| |
December 18th
WHAT THE HELL KIND of gift was he supposed to get his father?
As Colson picked up the pace, he sucked in a lungful of cold air, while his mind worked overtime. This was the beginning of his third lap around the mansion. The sun was barely over the distant mountains and everything was still. Seemingly frozen in time as the sun slowly gilded the surrounding countryside with white light. This time of year was both the best and the worst time for his usual morning workouts. Cold air invigorated him, but it also slapped him hard in the face as he jogged.
With classic rock music playing faintly through his headphones, he tried to clear his mind. What kind of gift would a man like Whittaker Bennett want for Christmas? Nothing, because the old man hated Christmas. And yet, he’d been the one to suggest they celebrate Christmas Day. Which was odd. Even Blair, who was hellbent on defending a man who had done nothing to deserve it, admitted that the invitation seemed out of character.
Out of character? Or fully in character? For most people, celebrating the holidays with loved ones was normal. So normal, that Blair didn’t seem to grasp the full extent of his family problems. Her family wanted to spend time together. They not only loved each other, they seemed to like each other, even if they did seem to drive each other insane. Colson had sensed that dynamic when he’d briefly met her brother last night.
For Colson, however, his family might have loved each other out of obligation, but they certainly didn’t like each other. Which was why his father’s invitation had been so out of the blue. The old man would have jumped on any excuse to avoid family bonding. Getting to know his own son was a waste to the old man. Hence the reason why Colson was still trying to figure out his father’s agenda, days later. If his father had become softer, the change would have been most likely due to Opal’s death. Maybe that was the simple explanation. After all, the old man had sounded downright wistful when he’d acknowledged that his wife wouldn’t even notice his absence during Christmas. That wasn’t like him. A sign that he might have started to have regrets about being the source of so much tension in the family.
But, as much as Colson hoped that Blair was right, he knew his father all too well. Extending the invitation might have actually made sense if his father had ulterior motives. If his father was trying to get something from Colson, then what better way than to appeal to sentiment during the holidays? Especially at Opal’s house? His father wasn’t above dirty tricks when he needed to play hardball. The old man could very well be using nostalgia to get his way.
He kept on running, thinking back to previous years, trying to remember the presents his assistants had given his father for prior holidays. There had been some golf clubs a few years back. A bottle of brandy another year. Most years the old man got expensive, luxury pens. Not the most inspired gifts, but pens were the perfect gift for a workaholic with no actual life. Still, getting his father yet another set of pens seemed like a wasted opportunity. Colson had accepted his father’s invitation because he knew it would make Blair happy. No use half-assing things now. Giving his old man a gift from the heart—her phrase, not his—was guaranteed to get her approval. Approval that Colson genuinely wanted. Because her approval meant that his efforts to make her happy had paid off. If he could put happiness in a box, wrap the box, then tie it in a bow, he’d gift that to Blair a million times over.
That was truly all Colson wanted this year. For Blair to be happy. He was willing to move heaven and earth to please her. Even endure a holiday spent with his father. Making her happy meant a hell of a lot more to him than going to bed with her. And he really wanted to go to bed with her again. So much that last night, he had to talk himself out of asking if he could head upstairs with her to her apartment. Though he desperately craved her, Colson refused to try and convince her that they should spend the night together. Just like with all the women he’d been with, it had to be her choice. Had to be her decision after her showed her how far he was willing to go to impress her. When she understood that he was so committed to his family that she couldn’t possibly create any tension, Colson was sure that she’d be eager for them to spend more time together.
Except, as confident as he was, Colson also knew that time was running out. His stomach tightened, though he didn’t slow down his pace. Christmas was in a week. The new year was in two. He’d be on his way back to Boston by then. Mislin Bush would be in his rearview mirror soon. Meaning that he’d have to say goodbye to Blair. They’d need to stay in touch since she was handling his great-grandmother’s belongings, but they’d be communicating in a professional capacity. Even if she ended up wanting more from him, he seriously doubted that she’d want to sign up for a long-distance relationship.
