Chapter Five
Brady
I was doing a slow burn by the time I got back to the states and picked up my Ferrari from the airport. On the freeway back to my dad’s mansion I heard a vague rattling sound coming from the engine. Shit. Just what I needed. Spend three-hundred grand on a Ferrari and that’s what you get these days? I shook my head and immediately regretted it as the renewed pounding inside my skull reminded me that I was suffering yet another hangover, this one because I pretty much drank the whole way home.
I wished I could just tell my dad to go fuck off and leave me alone, to let me live my life the way I wanted to live it, but I couldn’t. Regardless of the hard feelings, the resentment, and even some of the blame for the way I felt at this moment, he was still my dad.
It was hot, the car seat vibrating slightly, the engine humming. I drove in a trance-like state, aware of the cars around me but still slightly on the day-dreaming side, at least until I glanced at the speedometer and realized I had just topped one-hundred miles an hour. Shit again. I started to slow down. Too late.
Glancing in my rearview mirror, my eyes caught the red and blue flashing lights of a motorcycle cop. Triple shit! Could things really get any worse? I gradually pulled over to the right side of the highway, my hands wrapped around the steering wheel where the cop could see them. The throbbing in my head got worse when I realized I could still be over the legal limit. If I got arrested for DUI, Dad would be more than pissed. Especially after I had neglected to tell him I was overseas when he called, compounded by the fact that I hadn’t showed up as he asked—demanded. Since my accounts were still frozen, I wouldn’t even be able to bail my way out of jail.
With a heavy sigh, I leaned my head back against the headrest and watched through my side view mirror as the cop parked his bike, lights still flashing as he dismounted. He approached the driver side cautiously, one hand on his weapon, the other grasping the mic high on his left shoulder as he spoke into it. Hence another reason I kept my hands on the wheel without reaching for my glove compartment to retrieve the insurance and registration for my car. Cops had it bad enough these days. I didn’t want any mistakes.
As he came closer, I recognized him. My day did get worse. It was Jamie Morrow.
God. I closed my eyes and squeezed them tightly for a moment, my heart thumping dully in my chest. Of all the cops in Dallas, why did it have to be Jamie? Jamie was the older brother of Elise… Elise Morrow, the only woman I’ve ever loved. I felt sick to my stomach. If one could literally feel the blood drain from their face, I felt the blood drain from my face. My head pounded even harder, my pulse trip-hammering now. Memories flashed in my mind, unbidden and unwanted.
I hadn’t seen or heard from either Jamie or Elise since that night.
The night of the fire.
We’d been dating pretty hot and heavy about five years ago. Jamie and Elise had lived in a trailer park at the time. I swore that she was the girl I was going to marry, but as usual, Dad didn’t approve. She lived in a trailer park. I lived in a mansion. Their family was poor. We were filthy rich. I had—and still do have— plenty of faults, no doubt about it, but I try not to be a snob. I hadn’t cared that she was poor. She was beautiful, exciting, and filled a void in my life that has been missing for a long time.
I loved her.
Or thought I did. The night of the fire, the Morrow’s double-wide trailer had burned to the ground. It was my fault. I knew it. Elise and I had spent that wild weekend alone in the trailer. I don’t remember where her family was at that time, or Jamie. We partied pretty hard—drinking, smoking pot, having sex. After one particularly rambunctious fuck in her parents’ bed, Elise had dropped off to sleep. I stayed awake for a while afterward, sitting up in bed, my back against the headboard, smoking a cigarette. Just staring at her, reveling at how beautiful she was. Her beautiful blonde hair, cut short in a boyish style that most women eschewed at the time, but it looked absolutely adorable on her. Petite build, small but firm breasts, and a waist that I could span with both my hands. Long legs to die for, and oh so very passionate in bed…
And so had begun the cover-up, one that I was ashamed I had agreed to back then and the one regret… okay, so one of many regrets I carried on my shoulders today. I guess I’d fallen asleep without stubbing out the cigarette. It must’ve either dropped to the carpeting or the bedding. The next thing I knew, Elise was pounding on my shoulder, yelling, “Fire! Fire!”
