Page 133 of The Business of Love Box Set 1: Books 1 - 4

PETER

T he road up ahead narrowed, so I put a light foot on the brakes and eased to a slower pace as the pavement gave way to yet another dirt road. St. John was full of little back roads like this and I wondered if I’d know my way around this place by the time I had to go home.

Home.

I still had two months and three weeks left ahead of me in this tropical paradise. The thought of returning to the fast-paced life I’d led back in Los Angeles made my stomach queasy. There was too much noise, too many people who needed things from me, and too much fucking concrete.

And there was no Katie in California.

I smiled as I thought about her. She’d been on my mind all night last night, so I’d gotten up early and headed into town to find a cute cafe with tiki torches and colorful umbrellas on their patio.

I ordered two coffees and two cinnamon rolls and left a bag and one of the coffees outside Katie’s hotel room this morning.

Or rather, I’d left the goodies at the front desk for her because the employees there had steadfastly refused to let me onto the grounds since I wasn’t a visitor.

That was something I’d noted for later. With Katie living in the El Cartana, I wouldn’t be able to walk up and knock on her door.

Regardless, I was sure she’d received the little care package, and I hoped it started her day on the right foot. Based on everything we’d talked about on our date last night, I’d learned just how hard of a worker she was and my suspicions were confirmed. She was a workaholic.

I didn’t necessarily buy into the trend these days that workaholism was entirely bad.

For some people, their careers were extremely rewarding.

But I also wasn’t blind to the fact that for other people it was a way to ignore something in their life they weren’t willing to confront.

So the question lingering in the back of my mind was a simple one.

Was Katie hiding, or was she thriving?

By looking at her and hearing her laugh, I would have assumed thriving. However, there was no way to truly know, and I’d known her for a grand total of roughly eight hours. At least, that was how much time we’d spent together.

I was hopeful for a lot more in the near future.

With my mind still on Katie, I rounded a gentle bend in the road and hugged the right side of the dirt. Bushes dragged softly along the passenger side of the truck while I lifted my coffee to my lips and took a sip.

Suddenly, the front end of the truck dipped.

Shit.

The left front tire hit a pothole. I didn’t get enough speed in time and the truck bounced back up out of the hole. Coffee spewed out of the lid of my cup and sprayed my mouth, chin, neck, and chest with piping hot liquid.

“Son of a bitch!” I bellowed. My hands were burning and I dropped the coffee.

It spilled all over the worn leather seat and the carpet at my feet.

Still cursing foully under my breath, I pulled over to the side of the road, peeled my soaking wet and hot shirt off, and wrung it out through the open driver’s side window.

“Just my luck,” I seethed. My shorts were wet too, but I didn’t dare take them off. I didn’t want to be known as the guy on the island who liked to strip on the side of the road and terrorize tourists.

My phone buzzed as I tossed my shirt on the seat.

I stared at my brother’s name as it flashed across my screen.

Mike, what do you want?

I hadn’t heard from my little brother in a couple of weeks.

When he found out I was heading to the Virgin Islands for some much needed R&R, he’d all but blown his top and accused me of being a shitty brother and a shittier son.

We’d argued, but he hadn’t changed my mind.

I needed out. I was being crushed under the weight of my father’s health and everything that went along with moving him into assisted living and making sure his needs were being met.

That on top of work, crippling loneliness, and a complete lack of purpose was what drove me here.

I considered letting the call go to voicemail.

“No,” I muttered, shaking my head at myself. That wasn’t the way to fix anything. So I answered the call. “Hey, Mike.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Good to hear from you too. How are things?”

Mike sounded distracted. Wherever he was, he was doing something while he was on the phone with me.

It sounded like he was moving boxes. Or rummaging through the back of a closet.

“There’s still lots of shit left to deal with back here, Peter.

Did you see how much of a shithole Dad’s house is?

Nobody’s going to buy this dump unless we get it cleaned out. ”

“I figured you could handle it,” I said.

“Screw you, Peter.”