That thought almost stunned him into stopping in his tracks. A relationship. Something long term. Not a momentary fling. Not some brief affair. The real deal. The sort of connection he’d been trying to outrun for years now. Colson had spent most of his adult life breaking things off before they got too serious. With each upper-class woman he dated, he had felt like the walls were closing in on him. Like a noose was tightening around his neck and he was going to suffocate. He had never felt like that with Blair. In fact, instead of feeling stifled, every moment with Blair had felt freeing.
Yet, she had rejected anything resembling a relationship. For weeks now he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her while she had managed to go on as if nothing in her life had changed. Maybe nothing had fundamentally changed for her, but it had for him. He didn’t want to escape being with her. Didn’t want to speed through an affair or go through the motions. Sappy as it sounded, Colson would have given anything to just sit and hold her hand forever. His wealth had been able to buy him anything except the one thing he actually wanted.
And it was killing him to know she didn’t want the same thing. She’d practically said as much when she’d pushed him to put his family ahead of her. Blair wanted him to make amends with his father.
Accomplishing that was about more than getting her approval or taking her to bed again. It was about showing her what he was willing to do to have her for more than a night. If he proved to her that he would do anything to make her happy, he was sure he’d have a chance. A chance at something real for the first time in his life. If only he could convince her that he was ready to commit to a long-distance relationship. If only he could convince her that he was serious, then this didn’t have to be the end for them. Even though he didn’t know exactly what the future had in store for them, as Colson slowed down to finish his routine run, he was sure that he wasn’t going to rest until he had done everything in his power to win Blair’s heart.
***
THE FIRST THING COLSON needed to do was fully iron out things with his father. Which meant getting the old man a meaningful gift. Guessing wasn’t going to do it. He needed to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so as soon as he stepped back into the mansion, Colson headed upstairs to his room to take a shower and change into some casual clothes.
Then, he headed back downstairs to enter the study where his father worked in the morning. Except, when Colson stepped inside, there was no one in the study. Not only was the study empty, the items on the desk were also scattered. What had been orderly yesterday was now in complete disarray.
Brow furrowing, Colson went over to the desk to investigate and found that the drawers had been ripped out and overturned. Papers were strewn everywhere. A nearly empty whiskey bottle was on the carpeted floor. The place looked like it had been ransacked. How could somebody have broken into the house without him knowing? Security was air-tight. Only family members got this far into the mansion without help. That didn’t stop the stab of worry through his chest.
His father. Colson had to find him. Propelled by a sudden sense of urgency, Colson rushed out the way he came and started to search the ground floor. While the rooms were unoccupied, some of them had also been ransacked. Drawers had been flipped over. Ancient trunks ripped open. The antique jewelry boxes had had no intention of selling had been emptied of their contents, his great-grandmother’s jewelry dumped onto the beds and the floors.
“What the hell?” Increasingly desperate, Colson sprinted through the house, calling for his father. “Dad?”
When he got to the end of the last corridor, he remembered his phone and whipped it out to try calling his father. After several rings, the call went to voicemail. Icy dread clawed through his gut. This didn’t make sense. How could someone have robbed the place without being spotted? How could his father have just vanished?
He felt his insides churn at the thought of his father disappearing. They might not have been close, and he had probably never told the old man, but Colson loved his father. He tried to think back to their earlier conversations. Maybe his father had mentioned a detail that would help Colson figure this out. Wracking his brain, he decided to shoot his father a text. After a minute passed by with no response, Colson resumed the search.
It was only when he started his ascent up the staircase towards the second floor, that he heard several loud, yet muffled bangs. An angry, desperate thumping that sounded like it was coming from below.
The basement. Certain that he was on the right track, Colson abandoned the staircase to head down to the basement, the banging getting louder. Guided by the loud noises and the bright glare of his cellphone flashlight, he made it to the basement and threw the door open.
It took him a second for his eyes to adjust to the weak light coming from one of the bulbs. “What the hell is this?”
His father was tearing out one of the drawers from an armoire, but the older man stopped to turn around when Colson’s words echoed through the basement.
