21. Carter
Chapter twenty-one
Carter
Fuck.
He let Ashley go once before and didn’t go after her. He’d be damned if he made that mistake again. Carter turned to chase after her, but Gabe jumped in front of him.
“You fucking told her?” Gabe demanded, moving into Carter’s space.
“Yes,” he said, holding his temper. “She deserved to know.”
“Just because your father is dead doesn’t mean I can’t get you canned.”
A laugh slipped. This guy was unfuckinbelievable. “Go ahead and try,” he said. “You and I both know your grandfather likes me more.”
Gabe’s eyes widened, but he didn’t attempt a retort.
Carter turned away and was about to go find Ashley when the stairs to the kitchen caught his eye. He had to tell the staff before they overheard. He owed them that much.
Anger coursed through him as he stormed into the kitchen. The scent of cinnamon and spice permeated the air, reminding him of so many Christmases past.
Clint, Wendell, and Luca all sat around the table with cards in hand, a stack of chips in the middle of the table. Hawthorne sat at the other end with a bowl of soup.
“Carter!” Tiny exclaimed as he walked in. “I have a cake in the oven. I spoke with my cousin and her boss, and I think I might finally have it.”
“That’s great,” Carter said, forcing all his anger down.
“My fingers are crossed,” Ms. Porter said as she folded a stack of linens.
“We’ll find out in”—Tiny peered over at the stove—“five minutes.” She crossed her fingers on both hands and held them up. “All my taste testers are here.”
Everyone who had been here when Grandma Lily made that cake for not only her family, but for all the people below stairs were accounted for.
Carter knew they were all secretly hoping for Tiny to crack the code, to bring them back a taste that had been a part of their Christmas for so long.
Somehow, over the years, the people downstairs had become experts at holding onto memories and traditions. Maybe because most of them had lost someone. Maybe because Winterridge had a way of collecting broken souls and giving them a place to belong.
And after Bill’s confession, he wanted them and Ashley to have this more than ever.
Tiny pulled the cake from the oven and placed it on the countertop. Clint, Wendell, and Hawthorne moved closer. Ms. Porter put aside her folding and waited with a hand on her chest.
Tiny stared at the cake.
“Well?” Hawthorne asked, surprising Carter.
“It has to cool.”
A collective groan filled the kitchen.
“Just be patient.” Her eyes landed on Carter, and her eyebrow arched. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.”
“She’s right. You got that look,” Clint said.
“The one where he wants to punch someone?” Wendell asked.
“Exactly,” Tiny said.
Carter sighed. “You’re making shit up.”
“No, it’s the exact same face you made when you punched that kid for calling Ashley a spoiled princess,” Ms. Porter said.
“I was fourteen.”
“And?”
“It was twenty years ago.”
“And the face hasn’t changed.”
He might not have had any family by blood, but these people knew him just as well, if not better. And as much as he hated to bring it up now, he had to tell them.
“While you’re all here, I have something I need to tell you.”
“You and Ashley are eloping?” Tiny blurted.
Carter blinked. “What? No.”
“Damn it,” Tiny muttered and reached into her pocket to hand Ms. Porter a twenty-dollar bill. He had questions, but he would ask them later. Right now, he had to tell these people news that wasn’t very jolly.
“Some of you may have noticed a bit of a change in Mr. Wetherby.”
Hawthorne dropped his spoon into his bowl, a loud clang echoing through the now mostly quiet kitchen. Tiny grabbed a stool and sat.
“Well, go on,” Clint urged.
“He’s sick.”
“How sick?” Hawthorne demanded.
“Chronic lymphocytic leukemia. Six months ago, the doctors gave him six months to a year.”
Tiny gasped; Clint cursed under his breath. Wendell turned away, and Hawthorne’s face paled.
“That’s why he pulled that ridiculous stunt,” Hawthorne said. “To get the family here.”
“Exactly. He just told them at dinner.”
“Is there nothing that can be done?” Tiny asked, wiping her nose with a tissue.
“He was accepted into a trial treatment that his doctor is optimistic about. And if we know Bill Wetherby, that stubborn bastard will not go without a fight.”
“Damn straight!” Bill’s voice echoed through the kitchen, and all the staff turned. He stood in the doorway, one hand pressed against the frame. He looked tired, older… yet somehow, larger than life. The room fell silent as Tiny and Ms. Porter sniffled.
“Now don’t start,” he said, pointing. “You know I can’t handle crying women.”
“You’ve handled me for forty years,” Ms. Porter said as she blotted her eyes.
“There is no handling you,” he said, and everyone shared in the laugh. He stepped farther into the kitchen. His gaze moved from one person to the next.
Bill didn’t have to say it, but his staff, the people standing in this room with him now, had long since become part of the Wetherby family.
They were the ones who had been there for him when his own family wasn’t.
They helped him through the death of the love of his life and had seen him at his worst.
Bill smiled as his gaze landed on Carter. “I have no plans of going anywhere anytime soon.”
Carter nodded.
“You better not,” Tiny warned.
“You have my word,” he said, and just like Carter, they all knew the weight of that statement. “Now, is this my Lily’s spice cake?”
Tiny sighed. “I’m trying, sir. This is my latest attempt, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. They’ve all been failures.”
“Even if it’s not the same, I’m sure it’s delicious. So what are you waiting for? Are you going to cut me a piece or not?”
With a smile, she grabbed a knife and a stack of plates, dividing up the cake. On the count of three, they all took a bite.
Tiny waited with bated breath.
It was delicious, like Bill said it would be, but it wasn’t Lily’s cake.
Nobody said anything, and Tiny’s shoulders sank into herself. “Well, damn.”
“It’s close,” Bill said.
“Really close,” Luca added.
While the conversation kicked up, Bill turned to Carter. “I got it here. You need to be somewhere else.”
Carter’s eyebrow rose as he stared at the man who had been more like a grandfather to him than a boss.
“Our Ashley needs you.”