I gripped the steering wheel with my free hand and tried to control my temper. Yelling at him over the phone wasn’t going to get either of us anywhere. That didn’t change how annoying it was to deal with him and his entitlement.

“Look, I know you feel like you’re drowning,” I started, “but I needed to get out of there, Mike. The house can sit on the market for a few months. It isn’t the end of the world. Dad’s realtor said it’s not a seller’s market right now. We might be better off waiting anyway.”

“You want to just leave this sitting for three months, Peter? Are you crazy? We could get a couple hundred grand for this shithole.”

My jaw ached as I clenched my teeth together.

“No, we wouldn’t get shit. Dad would. And whatever profits come from the house will be used to continue the payments to the new care home.

We went over this. Dad doesn’t have enough in savings to keep up with the payments.

He’s got a year and a half, maybe two. Then he’ll run out of money. ”

“He should’ve saved more.”

“How’s your savings account looking, little brother?”

Mike went quiet. “This isn’t about me, asshole.”

“Last I heard, you had a grand total of two grand set aside which you were planning to use to buy—hold on, let’s see if I recall correctly.

” I paused for dramatic effect. “Oh yes. A new gaming console and a civic so you could drive around town and visit all your no good, waste of space friends. Am I close?”

“Get bent.”

“Gee, you sure make a guy want to come home, Mike.”

My brother and I didn’t always have such a strained relationship.

Things between us had been fine until our father’s health took a turn.

Mike’s carefree, irresponsible, no-consequences lifestyle hadn’t really bothered me until I needed him to step up and help me take care of our father.

When he dropped the ball and started distancing himself from us, it got harder to respect him or even like him.

I loved my little brother with every fiber of my being, but he was a little prick ninety-two percent of the time.

Mike sighed heavily into the phone. “I know you needed a break, Peter. But I need your help here. Dad’s shit is everywhere. I don’t know where to start. Hell, I don’t know what half of this shit is. What do I do with it?”

“You need my help?” I asked dryly. “Convenient. You were balls deep in a bottle of Crown and puffing on weed for the last year when Dad and I needed you. How many times did I call you, Mike? How many times did I warn you that we only had so much time left before he forgot who we were?”

Mike sighed into the line and didn’t say a word.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was pointless. We had argued about the same thing countless times and neither of us was willing to bend. Mike wouldn’t bend because he was stubborn and had a streak of narcissism.

I wouldn’t bend because I was right.

“Look,” I said. “I’m not trying to make this harder on you. I’m not trying to punish you. But I did my part. And I need time to clear my head and get right again. If the house is too overwhelming, then leave. Lock the doors. Don’t go back. I’ll sort it out when I get back.”

“And when is that?”

“Three more months.”

“Fuck, Peter.”

“You knew this when I left.”

“I thought you’d change your mind.”

“Why?” I asked sharply. “You thought what? That I’d miss being the only person in our family willing to put in any work? That I’d miss being pulled back and forth between you and Dad and trying to figure out how to keep everyone’s heads above water?”

“I thought you’d miss him,” Mike said quietly. “I thought you’d leave and then realize you were missing out on the last months of his life and that you’d come home. Because that’s the right thing to do.”

“Dad doesn’t know me anymore,” I said.

“But you know him.”

He was pulling at my heart strings. This was always Mike’s last defense. He’d get personal, and he’d hit me where it hurt. And for the last three years, the place it hurt the most was my father.

“I have to go,” I said.

“Peter, if you don’t come home, he’s going to die and you’re going to wonder why you weren’t there and I’ll be the one to say I told you so. Do you hear me?”

I hung up the phone.

That might very well be what ended up happening. I’d already played that scenario out in my head a hundred times over. But it didn’t change the fact that I couldn’t be in LA right then. I needed a break, and for the first time in three years, I was beginning to feel like myself again.

I could chalk it up to the vibrant colors all around me on the island or the clean tropical air or the clean food. None of that was responsible.

The responsible party was, without a shadow of a doubt, the honeymoon coordinator at the El Cartana.