AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I don’t have to look up to know I’m being granted more eye contact. I can feel his glare from here.
“Well, you got what you wanted,” he challenges, and I catch movement in time to see him gesture to my place at his old desk. “You don’t need him anymore now, though, so how long are you going to string him along? Or does it amuse you what a pushover he is—better it’s you than someone else?” he sneers, rephrasing his earlier statement in the shape of a dagger.
I’d like to know how one brother could think I’m a gentleman while the other and Mark fathom me to be a professional leech. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to tolerate my fool’s errand of taking on this position, but it certainly won’t last if Randy tries to push the one button that I refuse to let anyone push.
“Let’s get some things straight. I’m here to un-fuck the mess that your father’s made of this company, because regardless of whether he gives a damn, people depend on it running efficiently. Second—if you ever insult Cam again, my apple-picking hands are going to wrap so tight around your neck, it’ll take a crowbar to pry them off, and my hillbilly brother and his friends will dump your worthless body in the Columbia River. You don’t get to talk about the man you helped throw away—not in front of me. Ever.”
His gaze holds mine. His face is a puddle of misery over being put in his place. Far beneath his shield of pride, however, I can see that my warning registers. Whether or not he likes it, he believes my intentions toward Cam weren’t anything but admirable.
We work in silence for the rest of the morning, and I get no backlash or snide remarks whenever it’s necessary to make a request for his assistance. I’m not sure if it’s indicative of how easily he became his father’s lackey or if it means he’s had his first taste of what remorse is, but I’m grateful for not having to do any more battles with the Fairways.
When lunchtime rolls around, I’m about to check in with Cam when I get a text from him.
CAM: I’ll be home later tonight. I need to come back to Bellevue to take care of some things.
Things? What things? I want to ask, but I’m not about to be one more person in his life who tells him what he can and can’t do. I’ve already overstepped by asking him to hang out in Wenatchee at my parents’ house this week.
ME: How are you getting here?
CAM: Your dad is letting me use his truck. I’ll see you tonight. I promise. Now you don’t have to drive all the way out here just to see me.
There are logical reasons he would need to come back. He probably needs more clothes and has sour muffins to throw out. I don’t like it, though. He’ll be too close to the spider’s web, but he’s not mine to control. I remember a Khalil Gibran quote from the dreaded literature course I had to take in college as part of my program requirement.
“If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. If they don't, they never were.”
It used to make me feel guilty about leaving Wenatchee. Now, however, I particularly don’t appreciate the latter half of it. I’m asking Cam to change by parting from the control his family has over him. I can’t not make an effort in return to give up my instincts to control everything in my sphere, or I’ll be no better than them.
ME: Please drive safe. I’ll call to check in with you.
Later, at home, I survey the results of my anxiety-induced cleaning. Damn. Went a little too heavy on the bleach. My eyes are burning. Nothing says a romantic welcome home like Clorox.
Sighing, I toss my cleaning rag into the sink, but then pick it up and fold it, hanging it over the faucet. Cam said he made it to Bellevue and would be here in a few hours. What he’s up to without me is driving me mad, but I’m trying to stay positive. He said that he’d be here. He promised. If I could just convince myself that he wasn’t abducted by a John Fairway-contracted hitman, though, that would be great.
My phone dings with an alert for an incoming message, making me jump an inch. Shit. I need to calm down.
It’s probably Cam, telling me he’s on his way. See? Nothing to worry about, Pete.
It’s not. Why the fuck is Randy texting me?
RANDY: If you’re really the man you claim to be, you won’t let him do this alone.
The man has never texted or called my personal number. I’m fairly certain he’s only in my contacts from when I imported my work contact list ages ago. Any money says it was a misdial.
ME: What are you talking about? - Pete
I add my name to the end of my message, so he can see his error. Whomever his scolding was intended for, probably wasn’t me.
The alert sounds again, but this time, there’s no message. It’s an image. I tap to open it and read the fancy scroll on the manilla card.
John Fairway and family cordially invite you to help celebrate his birthday.
Why I’m supposed to give a damn about John’s birthday is beyond me, but then I read the address. I read the date and the time. It’s tonight. Right now. At the Fairway’s house.
Fuck. Fucking fuck.
CHAPTER 34
Pete