I remember the shrill, ear-piercing squeal of the fire alarm attached to the ceiling in the hallway just outside of the master bedroom just seconds later, followed by heart-stopping fear; the orange red glow in the room, the flames trailing along the bottom of the bed, the carpeting on my side of the bed, the curtains curling and blackened with the hot flames. We both scrambled out of bed, barely enough time to snatch our clothes in our arms before the bed caught on fire. Elise was crying frantically. My heart was pounding when I heard the whoosh of flame behind me and turned to look over my shoulder. The bed was fully engulfed.
She couldn’t remember if she’d put out the cigarette she’d smoked after we had sex that last time. I didn’t say anything although I had seen her do so before falling asleep. I was a coward that night. I never told her about my own cigarette.
Long story short, we both got out and managed to get our clothes pulled on before the fire trucks arrived. A neighbor in the trailer park had smelled the smoke before flames licked at the windows. I knew the kind of trouble I’d be in if the fire marshal and arson investigators found that the cigarette that I’d dropped on my side of the bed had started the fire. Thinking he could help and swearing to myself that if he did I would owe him big time, I told my dad what happened and how.
Dad had ended up paying off the fire investigator. He suggested that the investigator’s report state that an electrical malfunction had been the origin of the fire. The Morrows didn’t have any insurance on their trailer. In order to alleviate any finger-pointing in my direction, and because he claimed he felt bad that I was even involved, he told Elise’s parents that he would buy them a brand-new double-wide trailer. Anyone else involved in the transaction was told that the ‘deal’ was to agree that the manufacturer offered the replacement, no questions asked. He claimed that if the Morrow’s knew the truth, they would refuse such charity. That much was true.
But there was a catch. There was always a catch.
It was the first time that I really felt true, deep-down and resentful animosity toward my dad. In exchange for the favor, he told me that I had to stop seeing Elise. If I didn’t, he would tell the family that the fire was my fault. I could face charges. They could sue me—us. For the parents’, the stipulation wasn’t that big of a deal. Like my father didn’t approve of Elise’s family, her parents’ didn’t much approve of me either. I was rich, spoiled, and arrogant. Elise had already told me that her parents’ were threatening to ship her off to Boston to live with family, just to get her away from my influence. They believed I was the one that had addicted her to smoking, not just cigarettes, but pot, and drinking, although I really hadn’t. She’d been doing that when I met her. Not a lot, but some.
Anyway, I didn’t want Elise to have to pay for my mistakes, so I agreed. I complied with my dad’s wishes and broke up with the love of my life, never to see her again. It was at that time that I swore that I would never fall in love with another woman. Never go through that kind of heartbreak again. What was the point?
Ever since then, I had dated plenty… well, maybe not dated, more like one-night stands. And so it had continued.
A knock on my window jolted me from my not-so-pleasant memories. I looked up and saw Jamie standing next to the driver’s window, gesturing for me to roll it down. I did.
“Hey, Brady, thought I recognized that car.”
I hadn’t seen him in five years. He looked so mature, so grown up. So serious. He stared down at me, no expression on his face at all. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he know my secret? If he did, he didn’t give any indication. In fact, other than the brief acknowledgment of recognition, he went cop mode on me.
“License and registration please.”
Was that disappointment I felt? Why the hell should I feel anything? No one from the Morrow family had deigned to reach out over these years, not even Elise. Nor had I. Maybe it was just as well. I slowly reached for the glove compartment and pulled out the plastic sheet containing my registration. I handed it to him. “My wallet’s in my back pocket. I’m reaching for it okay?”
He gave me the eye as I leaned forward and pulled my wallet from my back pocket, removing my driver’s license and handing that to him as well.
“Wait here.”
I said nothing as Jamie walked back to his bike, talking on this mic. I watched the traffic whizzing by, trying my best not to go back in time. I had put up quite a wall since the fire. Nothing had managed to budge it after all these years, but seeing Jamie was like opening the floodgates. I didn’t want to go there. Not now, not ever.
A few minutes passed before Jamie returned to my car and handed a small leather folder toward me.
“Sign that,” he said. “It’s your acknowledgment that you’re getting a ticket for exceeding the speed limit.”
