Page 29 of The Spare
Our father was never meant for the CEO job, and the pressures were getting to him. It was evident in his noticeable absences and how my mother seemed utterly lost lately. The man she married was gone and replaced by someone who was never meant to lead a company.
“Grandfather isn’t planning to retire for a while.” He hadn’t told us of any plans to retire soon; Henry had time to prepare.
“I could probably use some help whenever it does happen.” He focused his gaze on the stem of his wine glass. He rarely asked me for help. In those moments, Henry reminded me of what he was like when we were kids. He was my confidante, my best friend before I had Xander. We were close for so long, until the reality of who would lead the company sank in.
I’d been given the pitch to join the leadership ranks before. I did consider it, but my career was taking off. It felt like a step-down, even if it meant being the second in command.
I wanted to be first. And with the firm, I had a real shot at it.
“I think Marcus may be a better advisor than me.” It wasn't an answer. And realistically, it wasn’t an option. Sutton industries was a behemoth now. The conflicts of interest alone were enough to get regulatory attention.
The conversation drifted from work to our personal lives. Neither of us was interested in the details of the others’ romantic ventures. The headlines were good enough. Henry went through women like Kleenex, so I tried not to ask any specific questions. Aside from a couple of wild streaks that Xander was sworn to secrecy on, my love life was not all that interesting. I worked a lot; there had been a few flings here and there.
Henry was worried last year when Julian and I split. Only having met him a couple of times and not being fond of him, I figured he wouldn’t pay it much attention. He must have caught word from Xander at some point about it because he asked again.
“You’re sure you’re okay, after everything?”
Julian Waldorf was a mistake I would love to forget. When we met, he was easy to talk to and seemingly perfect—doting on me and taking time to impress Xander and curry his favor. The first six months were something out of a dream. I thought I’d met someone who actually saw me and cared for me as I was.
In reality, he was a terrified little boy who clung to his family's opinions as if they were the air he needed to breathe. I’d never forget the Waldorf family dinner I was forced to endure. I spent the entire evening getting thinly veiled insults about my ‘breeding’ or how our family was ‘so new’ to many of the charity boards they headed.
It didn’t take a genius to decode their actual problem with me: skin too tan, money too new.
“It was almost a year ago. I’m fine.” I nodded with a small sigh. I mostly felt embarrassed that I was so taken with him and just wanted to forget it happened.
He nodded, knowing I wasn’t telling him the whole story. “You know the Feds froze his family’s assets?” He laughed. “It was all anyone could talk about at the club a while back.”
“Pity.” I smiled. It was cute when Henry was protective, but hardly necessary; I could take care of myself. Julian knew that firsthand.
CHAPTER15
Marcus
Sitting on the front porch steps of our childhood home for the first time in years was eerie. It felt like a lifetime ago that we lived here; a part of me had a hard time believing we ever did. The cold fall air smelled of rotting leaves and smoke.
I used to love this house. It was the only place that ever felt like home. After our parents died, I hired a caretaker and pretended it didn’t exist.
“Marcus?” Xander called from behind me. “You don’t want to come inside?”
I blinked away what welled in my eyes at the memory. Xander ran out from inside the house. When we arrived, he’d run into the house like a bat out of hell. I made it as far as the steps. The large brick facade that held my childhood felt intimidating.
I nodded and got to my feet.
The house seemed smaller when I walked through the front door for the first time in years. The larger pieces of furniture were still there, and photos still hung on the walls.
The memory of that night tended to replay without provocation. The night they died. Henry and I were at a business dinner. We left the restaurant and were deciding where to get drinks when he got the call from Sloan. The blood drained from Henry’s face when he hung up and looked at me to tell me the news.
Sloan and Xander were just a few miles behind them and soon came upon their car. Sloan was the one to call EMS and shield Xander from seeing their mangled bodies.
“Finally.” Xander rolled his eyes when he saw me walking around inside. “See, not so bad,” he joked, and walked into another room.
I didn’t know what Sloan and Xander did when they came here, but I guessed it was about the same. Xander’s mood was hard to read. At times, he was excited and chattered about memories from the house. In other moments, he was quiet.
I found myself stuck at the bookshelf that spanned the entire study wall. It was our mother’s favorite room. The spine of each book was worn from years of multiple reads. Her journals were interspersed between the books, each the same navy blue with a golden fleur-de-lys along the spine.
“Why don’t you ever come back here?” After a long silence, Xander came down the steps. I found myself walking out of the study and aimlessly through the hallway.
A couple of years after their death and after we recovered, whatever that meant, Xander would ask me to come here with him on occasion. I always found a reason to avoid it. Eventually, he stopped asking, and Sloan came instead.
