Page 88 of Trust Fund Baby

Roxie,

I’ve done it. I’ve done it. I’ve created something on my own. It’s all mine. But what makes it even better is that I get to share it with others in a way that will change their lives. Without the Whittaker name being the only thing people will care about, although I may have used it to shake a few pennies from some donors’ pockets.

I only wish you were here beside me.

Sebastian xx

33

Roxie

I sank deeper into the couch cushions, tugging the throw blanket tighter around me as Winn flipped through channels on his TV like a man allergic to silence. The smell of garlic and basil still lingered in the air from the pizza box that was now empty on the coffee table.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he said finally, remote tossed aside. “You’ve been avoiding Mom and Dad. They’ve been asking me why you haven’t been coming to family dinners.”

“It’s complicated,” I mumbled.

“Complicated is not talking to your parents for a month.” Winn leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So, tell me what’s really going on.”

I traced a finger along the seam of the throw pillow. “I’m just tired of feeling like I have to prove myself every time I walk through the door. I didn’t take the trust fund. I built something of my own that I’m proud of, and it’s still never enough. Grandpa made it clear at the Christmas Eve party what he thinks of me.”

Winn groaned. “He makes everyone feel like crap. You should’ve heard what he said to his friends about how he found me to be a much weaker lawyer than he was. Not that I should have expected anything less.”

I looked at him, my mouth dropping open. “Wait, he really said that?”

“Not to my face, thank God,” Winn muttered, raking a hand through his sandy blond hair. “I’m not sure I would have been able to stand there and take it, saying nothing. But yeah. Someone told me. The man has never met a compliment he couldn’t immediately twist into an insult.”

I let out a dry laugh. “At least he still considers you worth criticizing. He barely looks at me like I’m in the room.”

Winn gave me a long look. “That’s because you scare the crap out of him.”

I snorted. “Me? I’m not scary, Winchester. I’m the furthest thing from it.”

“You are when you’re being stubborn. And when you walk away from money and comfort to prove a point.” He tipped his chin toward me. “That’s exactly what he doesn’t get. You didn’t want to be controlled, and you’re making it work. Your business with Hallie is doing well. Renee showed me that the New Yorker featured one of your reviews. That’s incredible, Rox.”

That tugged a reluctant smile out of me. “We were surprised that they reached out to feature us, but I guess people really like our reviews. Hallie writes about the restaurants’ best features, and there’s been a lot of positive feedback on my photography. Enough that I’ve had a slew of freelance requests come in as well.”

Winn leaned back, exhaling. “Meanwhile, I’m wondering if I should walk away from the thing I worked my ass off to get.”

My head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”

He stared at the door for a beat, jaw tight. “The law firm. The hours are brutal, and Dad and Grandpa have their fists wound so tightly around it I’m not sure if I’ll ever have my claim.”

I blinked, trying to process that. “Winn, you’ve wanted this since you were fifteen. You used to walk around quoting case law like it was poetry.”

“I know.” His mouth twisted. “But lately, I feel like all I’m doing is cleaning up other people’s messes. Clients I don’t care about, deals I don’t believe in. Half the time it feels like I’m just an extension of Dad, not my own person. I would rather spend my time in my woodworking shop. Maybe I’m taking some inspiration from you.”

I stared at him, stunned. “Are you telling me you want to be a carpenter?”

Winn gave me a sheepish shrug. “I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know, Rox. I know it won’t bring in the same money. I’m not stupid enough to think it’d give me the same lifestyle. But it’s the only time I feel like I can breathe. No clients, no deadlines, no one hovering over my shoulder waiting for me to screw up. Just me, the tools, the grain of the wood. It’s simple, and it’s mine.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips upon hearing that sentiment. It was the same one I’d felt many a time when I took a step back to appreciate the work I’d put into my photography.

“You’re telling me you, Winchester King, heir apparent to the family’s legal empire, want to ditch suits and courtrooms for sawdust and power drills permanently?”

“Don’t make it sound ridiculous.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him. “I’m not saying I’d make a career out of it. But for the first time in my life, I’m wondering if the thing I worked my ass off for is the thing I want. Or if it’s just what Dad and Grandpa wanted for me.”

That hit me harder than I had expected. Because much as I liked to joke about how Winn was the “golden child,” the one who fit neatly into the mold our family had carved out, the truth was he’d been just as trapped as I had. And while I’d had my suspicions for a while, hearing him say it was something else entirely.