Chapter 32 #2
After graduation, I immediately dove straight into the company with my dad.
He gave me an office and his trust and lobbed me into the deep end, challenging me to lead meetings and handle important client accounts.
He expected me to tread against rough waters when difficult situations threatened to pull us under.
That was one of the last years when everything was normal. When I respected my father beyond anyone and told myself one day I would be as successful and meticulous as he was.
One night, I stayed late at the office to handle a client who was complaining about pricing fluctuations.
It was one of several calls I made that day.
By the time the conversation ended, we had lost the account because they had reassessed the client agreement and were unhappy with our increase in prices.
It was the third one I’d lost that day. I slumped into his office, preparing for him to lash out.
Tell me I’m a disappointment and incapable of running the company I would eventually inherit.
But he didn’t. He walked over to his wet bar, grabbed two tumblers, and returned to his desk with scotch. My first glass of straight alcohol was with him.
“You can either let this experience hurt you or fuel your drive. The next move is yours. But a man only fails when he gives up entirely.”
That’s what he told me. It was a moment in my life when I regarded my father as if he were the king. In a way, he was. A man sitting on his throne on Lindenvale Hill, running his empire—an empire that would eventually be passed down to me.
Every time I sit in my office—which used to be his—I recall that memory. When I lounge with a glass of scotch, those moments swirl with the aroma whenever I inhale it into my lungs—a scent that used to be sweet but is now vexingly bitter.
Cameron and Brennan had the opportunity to walk away. Cameron did. He got accepted into art school, but he returned to campus to gather his things when we realized Mom was never coming back.
They both sacrificed their futures for me. To help me keep this family afloat because I was so goddamn young when I inherited the Lindenvale Hill estate. But choosing to work together and run the multimillion-dollar empire was our next move.
It was the only move.
“Cam and I were talking in the car on the way home, and I think if we are replotting and planting, we should go with the Cosmic Crisp. Long storage life…hardy variety.”
WA 38, or the Cosmic Crisp, was an apple variety developed exclusively by Washington State University.
It’s becoming one of the most sought-after varieties, but we scratched that notion because it has a significantly delayed return on investment and a high probability of market saturation.
It’s risky, but when the trees are finally able to produce a high-quality product, there’s also a possibility the payoff could be substantial.
A privilege that comes with being one of the leading apple producers in the country.
Fuck, this is too much to think about at ten o’clock at night.
Unintentionally, I turn my head, glaring toward the direction of the back door. “If you two are set on the Cosmic Crisp, we can discuss it again tomorrow.”
Brennan narrows his eyes at me questionably when I turn to face them again.
“What?” I growl.
My harsh tone pulls Brennan’s mouth into a devious smile. “You’re just,” he waves a hand at me, “on edge.” He knits his arms over his chest. “And you have been since you and Taryn walked through that door.”
Cameron remains silent.
Jesus Christ. Is it really that obvious?
My little ghost is thoroughly fucking with every part of my body now and not just my head.
Giving them my back, I mutter, “I’m going to take a shower.”
Brennan’s strangled laugh follows me into the kitchen, the sound grating against my skin.
I open our designated junk drawer, reaching to the back to pull out a pair of keys and a phone before marching straight out the back door.
I’m barely across the yard when I see Taryn at the bottom, where the grass flattens out in front of my house.
The solar lights along the sidewalk and in the garden reflect off the blades of grass, while the lights on the edge of the house illuminate her silhouette and the ball she throws through the air.
Rossco darts after it, his black body temporarily disappearing into the hazy darkness before he reemerges and returns it to her.
She crouches down, wrapping her arms around him as she nuzzles her head into his neck.
The gentle touch of the breeze stirs the curtain of hair framing her face, the moonlight painting her high cheekbones silver.
She’s beautiful.
It never crossed my mind that someone else might belong here. With us.
But she does, in ways I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try. And that’s a big fucking problem.
She stands to her feet, and Rossco drops the ball on one of her shoes. A giggle rattles her shoulders. I can’t hear the addicting sound, but I damn sure feel the way it weaves tightly around my chest, the string pulling tighter the longer I ogle her.
Her mouth shifts into a smile when she throws the ball across the yard, my skin heating in response to the warmth that one expression can exude.
“I thought we were past all the stalking,” she says, distractedly watching Rossco.
I don’t know why I find it sexy as hell that she can sense my presence like I can sense hers.
She doesn’t bother glancing at me, but I catch the amusement laced in her tone. “So, are we going to get this over with now? Or are you going to share your victory with your brothers since they’re home early?”
