BRENNA

 

Most people measure their life by milestones. Your first kiss. Getting your driver's license. Going to college. Your wedding day. The birth of a child.

But I measure my life by tragedy.

And like so many other tragic events that I’ve been faced with over the last twenty-six years, this one changes everything.

“I don’t understand. I haven’t spoken to my mother in over eight years. Why would she pick me to be Landon’s guardian? Isn’t there someone else? Someone he actually knows?” I ask, feeling a little light headed. My half-brother Landon was only four when I left home. The twelve-year-old boy sitting out in the waiting room is a stranger. But now he’s my responsibility.

I think I’m going to vomit.

“Brenna, there really is no one else. You’re his only living relative. You would have been considered even if your mother hadn’t specified a guardian,” the lawyer sets down the will and softens her tone. “I understand this is quite a shock for you. Your mother was young, and I’m sure she never expected this to happen, but your father—”

“Step-father,” I correct.

With a sigh, the lawyer nods. “Indeed. Your step-father planned well. There’s a generous trust to care for Landon. That is in addition to your own inheritance. You both will be well taken care of.”

The lawyer begins to go over the specifics, but I tune out the legalese and try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do now. I never wanted Jon’s money. I didn’t want the lifestyle my mother married into after dad died. I’ve worked hard for everything I have. I’m proud of the life I’ve built. But now I have to change everything.

I don’t have a choice. I have to think of Landon.

I’ve been in his position. I know what it’s like to lose both your parents. I wasn’t much older than him when my father died. And mom? Well, she might not have died, but she did leave me for a new family. I was just as alone as he is now.

So it doesn’t matter that I never wanted this life. Landon needs me, and I’m not about to let him down.

After signing a million documents, Landon and I get into the chauffeured town car and ride back to the luxury apartment I ran away from a lifetime ago.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I assure him. “We’ll just take this one day at a time. No big changes.” It’s what I wanted to hear after my father died, but he seems less than impressed.

“Whatever,” he says and puts in his headphones.

Frustrated, I turn away and watch the buildings fly by. I can’t really blame him for the attitude. We may be siblings, but we don’t know each other. He was so young when I left home and eight years is a long time. We’re both different people. But I know, somehow we’re going to make this work.

After one of the most uncomfortably silent car rides in my entire life, the driver drops us off at the front of the massive glass and mirror building that’s now my home. I feel off center, staring up at the building.

“If you need anything, ma’am, just call the service. A driver will be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

I thank the man in the black and white suit, another generic face that’s shuttled me around for the last few weeks. This is probably the last time I’ll see him. I won’t call the service again unless I’m desperate. As nice as it has been to have someone deal with the driving, I hate being dependent on someone else.

I need my car. I need to be able to handle things without throwing money at it. So on our way in, I stop by the security desk and check on the status of my parking pass.

“Give it a couple of days,” the security guard says, dismissively

“It’s been two weeks. I want to park my car.”

“I understand, but management needs the paperwork from your lawyer transferring ownership,” he says and shrugs as if that absolves him from the fact that I had to put my car in a long-term pay lot four blocks away.

“The lawyer faxed over that information today. Can I have a parking pass now?”

“That’s above my paygrade, ma’am.”

I swear, if one more person calls me ma’am, I’m going to lose it. I need a glass of wine and a hot bubble bath; both of which I can get upstairs. At least living in a luxury penthouse has some advantages.

“Whatever,” I say, channeling Landon’s aloof attitude and turn away. Just in time to see my brother get on the elevator.

“God damn it, Landon,” I hiss under my breath and run across the lobby. The doors close and that smug jerk smiles for the first time since I’ve arrived. Great. This whole guardian business is already going swimmingly.

The security in this building for the ultra-rich was designed to keep the riff-raff at bay. Besides a pass to get into the monitored underground parking, you also need a security fob to get into the elevators. And I have a bad feeling that I left mine on the table upstairs.

I rummage through my purse, hoping I actually grabbed the small device before leaving. I check every pocket, but still can’t find it. My stomach turns at the thought of going back to the security desk and asking that asshole rent-a-cop to buzz me up.

I hate this.

I hate that my mother had an affair with my father’s neurologist while he lay dying of brain cancer. I hate that she moved me out of our small, cozy house in the suburb to live with her new husband in the cold high rise. I hate that my mother chose this life over the one she built with me and my dad.

And I fucking hate that he died and left me all alone.

I kick the elevator door. The hard metal doesn’t give, but it did make me feel a little better. So I do it again, this time throwing in a fist for good measure.

I don’t even realize I’m crying until the elevator doors open. Hurriedly, I step back away from the door I’d been abusing and wipe at the tears, making a mess of my eye makeup. Fuck. So much for being the adult. I don’t know how I’m going to win Landon’s respect when I lose my shit over missing the elevator.

I don’t look up as the passengers step out. I don’t need to see their judgmental looks. I have to pull it together before going upstairs. Deep breaths. If I could leave at eighteen and start my own business, I can do this.

“Are you okay?” a deep masculine voice asks.

I look up, and then up some more, into clear grey-blue eyes the color of slate. I’m struck speechless. I must look lost—or stupid—because those beautiful eyes crease with worry.

“Do you need help? I can get security,” he says, gently touching my shoulder.

The shock of his hand on my body pulls me out of my stupor.  “No, Please don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I just left my key upstairs.”

My assurance doesn’t put him at ease. He pulls out his phone. “Are you sure there’s not someone I can call for you?”

“There’s no one to call,” I say and bite back an insane giggle at the irony of those words. There really is no one left to call. I’m alone. I sober at the thought and pull my purse onto my shoulder. “I’ll be fine. It’s been a long day, and I just need some sleep.”

“Dean, the car’s here,” a voice from behind us calls out.

“Give me a sec,” he yells to his companion. He turns back to me, concern still painted across his face and pulls out a card. “If you need anything, please give me a call.”

“Flirt on our own time,” the guy behind me yells. “Our meeting is at eight. We have to leave now, or skip dinner.”

I glance over my shoulder and see the back of his friend’s head as he disappears out the front door. “You should go. And I need to get upstairs,” I say and try to step around him without taking the card. But he’s persistent.

“Please, take it. Just in case,” he says, slipping it into my hand. “I’ll feel better knowing you have someone to call if you need help.”

I sigh and take the card. “Thank you,” I say and step into the elevator. I push eleven and wait for the doors close. After I’m alone, I look down at the name.

Dean Preston. Senior Legal Counsel. Hart Properties.

I wrinkle my nose. That name. Something in the dark recesses of my brain pulls at my consciousness. Dean. Could he be someone from my past? Or maybe it’s seeing the name Hart on the card that’s dredging up things I’d rather forget.

Maybe once I got my shit together, I’ll gather up the nerve to hit twelve on the elevator and find out what happened to the only man I ever loved.

Tyler Hart.

Maybe another day. Right now, I can’t focus on the past. I have to figure out what I’m going to do with my brother. And my business. And my apartment upstate.

Basically, my entire life.