“You’re back sooner than I expected.” His father’s tone was calm, but even in the faint light, Colson saw that his father’s eyes appeared bloodshot. As if he’d been up all night.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Colson demanded, gesturing at the furniture. Some of it had been toppled over, chair upholstery had been ripped open, and a couple old ceramic piggy banks had been smashed. “I thought you got up early to work, yet you’re down here tearing the place apart.”
“This is as much my property as it is yours,” his father snarled.
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Colson shot back. “Opal left the house and everything in it to me.”
The old man’s face turned red. That was when Colson noticed how disheveled his father looked. His graying hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. The sweat had poured down, drenching his clothes. Plus his tie was askew and his suit jacket looked rumpled.
“I still get a say,” his father retorted. “I spent more time in this house than you did. I’m more entitled to be here than anyone.”
“Are you serious?” Colson asked in disgust. “You came down to the basement to try and get your hands on Opal’s stuff?”
“No, I’m here to make sure you do right by her,” his father said quickly. “You shouldn’t be the only one to decide what gets sold off.”
At that point, Colson felt an overwhelming urge to knock some sense into his father. For the first time in his life, the old man appeared out of control. He wasn’t his usual cold, unflappable self. Instead, it was as if his father had fully lost it. Colson wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
Colson’s jaw clenched in irritation. “Legally, I am the only one who gets to decide. But you’ll recall that as a courtesy, I sent messages asking everyone in the family for their input on what items we should keep and what items we should sell. Some family members managed to respond. It’s not my problem that you didn’t.”
His father was already turning away to pry open another drawer. “I’m here now. So, I can help decide what stays and what goes.”
“Nope. Not happening, Dad,” Colson said firmly.
“I don’t need your permission,” his father said, waving a dismissive hand.
“Actually, you do,” Colson said, taking several steps towards his father. “I don’t want to get lawyers involved, but if you keep this up, I’ll have no choice.”
“You ingrate!” His father spun around to face him, fury flashing in the depths of his blue eyes. “I’m the reason you can afford those lawyers.”
Colson felt his anger flare. “Opal is the reason either of us has anything.”
“There you go again. More sentiment,” his father said, scoffing. “My grandmother was not a Bennett. Most of our money comes from her husband.”
“Everything else...everything that matters comes from her. Our memories, our knowledge of the family’s history, our connections to each other. She was the glue that held this family together, Dad.” When he realized how much he sounded like Blair in that moment, Colson allowed himself to exhale, releasing some of the anger. Raging against his father when the older man was acting so irrationally wasn’t going to help. Something was up and he had to get to the bottom of it. Then it occurred to him.
Colson took another step forward. “Is this the grief talking?”
“So...so what if it is?” his father’s words sounded slurred all of a sudden.
As he got closer to his father, Colson could swear that he caught the scent of alcohol. He remembered the nearly empty bottle of whiskey in the study. Colson stared at his father in shock. Shit, was his father drunk? While he wanted to believe that his father had merely spilled the contents of the bottle, Colson had to face the situation in front of him. The stench of alcohol, combined with his father’s volatile behavior. Only a bottle of whiskey could fully explain it.
Grief must have pushed the old man into downing too much liquor. Hell, did he truly hate showing emotions that much? His dad would rather get drunk than talk out his grief. Would rather pretend that his spiral was due to family honor instead of admitting that he actually gave a damn about his own grandmother. Stunned as he was to witness the whole spectacle, Colson could have imagined himself walking that same path months ago if he hadn’t started to come to terms with his own inner turmoil. Facing his grief by coming down here for the holidays had been the best decision he’d ever made. Colson hadn’t realized just how much it would change his life when he’d first arrived in town, but personally taking charge of his great-grandmother’s belongings instead of leaving it up to lawyers had been exactly what he needed to mourn Opal’s passing.
His time in Mislin Bush had brought him back to himself. Hell, it was here that he’d discovered that he was his own man. All thanks to Blair. Blair, who had treated him like a man instead of a meal ticket. She wasn’t interested in his wealth. Wasn’t interested in using his family’s status for her own ends. There was no game to play. No scheme to rely on in order to finesse what she wanted out of him.
Unlike the people he knew, Blair refused to remain aloof. She hadn’t worked to hide her emotions. If she thought something, she said it. Not only did she speak her mind, but she also wore her heart on her sleeve. No matter how professional she tried to be, Blair’s passion and sincerity just poured out of her.