Oh, goddamn.
Does she want that?
I don’t share. I divulged that fact the night I chased her through the orchard.
The one line I won’t cross. Not with her.
Not because I’m incapable, but because I’m afraid of what seeing her like that would do to me.
Being with my brothers behind closed doors is one thing, but seeing her bend and conform to Cameron and Brennan will feed the envious beast concealed in the caverns in my chest. It would drive me to madness, pressing the side of myself that wants to make her mine.
Only mine.
Hypothetically, if we found ourselves in that situation, seeing their hands roam her body would make me want to bury myself deep inside her hot body and choke my brothers to death simultaneously.
I cock my head. “That’s a bold thing to say to me.”
“Well, Colten Lindenvale, you seem to bring that out of me.” She clucks her tongue. “For some reason, you frustrate the hell out of me, so you can only blame yourself for my insolence.”
I stalk toward her, the several yards between us crackling with energy. “And what is it about me that makes you so irritated?”
She breathes out the word as if it’s painful to admit. “Everything.” She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, nervously peering down at her fingers. Her throat clears. “If I’m honest, I’ve never really had anyone around to infuriate me. And when you do it—”
She picks up the ball off the ground again and tosses it into the foggy black void in the distance. Rossco bolts after it, leaving us alone momentarily.
My voice lowers an octave. “When I do it…”
“It’s going to sound pathetic, so I don’t want to say it.”
“Say it.”
“Colten—”
“Say it, Little Ghost!”
“Fine! Because when you do it, I kind of like it.” She pauses. “Nobody has ever been around long enough to piss me off—at least not like you do. Even when you were fucking that girl against the window, you still acknowledged that I was here.”
Her lower lip quivers. My fingertips buzz, itching to grab her and trap that bottom lip between my teeth so she doesn’t have to wear this sadness transforming her features.
Closing her eyes, she shakes her head. “It’s sad, I know.
Sometimes, I wish I were that kid who had helicopter parents or an annoying sibling who always grated on my every nerve.
I never had that. Sure, my parents were around, but they were always focused on the next adventure, the next house. The next place and yadda, yadda.”
Pain prickles behind my ribs, my sternum tightening like a massive ball python is coiling around my frame. Her words intensify their grip, squeezing the air out of my lungs.
“You call me Little Ghost. And sometimes that’s how I feel—at least that’s how I felt until you dragged me here against my will.
I feel absolutely insane. I should be running.
Should’ve done what any sane person would do and called someone or reported you when you let me go today, but I didn’t.
Because, for some reason that I’ll never understand, I want to come back here. ”
Oddly, I trust her, so I put aside my hesitations and let her take Elena and Tristan today. Watching her with them is simultaneously befuddling and enlightening.
Taryn encourages my little sister’s toothy, bright smile to appear more than it ever has.
Elena is bold. Becoming fearless. Strutting around with her head held high and a flourishing sense of independence.
We haven’t been missing Jess that long, but the shift Taryn creates in her little personality is evident.
And Tristan…
Damn, Tristan is entirely different. He’s talking to us.
Not just because we ask him questions but because he voluntarily chooses to engage.
Now, he lowers the Switch to his lap to fully interact instead of mumbling a few words or making sounds of acknowledgment with the screen in front of his eyes.
He’s initiating conversations, and my heart throbs at the colossal change she’s instilling in him.
“But I still feel trapped, Colten,” she whispers.
The way she articulates my name demolishes the organ in my chest. “And it’s not because of you three.
It’s because I was moving around so much before and never stayed in one spot long enough to form any kind of connection with anyone…
Any kind of attachment that made me consider staying.
I like it here,” she says under her breath.
It’s a confession I barely catch amongst the voices of crickets and whirr of the breeze through the trees.
“I mean, who actually likes being around the people who abducted them?”
I swallow her sincerity, tucking it away with the plethora of unfamiliar feelings she’s awakened within me.
Drawn by the magnetic pull, I find myself stepping toward her. Her chest rises and falls, the motion suspended in time as her dark irises bounce between mine.
My hands itch to touch her—to feel her soft, elastic skin molding to my hands.
Instead, I tuck them into my pockets to suppress the urge. “Do you enjoy being around us?”
She nods. “Am I crazy for wanting to stay?” she murmurs.
I don’t think she understands the weight those words carry. They’ve already etched themselves into my brain like the ink branded on my skin.
But as I hold her gaze, the durable part of my soul that has started to melt away since she arrived begins to solidify. Again.
Because saying you’ll stay is just as easy as leaving.