Page 15 of From the Ashes (Redwood Bay Fire #2)

CHAPTER 15

Colt

“So what can we do for you today, Mrs. Brown?” my father asks in his cheerful booming voice that he’s perfected over the years when dealing with clients. It has a way of assuring people that they are Very Important without being too overbearing.

To my ears, it sounds fake as fuck, but I don’t let anything show on my face. I just keep a carefully neutral almost-smile there that hopefully says I’m extremely dedicated to the business on hand today.

The elderly lady across the table from us scowls and fiddles with her locket pendant. It rests over her tweed dress and matching, long-sleeved jacket, the rings on her knobbly fingers the same high karat gold as the necklace.

“I wish to cut some of my grandchildren from my will,” she says in a voice that reminds me of nails on a chalkboard. I’m impressed I manage not to wince.

“I see,” my father says practically. If he has any moral judgement on her intentions, he certainly doesn’t show it, of course.

When he’s in his natural element like this, it’s hard for me to see the man who was on death’s door only a few months ago. I know it makes sense to preempt any future health issues, but as I look at him now, I can’t really imagine him ever not living for the thrill of all this. Of getting the best possible deal for his clients regardless of who’s ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ He doesn’t see it like that. He just sees winning and losing.

And he never loses.

Before I can judge this woman too harshly, I remind myself that she could have a perfectly valid reason for protecting her assets once she’s slipped from this mortal coil. She nods and gives a little ‘humph!’ noise in response to my father’s comment.

“Yes, indeed. My son’s children are the problem, you see. I know what my dear late husband told you previously—how he wanted everything divided equally. But he wasn’t in his right mind, as I’m sure you know. The business of dying made him a little soft, god rest his soul. But I’m here to set things straight and do what’s right.”

I looked at the case notes before we sat down to this meeting. According to his doctor, Mr. Brown was in good health aside from his heart failing him. He was certainly of sound mind. But if he also made his wife the executor of their estate, there isn’t much we can do about it.

“That’s very responsible of you, Mrs. Brown,” my father tells her solemnly, already taking notes in his looping handwriting that’s illegible to almost anyone but him.

I make out the words ‘Fleece her’ underlined amid a few other choice phrases. My stomach churns.

“Please, go on,” he prompts. “We must make sure your wishes are clearly stated and iron clad.”

She smiles primly at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Like I said, it’s Donnie’s kids that are the problem, Grace and Luke.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’d like to limit what Donnie gets for doing such a poor job of continuing the family name as well. My daughter changed hers when she got married, naturally, so his two children were supposed to live the Brown legacy and pass it onto their own children.”

Next to me, Preston subtly nudges my elbow with his. He’s still looking at our client, but in his own notes he’s scribbled down ‘Because Brown is such an unusual surname.’

I think I do very well not to laugh out loud at that, but Mrs. Brown’s next words certainly sober me up quick enough.

“Grace is divorced, you see,” she’s saying with a grimace like she’s just sucked on a lemon. “For no good reason I can tell other than I’m sure her husband got sick to the stomach of her. Tattoos, funny-colored hair, more interested in cats than finding another husband. Then she tells me outright that she has no intention of having children even if she can manage to bag herself another fella! And then Luke hardly needs any explanation. He’s determined to live his life as a flaming faggot.”

Unfortunately, I’d chosen that moment to take a sip of water…which I then choke on and spray all over the table. Preston slaps my back as I clear the rest of the droplets from my airway, while my father simply shoves a box of tissues my way to clean up the mess before addressing Mrs. Brown.

“How awful,” he says sincerely.

“It’s selfish, is what it is,” Mrs. Brown huffs. “If he wants to be a pervert and dress like a woman, that’s his business, I suppose. But he insists on flaunting it for all the world to see! And he’s got the AIDS, so why should I leave him any of his grandfather’s hard-earned money? He’ll be dead soon anyway, I’m sure.”