I took the small folder and scribbled my signature on the bottom, then glanced up at him. He eyed me warily. I hoped to God he couldn’t smell booze on me. He took a good look at my mussed hair, my likely bloodshot eyes, maybe even dark circles smudging underneath from lack of sleep. That’s what twenty-four hours of sex followed by a transatlantic flight could do.
“You goin’ to your daddy’s?”
I nodded.
“Take the next exit and get off the freeway. Take the surface streets.”
So maybe he did smell booze. He started to walk away, and the words just came out of my mouth, unbidden. “Jamie, how’s Elise?”
Jamie stopped and turned, his expression still devoid of emotion. “She’s married, Brady, with two kids. She’s happy.”
With that, he turned around and got back on his motorcycle. I sat behind the wheel of my Ferrari as Jamie drove his bike past my car and disappeared down the highway. My heart thudded dully in my chest. I couldn’t quite define my reaction. Jealousy? Guilt? Regret?
“Stupid ass.” With a shrug of my shoulders, I brushed the emotion off, reaffirming my promise to myself. Never get attached or fall in love with a woman again.
By the time I got to the mansion and knocked on the door of Dad’s office just off the foyer, I was in a foul mood to say the least. No one answered. I walked in and headed for the wet bar, knowing that he would, with his uncanny sixth sense, know that I was here. It’s like his head sprouted radar any time I was around. Sure enough, just after I poured myself a Scotch and gulped it down, wincing at the burn as it slid down my throat and warmed my stomach, in walked Dad.
Standing just over six feet tall with dark hair graying at the forehead and temples, Clint Shaw was a formidable man. Broad shouldered, with skin weathered from years of exposure to the unrelenting Texas sun, he looked like he could’ve stepped out of one of the Westerns I used to watch as a kid. Always clean-shaven, back ramrod straight, a no-nonsense attitude that bordered on aggressive. Not physically. Just intimidating. He didn’t waste any time getting down to brass tacks. Nope, not with my dad. No exchange of pleasantries. He got right to the point.
“Son, it’s time you quit sowing wild oats. You spend my hard-earned money like there’s no tomorrow. It’s time to stop.”
I bristled, a typical knee-jerk reaction to any hint of criticism from him. My blood pressure immediately rose. I felt my face flush with heat. Pissed. “Nice, Dad, canceling my debit and credit cards and forcing me to come home. Don’t you wonder why that is? Why you have to force me home?”
While I hadn’t really expected him to, I thought that comment might likely prompt him to take the bait. Did he have an answer for that? I had no way of knowing because he didn’t take the bait.
“Brady, you’re twenty-seven-years-old. It’s time to grow up and stop acting like a good for nothing spoiled brat of a playboy. My God, you’re the sole heir to a billion-dollar oil empire! When are you—”
“I told you, Dad. I don’t want to take control of your empire.” I stressed the last word as I held my father’s stare, casually placing the empty Scotch glass back on the bar. My hand trembled slightly. Not from fear but anger. “Maybe if you got away from this damned mansion once in awhile and enjoyed life a little.”
“There’s more to life than women, booze, and God knows what else you’ve been up to. Frankly, I’m sick of it.”
I saw him glance toward the bottle of Scotch on the bar. He strode toward it, lips pressed together, jaw muscles tight as he replaced the cap on the bottle and put it back on the shelf. The tinkle of bottles broke the thick silence. He waited several more seconds, getting his own temper under control? He turned around. I blinked. I hadn’t seen that expression on his face in a while. A long time.
That stony expression. That slight drooping of his shoulders before he stiffened them again. For the first time, I noticed that he’d lost some weight. Not a lot but some. Were those new wrinkles on his face, or had I just not noticed them before? He didn’t shout. Didn’t raise his voice. On the contrary, he spoke softly, as if…
“This is it,” Clint said. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve played your last hand.”
I frowned. What the hell was he talking about? Last hand? I waited.
