Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Groaning and rubbing my eyes, I feel the heat of the drunken night start to take me in before answering the call.
“Hello?” I think my voice is even. I’m fairly certain it comes out strong.
“Mason, we need to talk.” I recognize Liam’s voice immediately.
I brace my elbow on the table and rest my head in my hand before pinching the bridge of my nose. We do need to talk; we need to have a long talk about how I can’t go through with this.
All the money is spent.
But I can’t keep pushing forward.
I need to return it all to my father and cut ties. I need to turn him in.
Every bit of breath in my lungs leaves me, making my body feel light and my stomach sick. We’re going to go fucking bankrupt, but I can’t be under his thumb any longer.
“We need that investment from your father’s firm.” A sad, pathetic laugh leaves me as I register what Liam’s said.
“We already have it.” I stagger to the buffet, placing the phone on speaker, leaving it on the dining room table as I pour another glass. The bottle’s already halfway gone. “We’ve already spent it,” I say loud and clear as I bring the amber liquor to my lips.
This time I inhale the sweet scent. Fuck, it smells as good as it tastes.
“We need more.” I gulp down the drink, staring at the phone on the table as Liam continues. “We got the estates on the Upper East Side and the committee approved the demolition plans.”
As I take a step forward, I start to regret having the last two drinks. My head feels groggy and my body hot. “No, they didn’t.”
“I got it overturned. We’ve got everything approved, Mason.” I can hear the glee in Liam’s voice. Pride even. He claps on the other end of the phone, a rough laugh filling the room as it spins around me. “We just need that last check from your father.”
Setting both of my elbows on the table to steady myself, I tell him, “We don’t need shit from him.”
It takes a moment for Liam to respond, “What?” He took so long I almost forgot he was on the phone.
“Are you drunk?” Liam asks, his annoyance only thinly veiled.
“No.” I’m quick to deny it, but I know I am.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asks. “What’s going on between the two of you?”
I shake my head, not wanting to answer. “We aren’t taking shit from my father.” It’s all I can say.
“We are. We need those funds by Monday.” Liam’s voice is hard but also panicked.
“We’ll find someone else.” My eyes narrow as I steady my breathing and steel my resolve. I refuse to owe a man like him. I refuse to play by his rules.
“By Monday?” he says, raising his voice and the disbelief rings through. “Mason, we can’t. We’ll lose the deal. It’s not like no one else was waiting for this property. It took almost a year to get it.”
Liam’s voice drones on as he lists off every reason why this plan is fucked. How we’ll be ruined. How everything will fall around us.
I already knew it, though.
I stand, leaving the glass where it is and the bottle of whisky open, taking the phone and leaving the dining room.
“I don’t give a fuck.” I take a deep breath, listening to the silence on the other end of the phone. “I’m not taking another cent from him.”
I have to face reality. Even if it fucking kills me.
Julia
Nothing is suffocating.
It cuts off the air.
Nothing is drowning,
But nothing is fair.
Nothing to hold and nothing to thrill.
When left with nothing, nothing can kill.
The air is crisp on the iron balcony. The thick canopy of oak trees just barely blocks the sounds of the city traffic. I’ve always loved the colors of autumn and the way the dark green leaves thin out and shift to gorgeous reds and burnt oranges.
They’ll fall and wither away to nothing. Yet every spring they come back, good as new.
I’ve always loved their majestic natural beauty in the middle of this concrete jungle. Not today, though.
It’s not fair that they come back untarnished. It’s not right that life continues after death … only for those deserving.
Bundled in my favorite cashmere throw and sipping tea, I let out a deep breath, calming myself. I twist the cap to my flask and pour a bit of tincture into my tea. A small, faint chuckle leaves me as the liquid mixes with the now lukewarm tea. Tincture. Really, it’s just vodka.
It used to be a tincture. It used to be just enough to take the pain away.
But sips turned to bottles as I preferred to feel numb.
Today is one of those days.
If I can roll out of bed and have the strength to tuck the sheets in and fluff the pillows, the day will be okay. That’s what I’d tell myself over and over again when Jace first died. Sometimes it’s true. All you need to do is make your bed and somehow the day is possible. As if simply pulling the sheets tight and smoothing out all the wrinkles is enough to hide the past and put the daily routine into motion.