“Actually,” I say indignantly even though I’m still spluttering slightly. “HIV is extremely manageable these days with a regular life expectancy and?—”

“That sounds extremely taxing, Mrs. Brown,” my father cuts over me as if I hadn’t been saying anything at all. “Honestly, this young generation just doesn’t have any respect as far as I can tell. Such behavior should absolutely remain behind closed doors if these people can’t keep their fetishes in check.”

I swallow, my heart sinking. It’s not like this is new information to me, but it’s still horrendous hearing my own father saying such hurtful things so brazenly. I don’t know if Luke is actually a trans woman or a drag queen, genderfluid or simply gay and fem. Either way, I’m ashamed I don’t defend this stranger more fiercely. He doesn’t deserve to be spoken about with such little respect, and nor does his sister for that matter. Neither of them deserve to be denied the inheritance their grandfather earmarked for them.

Mrs. Brown sniffs. “If they aren’t going to be decent and continue the Brown name, I’m going to cut them from the Brown estate. Actions have consequences!”

“That they do,” my father agrees sagely.

I bite my lip and dig my fingernails into my palm rather than say anything I’ll regret. Again. But if this woman is reflective of the Brown family as a whole, perhaps Grace and Luke are quite sensible not to continue the generational trauma.

That’s the moment my phone chooses to vibrate in my pocket. I slip it out and look at the screen…and my heart almost stops.

It’s a video call from Zahir. I was absolutely positive that after yesterday, I’d never hear from him again as long as I lived. Hope and dread swoop equally through my chest.

“Is that an emergency?” Preston asks. He raises his eyebrows at me, and I get the hint.

“Yes, it is an emergency,” I say solemnly before turning to our client. I’ll deal with my father later, who will surely want details of this so-called emergency. Right now, I have to answer the call before Zahir gives up. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Brown. I need to leave you in the excellent hands of my colleagues for a few minutes.”

She waves me off, not even looking at me and already asking my father if there’s a surefire way to stop anyone else in her family giving Grace and Luke part of their inheritance after she’s gone.

I walk as fast as I can to the door, then practically sprint through the office until I’m outside in the courtyard where I can get some relative privacy. “Hello!” I cry, convinced he’s going to be gone before I can connect us.

But there he is, also outside on my small screen. He’s just across town, under the same beaming sunshine as I am, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like he’s so far away, after all.

I can’t imagine why he wants to talk to me after the way I treated him yesterday. I’m so ashamed of what I put him through, and I’ve been a wreck myself ever since. However, I’m too weak to ignore the chance to speak to him now, even if he’s planning on screaming at me for being the worst human being on the planet.

His expression is hard to read as he realizes I’ve picked up. “Colt,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I…”

We just stare at each other and I can feel my resolve crumbling as my heart breaks all over again.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him for the hundredth time. You’d think those words would be meaningless to him by now, but he raises his eyebrows hopefully, like he doesn’t completely hate my guts.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says. Now that blindsides me.

“Huh?” I blurt out before looking around and moving to an even more secluded, shadier area. As it’s a Monday, the salon is closed, so I park myself in front of that. “Why the hell would you be sorry?” I’m genuinely so confused.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second before looking back at me. “I know you don’t want a relationship. That you can’t…live that life.” He means come out. I appreciate his discretion as much as I hate it. “I made the first move and should never have put you in that position. I just hope you didn’t feel…” He gulps and looks so distressed I can’t stand it. “I hope you didn’t feel forced into anything.”

For a moment, I don’t understand what he’s saying. Then realization dawns on me as well as horror. “What the fuck?” I cry, then hastily look around to check no one heard me before continuing at a more reasonable volume. “You didn’t force me to do a damn thing. You didn’t take advantage of me or assault me or anything like that, so get that line of thinking out of your head right now.”

He looks a little stunned, but I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the fury I’m feeling toward myself, so I push ahead before he can continue beating himself up for no good reason. Holy crap. How I keep finding new and exciting ways to fuck him over, I don’t know.