“Here’s how it’s going to be. You’re going to marry—”
“Dad, how can you—”
“Shut up, Brady,” he interrupted, pointing a thick, stubby finger at me. “I’ve given you more than enough leeway. Now I’m going to rein you in whether you like it or not. Free ride’s over. I didn’t work my ass off my entire life to leave something behind for my child, my grandchildren, only to have you fritter it away so wastefully—”
“Dad, what are you—”
“Shut up and listen, Brady, because I’m not going to repeat myself.” He took a deep breath. “Here’s how it’s going to be. You’re going to marry. You’re going to produce a grandchild for me within a year’s time.”
“Dad—”
“Do not interrupt me one more time,” Clint ground out, his voice rumbling up from his chest. “I’ve had enough. I’m not getting any younger, boy, and it’s time you stepped up to the plate and started showing some maturity and responsibility. Now, you’re going to get married and you’re going to produce a grandchild within a year or—”
I couldn’t believe it. This was absurd! “Or what?” Dad sighed. A defeated sigh, one I had never heard from him before.
“Or you’re going to spend the remainder of your life like the rest of the world— poor as fuck.”
At first I thought there was something wrong with him. What the hell? Was he sick? Was he getting dementia or something? But when I saw the look in his eyes, the firm set of his mouth, his jaw now tight with anger, and I realized that he was in his full faculties. He’d just given me an ultimatum. It took everything I had not to snatch the empty Scotch glass from the bar and heave it in his direction. It took everything I had not to burst out laughing.
I took a step back, ignoring the leather couches, trying to maintain my composure, trying not to show my alarm. What had gotten into him? This had never—
“Consider Mary Von Brown,” Clint suggested. He leaned against the bar, thickly veined hands still strong and capable, fingers now interlaced, his posture casual, as if suggesting a business deal. “She’s very acceptable.”
Mary Von Brown? Maybe he was losing his marbles. Mary Von Brown was a spoiled, nasty-tempered woman a couple of years younger than me. Yes, she was rich. “Are you serious?”
Clint lifted an eyebrow. “Why not?”
Why not indeed. “You only want me to marry her because she’s your business partner’s daughter.”
“So? She’s suitable.”
Suitable my ass, immediately dismissing the idea. Before I could stop myself, I had already created a lie. “I already have a girlfriend, Dad, and it’s serious.” The look my father gave me had me nervously clearing my throat. He scratched his eyebrow, his frown evident.
“Who?” Clinton asked, tone heavy with doubt. “Why haven’t I ever met her?”
“The truth?”
“That would be a nice change of pace.”
Again the words rushed out before I thought twice. “Because I was sparing her from you.” I cringed. That was harsh. He didn’t react.
“What’s her name?”
“None of your business. We’re getting serious, and I’m thinking that we’ve made a good match. I might even ask her to marry me one of these days, but I’m not going to have you bullying me into it.”
“What’s her name?”
“Why? So you can have your goon squad digging into her past, her family, and her finances?” I shook my head. I was formulating the lie even as the words left my mouth. “I think you’ll find her acceptable.”
“Then marry her. Get this over with.”
I frowned. “Why the rush? Marriage and a baby within a year?” I shook my head again, not helping my still throbbing headache. “Too fast. My girlfriend will never accept it. She’d get suspicious.”
“And don’t forget the prenup.”
“Dad! You can’t be serious!” My heart was thudding now, harder and faster. What the hell had happened since the last time I’d visited? When was the last time I’d been here? A month ago? I wondered again if he were sick. What if—
“This ultimatum is non-negotiable, Brady. I’m not getting any younger. Frankly, I’m tired of waiting around for you to grow up and act like the man I know you can be—if you tried. The sooner you give me a grandchild, and at this point I don’t care if it’s a girl or a boy, the sooner I can start grooming him or her to eventually take over the business.”
Preposterous! “And if they don’t want it any more than I do?”
He didn’t answer. Until I could think of a way out, convince him that this was definitely not the way to grow a family, I decided it would be best just to mollify him. “Fine. I’ll talk to my girlfriend about it.”
“You’d better do more than talk, Brady. I expect a report very soon.”
My head was spinning. I turned to leave, but as I reached the doorway, he gave me one last order.
“I’m having a reception here on Saturday. Bring your girlfriend. I’ll introduce her to everyone in attendance as your fiancée.”
Shit. I muttered under my breath as I left his office, slamming the door behind me.