Page 65 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

JULIAN

“ I like coincidences about as much as I like fucking crotch rot,” Sonny declares with a scowl.

When I glance at my father, he shows no sign that he’s about to jump in and participate in the conversation. Instead, he seems to be waiting for me to respond.

“It’s not at all far-fetched that the blizzard alone knocked out the surveillance system,” I remind Sonny.

“Storms like this are no joke. Remember ten years ago? We got buried under four feet of powder and all the electricity was knocked out for a week. It’s the reason we had all the backup generators installed. What does tech support say?”

“Nothing yet. They’re still unreachable.” He waves his arms around. “All work has to come to a standstill so people can go eat fucking gingerbread while wearing ugly sweaters and getting wasted on spiked eggnog.”

Sonny doesn’t often get this rattled. The storm, the holiday and the broken security system have apparently sent him into a spiral.

Beyond the closed door of the study, a pack of voices rise and mix together.

I pick out a burst of laughter from Tye.

Then Angelo’s loud suggestion to break out the good booze before dinner.

A friendlier voice that must be Gabe’s declares the food smells amazing.

I hear nothing from Cecilia but I suppose if Gabe is out there, she’s with him.

Earlier, she was showing her brothers around the house.

Sonny’s eyes narrow and he glares at the door. “When do those assholes leave?”

“You can count on them being here for a couple of days at least. You searched them thoroughly, right?”

“Hell yes,” he says. “That Angelo fucker got a hell of an attitude when I looked through his luggage and took of all his metal away. He finally shut his mouth when I offered to break both his arms to give him something different to worry about.”

“And Gabriel?”

Sonny shrugs. “He was more agreeable. He threw his brother a warning glare and said they aren’t here to cause any trouble. They just want to spend Christmas with their sister.”

I’ve got plenty of reasons to refuse to give the Grimaldi brothers the benefit of the doubt. Not the least of these is the fact that we’ve recently humiliated them by shutting them out of their own turf.

Still, they are weak and not even Matthias is on their side. They have neither the means nor the balls to go after us on any level. If anything, the Grimaldis are here to kiss ass and they’ll be pleading for jobs before their visit is over.

But I won’t bother to deny that I can’t wait to see them leave. What I really need is for everything and everyone to fucking disappear for a little while so I can concentrate on my wife.

My wife, who is pregnant with our twins.

My wife, who is under the impression that I don’t love her.

Hearing Cecilia say this upstairs in the nursery knocked the wind out of me. Every minute since then is like staggering through some nightmarish movie that I wrote and directed but hate with a burning passion.

With my mind frayed and wandering, I dimly hear my father tell Sonny to stand down long enough to attend dinner in the dining room. Everyone left on the ranch is invited.

From the way Sonny shifts his weight with a constant frown, it’s clear he isn’t too thrilled about this plan but he can’t argue with the boss.

I’m fleetingly bothered by this. Sonny isn’t easily spooked. If he thinks there’s a possibility the security system was sabotaged, his instincts should be taken seriously.

The windows in my father’s office are uncovered and I can see the blizzard is still going strong even as the sky darkens. No roads will be plowed out here until the snow stops falling. The ranch should be inaccessible right now for anyone who is not already here.

“You never wanted to fall in love and you knew you could never love me.”

No matter how I try to redirect my thoughts, I keep coming back to that moment with Cecilia.

She believes this because I made her believe it.

I plotted and manipulated my way to the life I wanted and congratulated myself for predicting Cecilia’s every need.

I’ve been obsessed with protecting my wife and yet I’ve shamefully neglected her heart and her feelings.

Now Cecilia believes she’s nothing but a trophy or a credential. A box for me to check off. A brick in my fucking empire, like Matthias said.

“Julian.” My father’s sharp voice expels these tormented thoughts.

“I agree,” I say, not entirely sure what I’ve just agreed to. And not especially caring either.

Sonny raises an eyebrow and exchanges a glance with my father. These two men have known each other for decades and they’re able to communicate a lot with one look.

“Sonny,” my father says, his eyes still on me, “since we’re shorthanded, would you mind helping get the dining room ready for dinner?”

“Sure,” Sonny says and heads for the door. He’s got his hand on the knob when he turns around. “I’d suggest to everyone to keep your hardware close and fully loaded. Just in case.”

There’s a bottle sitting out and it looks like my father has already helped himself to a few shots today. I don’t see another shot glass so I just use his.

Sonny shuts the door behind him and my father watches me pour bourbon down my throat. The harsh burn immediately brings me back to my wedding night. This is the same brand as the bottle I took to bed with my wife.

I consider having a second shot and decide against it. Getting shit-faced helps nothing.

After setting the bottle and glass down where I found them, I raise my eyes to my mother’s painting. Winter nights come early and the room grows dimmer by the second.

“I’m sorry,” I say and my voice shakes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Julian.” My father moves to stand in front of me and peers into my eyes with uncharacteristic alarm. “What in the hell do you think you’ve got to be sorry about? You’ve been the perfect son.”

We should have discussed this many years ago. Instead it’s just been this forbidden fact that grows more malignant.

“You already know,” I tell him. “You’ve never said a word of accusation to me but you know.”

He takes a step back, perplexed. “I’ve got no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. I was having fun. I’m the one who convinced you to stay an extra night at the camp. You should have been here at home to protect her. And you would have been, if not for me.”

My father goes ashen. His shoulders slump and he exhales with a pained wheeze. “Julian.”

“Look, you don’t need to make me feel better about it. What happened is what happened. Can’t be undone.”

He keeps shaking his head. He briefly closes his eyes, takes a shaky breath and seems to age a decade right before my eyes. “That’s not how it was, son. You put that thought out of your mind right now.”

“I know what I remember,” I whisper.

And what I remember is the last time I ever saw my mother alive she was waving from the front porch with Fort propped on her hip while Getty pouted on the steps. I barely waved back at her. I was too excited to camp out with the cowboys.

“You listen to me,” he says, grabbing a fistful of my shirt.

“And you hear what I’m telling you. Yes, I planned to bring you and Tye back after one night.

I wasn’t sure you’d behave and I wanted to be free to go out riding.

I was always going to return to the camp.

You begged to stay for another night and I allowed it.

But your mother would have been alone either way.

All because I wanted to pretend like I was a real fucking cowboy for a few days a year.

I’m the one who left her alone, Julian. Not you.

ME! ” He chokes out a sob, releasing my shirt, and turns around to speak to my mother’s image, just as he speaks to her every day.

“Forgive me, angel. God knows I can’t forgive myself. ”

Naturally, there’s no answer. Not from the painting, not from the grave. The dead have no power to blame or to forgive.

A sharp knock on the door pierces the moment.

“WHAT?” my father shouts.

The door opens and Getty walks in. He stops short at the sight of us standing in the middle of the room and doing a shitty job of smothering our tears. He blinks, visibly shocked, which is no small feat. “They’re, uh, getting dinner on the table. Cecilia said you wanted to eat a little early.”

“That’s right,” my father replies without looking at either of us. “Go to your wife, Julian. I need a moment with mine.”

Doing as he asks, I leave the room with my brother right on my heels. There’s no one around to notice my red eyes and Getty keeps his mouth shut when I pause for a moment by the huge Christmas tree to pull myself together.

Finally, he squeezes my shoulder, his version of a question that asks if I’m ready to move on.

With a nod, I give my answer and we proceed to the dining room in comfortable silence.