“What we did was incredible, okay?” I tell him fiercely. “I loved every second of it, but that’s exactly why I had to leave. I knew it was shitty to run, but it would have been even shittier to stay and mess with your expectations any further. You deserve a million times better than me, Zahir. I treated you so horrendously I don’t even have the words. And I can’t offer you anything different now. I’m…” The truth of my words hit me as they fall out of my mouth, twisting the knife even more through my heart. “I’m stuck in this hollow life and as much as I’d give anything to be with you, I will never, ever drag you back into the closet again. You deserve to be free.”

The moment stretches out as he stares at me. “You’d give anything to be with me?” he utters in disbelief. I don’t blame him, because it’s obviously bullshit.

I roll my eyes. “Other than disappoint my bigoted parents and blow up my career, yeah,” I say sardonically. But he’s already shaking his head in exasperation.

“Colt, stop. We’re adults now, not teenagers. If we really wanted to see each other, we wouldn’t have to throw a parade. I’d just ask that I could maybe tell my friends. But your parents could remain oblivious and I don’t see how it would stop you from being an amazing lawyer.”

“How do you know I’m an amazing lawyer?” I quip back so I don’t have to deal with any of the real feelings bombarding me right now.

He tuts. “Because I know you, asshole,” he growls. “Of course you’re amazing at it.”

I swallow, not sure what to say. Not sure what I’m allowed to want or have. “You deserve so much more than to be anybody’s secret,” I rasp.

He looks away for a second before addressing the screen again. “So you’re telling me that’s why you abandoned me yesterday? Because you think you know what’s best for me?”

“Uh…I was trying to protect you,” I defend myself weakly.

He narrows his eyes. “Well, just so you know, that’s bullshit and I’m still mad at you for making me feel worthless.”

“Again,” I mutter.

But he wags a finger at me. “Colt, life is long.”

“I thought it was short,” I counter with a frown.

He huffs. “It can be both. The point is, I’m tired of dancing around this thing between us when it’s clear we both still feel the same. You keep saying I deserve someone better, but I don’t want anyone else, not until we’ve given us a real shot. If you keep cutting things off prematurely because you’re afraid of what might happen, we’re never going to find out what actually happens.”

Words fail me. He doesn’t want anyone else? He’s still willing to give me another chance, even though I can’t be everything he needs?

“Unless you don’t want that,” he says, his enthusiasm deflating slightly.

“Zahir, fuck,” I hiss. Shaking my head. “I want that more than anything. I want you. I told you there’s never been anyone else, not in any way that mattered. I don’t know if I can be enough for you but…holy shit, if you’re seriously willing to let me try, I’ll give you everything I possibly can.”

He presses his lips together, his eyes shining. My heart is thumping in my ribcage.

“Have dinner with me,” he blurts out. “I want to just sit and talk. I want to get to know you again and find out some of what I missed when we were apart. Just spend some time together. Does that…how does that sound?”

I exhale, feeling a little dizzy. “Would you be my first houseguest?” I ask, nerves flaring like I’m asking him to prom. Of course we didn’t get to do that either, but if he’s really asking to give our relationship some kind of chance…

I could cry with relief and happiness.

“I’ll cook for you—for us,” I continue. “No interruptions. Just peace and the whole night to get reacquainted.”

He probably knows I’m asking for us to avoid going out in public for various reasons. No, I don’t want my parents or any of my colleagues to see us and complicate this delicate thing we’re nurturing. However, it’s more important to me that we’re not bothered by waiters or under the pressure of closing time. I want to talk until the sun comes up if possible.

And yes, the fact that my bedroom would be twenty feet away is also a consideration. I’m still a sneaky bastard, after all.

“I’d love that,” he says, sounding like he means it. “Okay, I’ll let you get back to work. I need to eat some lunch before we get another call. But I’ll text you my availability, alright?”

“It’s a date,” I say softly.

“Yes, it is,” he says firmly.

We close the call, and I stand outside hugging my phone to my chest for another minute until I really have to go back inside to face Mrs. Brown and my father.

Is this real? Zahir seriously still wants to give this a chance? He’s willing to risk trusting me after I fucked up so many times?

Who knows where this might lead. All I know is that our story isn’t over yet, and that’s enough for me.