“Quoting my woman, they are spending the evening away from the Aldridge boys,” Hayes proclaims. “You pissed them off.”
“Because it’s so hard to upset them,” I refute and look at the dining table that’s already set up. “Who’s turn is it to provide dinner today?”
“You,” Beacon answers. “I’m guessing you forgot to ask the chef to prepare the food?”
“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath hoping Arden doesn’t hear me. Thankfully, he’s in his highchair, busy, playing with his cloth book.
“No worries,” Pierce calls from the kitchen. “Mills and I thought that was going to happen. We decided to prepare something, but you are going to have to be in charge of our days. I already marked it on the chore calendar.”
“We should hire a maid and a cook,” I suggest, instead of arguing that they could’ve texted me to remind me. Now, I have to provide dinner for two days.
Fuckers. That was on purpose.
“We’re not allowed. It’s part of the stipulations,” Pierce reminds me. “As I said, there’s a lot more shit in that will that the fucking asshole didn’t read. The fine print is too long. At least we’re not required to marry or have children.”
“That can’t be real. It’s shit that they write for movies or books,” Vance states.
“It happens more often than you can imagine,” Pierce counteracts. “People are greedy, and they’d do anything to get their eager hands on their inheritance. Rich people are bored and vindictive. If you don’t do as I say, you won’t get what you want is their favorite game.”
“I don’t want William’s money,” Mills declares, placing a platter filled with grilled vegetables in the middle of the table.
“None of us wants it,” I remind him. “He knew it, and that’s why he’s screwing other people if we don’t comply with his stupid wishes.”
“Tupid!” Arden shouts. Mills glares at me, then brings the fucking swear pitcher where I drop a hundred-dollar bill.
“That should cover me for a week,” I state, and he shakes his head disapprovingly.
“Creative, bored, vindictive…those are a few ways I describe the people who draft those kinds of testaments,” Pierce says. “I still don’t know how we pissed off the old man.”
“Maybe he thought that by hurting us, he’d hurt our mothers?” Mills asks.
Beacon laughs. “My mother gave me away to my grandparents when I was a toddler. He knew she doesn’t give a shit about me. I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
“He knew Mom died years ago,” I say, patting Beacon’s shoulder. Poor kid. I wish I could take some of that pain he carries with him. Being abandoned by your parents just because you’re an inconvenience is heavy. “Our mothers aren’t the answer to this riddle.”
“Mine isn’t happy because she won’t get to see Arden unless she comes to visit,” Mills announces.
Vance shrugs. “Mine is delighted that I quit my job.”
We look at Pierce and Hayes who haven’t said a word.
“It’s complicated,” Hayes confesses. “Mostly because I’m with Blaire and Mom isn’t a fan. Then, there’s the part where I quit my practice.”
“My mother is beyond upset. Let me count the ways,” Pierce says. “Well, I quit the firm, I moved out of the state, and I’m living with my estranged wife—who she hates. I’m sure there’s a lot more, but those are the ones she reminds me of every time we are on the phone.”
Once the food is on the table, Pierce takes a seat and continues, “I agree, it’s not about our mothers. There are some letters that the firm has to give us. We might get some answers when we read them.”
“Not that I care,” Beacon grunts.
“When are they giving them to us?” Hayes asks.
Knowing my nerdy brother, he wants it now.
“I assume that we’ll get them when and only if we finish this eighteen-month sentence,” Pierce answers. “There’s a note that says, ‘Jerome Parrish will deliver the personalized letters to each one of my sons according to the instructions.’”
“What instructions?” I ask.
“There’s nothing in the testament about those instructions,” he responds. “Which is why I assume it’s going to be once we meet all the stipulations.”
“Do you think we’ll have the answer?” Beacon asks.
“Knowing William, the letter has a fucking message saying, ‘The joke is on you. I won’t leave you a cent, but nice try!’” I reply.
“It’d be a good way to fuck with us, but it is impossible. A lawyer wouldn’t carry on a prank. Plus, we could sue them. In fact, I’m still finding a way to fuck those guys over. The letters William left have to be notarized if they contain any clauses, stipulations, omissions or…if he wanted the lawyer to execute anything. There’s more involved than just a handwritten letter. Also, they’d have to be delivered immediately. If not, they don’t have any legal power to take away the assets. They have to distribute the assets once we’ve complied with every stupid stipulation he added to his will.”
“So far we’ve complied,” I state.
Pierce glares at Beacon. “You can’t live outside the house.”
“I live in this house,” he argues.
“If the lawyer realizes that you’re living in the studio, we’re fucked,” I debate.
“I don’t live there. As a matter of fact, there are no beds or places where you can stay.”
“Huh, I thought you had two bedrooms,” Pierce says. “For your bandmates. We saw when the furniture was delivered. It could fit in a big ass ranch house.”
“There’s nothing,” he insists. “You can come over and check the place. They sleep on the floor.”
Hayes glares at him and shakes his head.
“What?” he asks innocently.
“I swear, I’d let Vance break every bone in your body if you get us in trouble, and I won’t fix you,” Hayes says, and I have a feeling that he knows something that I don’t.
“I’m being careful,” he complains and then asks, “Have you been able to convince them to let me go on tour, Pierce?”
“No, and I think it’s time for you to reschedule those dates or cancel them. It’s not going to happen,” he concludes.
Then why did he give him hope earlier today? I want to ask him, but I choose not to engage. This is between them.
“Try harder,” Beacon demands.
“Your agent and I have been working hard, but we can’t get them to do it.”
“Do you know how long it took me to convince G to play with us during this tour? We’re fusing her fans with ours.”
I stare at him blankly because the famous G is unknown to us. Really, who is G?
“Imagine getting Bach to play with the Beatles,” he says as if answering our question.
“In this case, Too Far from Grace is the Beatles,” Mills explains, as it’s so simple. “G is Bach.”
“Obviously, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t even know who G is,” Pierce complains.