Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
The least I can do is honor that.
“Send her my love, will you?” Mom asks, her eyelids floating closed. Her words are breathy and forced.
“Of course.” I give her hand a squeeze before dimming the lamp beside her, adjusting her covers, and ensuring her water bottle is full. It’s late and she needs to rest and she won’t do that if I’m here. She’ll want to keep talking, even if it takes all the strength she has to form a single sentence. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
I arrive home a short while later, following the trail of laughter and conversation to the family room where Campbell and Oliver are feasting on junk food and marathoning Below Deck. Oliver spent most of the day with my mom, but my father told him to take a breather. He told me the same thing, but unlike Oliver, I stood my ground.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Oliver points at something on the TV.
Campbell wrinkles her nose. “Is that something that really happens?”
“Sometimes.” Oliver reaches for a green glass beer bottle and takes a swig, beaming. I’ve never known anyone who loves anything more than Oliver loves boats. I’ve always likened it to the fact that when my grandfather, Oliver’s father, was still around, boating was the only quality time he’d ever spend with his bastard son.
God, now I sound like Campbell and her psychoanalytical bullshit.
“Oh, Slade—didn’t see you standing there,” Campbell says when she spots me from the corner of her eye. The carefree smile painted on her pretty face a moment ago has disappeared, like I’ve suddenly sucked all the fun from the room. “How long have you been home?”
“A few minutes,” I say.
Oliver pauses the show. “Everything okay at the office?”
“It’s about the same.” I shoot him a knowing look.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” I say. “I had Fiona order out tonight—sushi.”
“Oh.” Campbell looks to Oliver. “We didn’t know you were going to do that. My flight got in early and Oliver was here, so we already ate. I should have texted you. I can sit with you while you eat if you want?”
“No need.” I yank off my tie and head upstairs to change.
I’m halfway to my room when the echoes of laughter and animated conversation resumes, trailing down hallways and filling the empty space in this home.
Oliver would never steal her out from under me. For starters, he can’t. My father would straight up murder him or at the very least, find a way to sabotage his financials with a devastating lawsuit or “mishandling” of investments. I’ve seen him bring other powerful men to their knees, and I don’t believe for one second that he’d make an exception for his half-brother. It’s amazing the things people are willing to do if you wave a thick stack of cash in their face. Second, Campbell’s aware of Oliver’s playboy reputation. On top of that, she’d forfeit her entire inheritance—if her parents are truly that heartless.
Ironically, though, the two of them would be a much better match.
I shake my head.
I’m getting ahead of myself, conjuring up worst-case scenarios. My mind hasn’t been in the best place lately. It’s hard to see the sun behind all of those dark clouds.
When I spoke with my mother’s doctor earlier today, he told me she’d be lucky to make it until next month and that we should be looking into ways to make her more comfortable as she “transitions.”
He can call death a transition all he wants, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
I eat my sushi alone, in a quiet house occasionally peppered with merriment from the TV room. Once I’m finished, I return upstairs, grab my iPad, and catch up on the Wall Street Journal in bed. Grand Venture Media Group has been trying to buy up every small media firm they can get their hands on ahead of the next election cycle for reasons obvious to anyone with half a brain cell. They’ve made laughably small offers to us more times than I can count, but lately they’ve had their sights set on procuring Franklin and Dodd out of Massachusetts—a purchase I’ve been negotiating for the bulk of this year.
For the two hours that follow, I go down a work-related rabbit hole. It’s the only escape I have these days.
“Sorry. I know it’s late,” Campbell says when she strolls in. “That show is really addictive. I wasn’t paying attention to the time and—”
“—don’t worry about it.” I don’t glance up from my screen.
“Oliver left, by the way. He said he was staying at your parents’ tonight. Oh, and he said he needs to borrow your Phantom tomorrow.”
I tap the messages app on my iPad and fire off a text to my uncle, telling him to stop spending his trust fund money on yachts and start buying his own damn cars. Meanwhile, Campbell grabs her pajamas and heads into the bathroom.