“Trevor Blackstone. I need the contact information for Lucy. The granddaughter for the Flanders Bay property. Call me back ASAP.”
I hang up. Where the fuck could she have gone? The thought of her possibly injured sends me into a whirlwind. Numbers, probabilities, ratios… There’s no way she would not be answering me. Images of her lying inside hurt or even worse… I don’t think, I act. Picking up the lawn chair, I toss it into the sliding glass door, shattering the glass. I call out her name again as I power through the house.
Nothing.
I search everywhere. But she’s not here. I break down everything I see and create a probable solution. Her belongings are gone. The dresser is cleared of her minimal things. When I race into the bathroom, I find it cleared out.
Everything’s gone.
Including her.
The vase with orange crossandra’s I brought her, once resting beautifully on her bookshelf, now lays on the floor in ruins.
Then I remember the car.
Why the fuck would she leave?
My mind begins to break. She wouldn’t leave me. We were good. She knew the solace she was providing. The way she brought so much peace to my life. I was going to give her everything. I thought we wanted the same things.
She wouldn’t leave. She wouldn’t.
I’m so clouded with confusion as the theories take over. The pain, a stabbing realization causes my chest to constrict. It’s been a lifetime since my mother’s dark words rose to the forefront of my memory, but it all comes crashing down.
You’re a retard boy—a freak show. Look at you with all that babbling. How do you expect me to love you? Anyone to love you? No one will stick around once they learn what you are. You’re better off dead.
Picking up the nearest object, I throw it across the room, the thoughts becoming too consuming to control. I grab something else. Then another, then another. I destroy everything in sight until there’s nothing but destruction surrounding me. Blood flows over my palms and between my fingers, cuts from wood, glass. The pain doesn’t register because my brain is so loud, it's deafening.
Every emotion wrenches my entire being, but betrayal stands out the most.
I should have never let my guard down. I should have never allowed her in.
Chapter Twelve
Trevor
Two weeks later
I walk into Four Fathers, primed in my navy suit holding the financial file for the warehouse deal. Everything is set for the start of the sale today. “Who’s in?” I ask the receptionist.
“Morning, Mr. Blackstone. Everyone’s here. Just waiting on the seller. Conference room is all set up.” I nod, walking away.
“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Eric says as I walk past him. He’s wearing a cocky ass smirk on his face. “Care to explain where you’ve been?”
“No,” I reply, walking into my office. Dropping the folder, I remove my suit jacket and hang it on the coat rack.
“Has to be something—or someone—keeping you away and forgetting your responsibilities to this company.”
It’s been me hitting rock bottom and relapsing. Two weeks of long nights running, even longer days pacing, destroying my mind with thoughts, reasonings. Not enough sessions with Dr. Winters will cure what Lucy did to me. I raise my head, giving him my full attention. “It’s nothing. Not anymore. Fucking drop it.”
“I won’t when I feel my business is affected—”
“OUR BUSINESS. Our fucking business. I’m sick of you acting like you’re the one in charge here. You may have saved my ass a long time ago, but I’ve more than repaid my debts to you, so fuck off. And stay the fuck out of my business.”
Eric’s eyes are a ball of fire. No one speaks to him that way. Not even me. But I’m done. The counting starts, and I know no matter how bad I fight it, I can’t hide it.
“You’re not focused. I’m just trying to look out for you. You need to see Dr. Wint—”
“I AM SEEING HER! I SEE HER EVERY FUCKING DAY! Christ! I’m fucked up, can’t you just deal with it? What I have is a curse, not a gift. A fucking curse.” I slam my hands down on my desk, dropping my head.
I’m so tired of being this way. My money allows me access to any medical resources out there and nothing can be done to scrape my brain to rid me of this disease. That’s what it is—what it’s always been. I thought I found a cure. She was going to be my savior. I let my guard down, and she fucking tricked me. I refuse to admit how deep I felt for her. But she had me fooled. The only way I know to get past this is to allow the anger to guide me. I’m not a man who allows some little girl to pull one on me. No, I plan on showing her the same courtesy by taking away something she loves, as she did me. Any idea of stopping the sale of her Gran’s house is off the table. If she thought she could lure me in with lies, then she has another thing coming to her.
Eric approaches me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “You’ll get through this. Forget about her. Focus on the next two weeks and let’s close this deal. Then we’ll celebrate. A huge barbeque at my house. I’ll have a shit ton of women ready and willing to praise you for your good work. Plus, the boys will be there. Nixon has been asking to spend some time with you.”
I take a few deep breaths to reign in my anger. I shouldn’t take my shit out on Eric. He has nothing to do with Lucy deceiving me. I nod, letting him know I’ll be fine. My full attention is back to where it’s always been: Four Fathers. Nothing else.
Eric’s ridiculous barbeque is in full effect. And ridiculous is putting it mildly. The motherfucker has no boundaries when spending his money. Normally he grills his own burgers, but since he’s trying to impress clients, he’s gone all out. The Kobe burger I just ate was wrapped in a gold leaf, for crying out loud. Not to mention the Foie gras, lobster, truffles, and caviar being carted around by a full staff. The asshole has a grill that costs more than his car—just another way to let people know he’s got more money than God.
It took the full two weeks to close the warehouse deal. Eric was pleased to see the numbers skyrocket. Four Fathers’ stock went through the roof. The transaction more than tripled our profit margin, and that’s just for the upcoming year. We have our eye on another warehouse that will completely wipe out our competition. And I have no doubt we will. Eric doesn’t like anyone being better than him.
I’m standing outside by the pool swirling a fifty-year old Macallan Sherrywood scotch when Nixon, Eric’s second to youngest son, approaches me. At fifteen, the kid is every bit as tall as me and damn near as thick too.
“Hey, sorry about that. I know my dad can be a prick.” Just moments before, I had to break up an altercation between him and his dad. They’ve never seen eye to eye, and since I’ve always been close with Eric, Nixon has always seemed to gravitate toward me more.
“Don’t worry about it. Your dad is a prick.” We both laugh while staring out at the full pool of family and work staff.
“Hey, Uncle Trev?” he turns to me. “Can I ask you something? What’s it like? Having to live with the constant chattering in your head? Does it ever stop? Get better?”