While she might have groused about the mistletoe, she seemed to love just about everything else. She loved her town, loved her shop, loved the holidays, and most of all, she loved her family. Colson suspected that Blair didn’t have a hard time telling her family members that she loved them.
Colson cleared his throat. Fighting wasn’t going to solve this. The only way to get through to his father was to tell the truth. Show the old man that he was here for him. “Look, Dad, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I love you, okay? Let’s go back upstairs—”
“Where is it?” his father muttered, ignoring him. “I know the damn thing is down here. Unless...”
“Dad?”
“That woman,” his father spat out. “She’s got it. She isn’t even worthy, but you gave her my grandmother’s things.”
Disgusted, Colson shook his head vigorously. Even now his father seemed unreachable. “That’s what this is about. You’re not just hurt about Opal. You’re still angry about Blair. Because even now you have this superiority complex that you can’t let go of. How dare someone you deem beneath you handle your family’s history.”
His father stopped to lean against one of the shelves. For some reason that made him look diminished somehow. As if he was actually just an ordinary man, rather than the formidable family patriarch that he’d always been. To Colson, his father suddenly appeared human.
“I’ve got the right to defend what’s mine. I don’t have to explain myself to anybody,” his father said. Only, his voice sounded strained. As if simply talking was taking too much effort.
“No, of course you don’t,” Colson said calmly. Despite his anger at his father, Colson realized he had to focus on getting his father sober. Maybe after his old man got some rest, they’d be able to talk this out like rational adults. “Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up.”
“I don’t need your help,” his father said sharply. “And I sure as hell don’t need your permission to do anything.”
Colson clenched his jaw, biting back the first retort that came to mind. The only thing worse than wasting time arguing with his father, was arguing with the man when he was drunk. Since he was the sober one right now, he’d have to think his words and actions through. No matter how much he wanted to shout at his father.
“You don’t need my help, but it’s okay to ask for it, Dad,” Colson said. “I’m not going to hold it against you.”
The way you’d hold it against me, he thought bitterly. That was why he’d always played his cards so close to the vest with his own family. That was why it had taken all these years to open up to anybody. Emotional truth was weakness. Because his father could use every bit of information against him in order to get what he wanted. Now that he was too drunk to even stand on his own, the old man’s power seemed to be eroding rapidly. If Colson was as broken on the inside as his father, he would have weaponized it against him, but that didn’t feel right. Not only did it feel wrong, but he also knew that Blair would think it was wrong. And she was the epitome of kindness. Colson’s thoughts turned to her. The way they always seemed to now that she was a part of his life. His heart felt lighter whenever he thought of her. Just imagining her beautiful smile alleviated the worst of the burden.
Muttering under his breath, his father reached into his pocket to fish out his phone. He started tapping at the screen as if he was sending a text message. The old man seemed to have forgotten that his son was even there, cursing under his breath and sagging against the shelf. After a loud ping in response from the phone, his dad returned the phone to his pocket.
“There. Done.” His father narrowed his eyes. “Don’t need you.”
“We all need people from time to time,” Colson said. “There’s no shame in that. Especially during the holidays.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” his father spat out.
Colson held his hand out, stubbornly refusing to give up. “Come with me, Dad. I’ll help you upstairs.”
“Out of my way,” his father erupted, before pushing past him to stumble towards the basement exit. “I’ve called a rideshare. I don’t need to stick around to hear this.”
Of all the things he’d seen and heard that morning, this was the most shocking. Men like his father didn’t call for rideshares. They called their chauffeurs. Or they drove themselves. Considering how drunk his father was, however, it was clear that the older man couldn’t drive himself. Without a chauffeur in town, Whittaker Bennett was going to rely on the same services as the common man. Shocking as it was for his father to rely on ordinary services, Colson was grateful that he wasn’t going to try and drive. At least he was smart enough to avoid getting behind the wheel.
“Where are you going?” Colson demanded.
“That’s my business, not yours. Merry Christmas, son,” his dad flung out savagely. With that, his father snarled at him one last time and then stormed out of the basement.
