the worries of working and sleeping around with whatever piece of ass we could find.
Then, instantly, it was diapers, learning how to bottle-feed, and balancing accounts.
We got the weight of a multimillion-dollar company dropped on our shoulders, all the while trying not to fuck up our family further.
Tristan doesn’t talk very much. He goes to school and comes home either to dive into schoolwork or play video games. I was against getting him a Switch at first, but this kid has been through so much that I hate saying no to him if it’s the one thing he finds joy in.
Taryn crosses her arms. “I also want to see my dog.”
Elena jumps up and down. “I want to see the dog too!” Her lips pout. “Colt hasn’t let me see it yet.”
Tristan’s head whips up at the mention of Rossco.
At first, I was worried about having that dog around Elena and Tristan, but he follows me when I work outside, tending to the plots and trees.
Or he curls up by my desk at the shop and keeps me company.
I had a staff meeting with all our workers yesterday, and he lounged by me the entire time.
The whirr of the chainsaw doesn’t seem to bother him, either.
I’ve grown to like him.
“Fine,” I stand up, running a hand over my white shirt with our logo in the corner. “I have work to get back to.” I keep my gaze locked on Taryn, but my tone is directed at my brothers. “Jess can keep an eye on her today. You two have shit to get done. Meet me at the shop in half an hour.”
The twins nod and rise to their feet.
Walking past Taryn on my way to the door, I withhold my smile as her breath hitches in response to the slightest brush of my shoulder.
I enjoy knowing I can paralyze her in place.
Imagine the influence I’d have if her entire body were at my mercy.
Taryn’s sugared citrus scent wraps around me like a cloak, and already, I know that smell is going to be the distraction I don’t need today.
Stepping into the fresh air, I regret telling her she could see Rossco. He’s easy company. It’s not hard to understand why she loves that damn dog so much. His presence makes work more bearable when he’s around.
And as much as I despise admitting it, over the last several days, I’ve looked forward to the end of the day. And I refuse to believe it’s because of the pretty face that stares out the window every night in the tower, seeking me out.