Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

Theodore

“Happy Thanksgiving!” my mother shouts as I walk into the house, her arms held up high. She hurries over, her heels clicking on the spotless tile floor. Her arms wrap around me, and she presses a kiss to my cheek. “Honey, you don’t come here enough.”

“I was just here a few weeks ago, Mom.” She pouts, turning her attention on Marianne.

“Oh, you look lovely, Mari!”

“Thank you, Mom.”

That’s another thing to add to my ever-growing list of why I can’t leave Marianne. She calls my mother Mom. They’re close. Maybe they should get married…

I chuckle to myself, shaking my head as I close the door.

“Your father is in study, Theodore,” my mother calls, her arm hooked through Marianne’s as they walk toward the kitchen .

My parents’ house is big, but it’s smaller than the one I grew up in.

My mother complained of the house being too big to clean herself and so my father hired workers to do it.

Then she complained of there being too many people in the house.

So, the answer was to get a smaller house that my mother could clean by herself.

Though, she doesn’t clean a damn thing in here.

They hired a maid who does everything and lives in the in-law across the property.

She’s a woman who can never make up her mind.

I guess that’s what happens when your options are endless.

It’s a modest house for what my father makes, but once you step inside, you can tell they have plenty of money. Grand piano, high ceilings, expensive liquor, heavy drapes, and ugly art.

Why is all the expensive art ugly?

I knock on the door before stepping into the study. It's dark, but not because of lack of light. Everything is dark wood and brown. My father looks up from his phone as I enter. He’s sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Son,” is his response as he glances back at his phone.

“Working?” I ask.

He nods. I go to the bar to pour myself a drink.

“Do you need a refill?” I ask.

He responds by lifting his glass, eyes still on his phone.

The guy hardly works yet he always seems to be working on holidays. I don’t understand it .

My parents aren’t terrible people, they’re just…

not Jack and Rebecca Pearson. I grew up knowing I had a purpose.

I wasn’t born to be a child; I was born to be an heir, to keep my father’s company going—to keep the Beaumont name going.

I’ve never really had feelings toward that—negative or positive.

Not until now, when everything I’m going to fuck up if I change my mind about marriage is right in front of my face.

It’s like dominoes. I make one change, and everything will fall down.

One of my brothers will take over, but because they aren’t the oldest, it’s just not the same, which I don’t understand.

If they want it, and Preston most definitely wants it, just let him have it.

Before pouring myself a glass of Macallan and refilling my father’s, I quickly pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text. Best I do it now before I’m too drunk to be appropriate—or discreet.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I prepare the drinks, bringing them over to my father’s desk and taking a seat. I slide him his, and he grabs it without taking his eyes from his phone.

“Is there something I can help with?” I am the COO, after all. If he needs help, it’s likely I can.

“No. ”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I itch to pull it out and look at it, having a feeling I know who it is. Or, at least, hope who it is.

“Thee-YO!”

I glance over my shoulder as my youngest brother walks into the room with a grin on his face. He's dressed impeccably, as usual, in a crisp blue suit.

“Preston,” I respond.

“Hey, Dad,” he says as he walks around the desk to give our father a hug.

“Hey, son,” he answers, putting his phone down on the desk and leaning back in his chair, to look up at Preston. “How was the drive?”

“Not bad.”

“Where’s Isobel?” Dad asks, looking toward the door, a smile on his face.

“With Mom, of course.”

“Do you want a drink?” I ask, getting up.

“Yeah, sure,” Preston says. “Is Michael here yet?”

“Not yet. Come on, let’s go find the girls,” Dad says, and they leave the room just as I finish pouring Preston his drink. I stare down at the amber liquid and shoot it back all in one go before following after them.

I press my back to the door after closing myself in the bathroom and lifting my eyes to the ceiling.

Just a few more hours.

Holidays were never my thing. Spending so much time with my family isn’t easy.

They all seem to just get one another, while I feel like I don’t belong.

It’s not something they’ve done or said.

My parents tell me they love me as much as my brothers.

They give me the same amount of gifts as my brothers.

In fact, I tend to get more because I’m the oldest, but there’s just something in their tone.

They treat me differently. Not in the way that I shouldn’t be here, but in the way that they’re harder on me.

It's inferred, constantly, that I should know better. My father keeps his distance, making our relationship more business than familial. For some reason, it’s bothering me more today than it ever has before.

My phone vibrates in my pocket for the third time tonight and I scramble to pull it out. It's Tobias.

Happy Thanksgiving

How’s your day going?

Better than mine, I’m guessing, by lack of response.

I shake my head.

Absolute shit. How’s yours ?

I stare at the phone, hoping he answers.

He’s a friend. I need a friend right now.

My family is… difficult. I could text Asher and Morgan in our group chat, but I don’t want to ruin their day with my bullshit.

They enjoy time with their families. They look forward to the holidays.

The only issue they have is Morgan’s sister, but she’s the problem and everyone knows it.

Overall, they’re happy with their lives and how they live them.

Maybe that’s what’s missing in my relationship with Asher and Morgan.

The reason why I can talk to Tobias about this stuff and not them.

There’s something inside Tobias that’s inside me too.

Some type of sadness that makes me feel comfortable sharing thoughts with him.

I don’t feel like a burden when I open up to him, and I don’t feel embarrassed. It’s like he understands.

Maybe that’s presumptuous. I don’t know the guy, not really.

He could have more baggage than a plane, but there’s something about him that makes me feel different.

He’s the kind of person I can unload on, and he can brush it off.

He won’t let it bother him because he’s strong.

Much stronger than I am or could ever be.

Asher is different. He’s just… different. I can’t explain it any other way.

Absolute shit .

His text makes me smile. I shouldn’t be happy that he’s miserable too, but knowing I’m not alone in this is comforting.

If I get drunk and text you stupid things, I’m sorry.

I’d welcome it at this point.

Is that a challenge?

If you’re up for it.

I can text stupid things without the alcohol. I’m talented like that.

I grin, biting on my bottom lip as I stare at the phone, waiting for his response. A whole minute passes and nothing comes through. My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to type something out, but I don’t want to be pushy or overbearing.

We’re just friends.

I suddenly feel like I don’t know how to have a friend. Which is weird because I have friends and always have had them. Why are things different with Tobias? Because I want to fuck him? No, because I want him to fuck me .

Ever since I met Tobias, the man in my dreams who fucks me has a face. A handsome face with a strong jaw and dark hair …

Yeah, that’s definitely the difference between being friends with Asher and Morgan versus Tobias.

Someone bangs on the door, causing it to rattle behind me, and I jerk away from it.

“Be right out!”

“Hurry up, moron!” Michael calls, banging again.

“If you need to shit that bad, go upstairs,” I call back, going to the sink to wash my hands and face.

I didn’t need to pee; I just needed to get away.

Michael keeps banging on the door like the annoying brother he is. Being the oldest is a fucking curse, I swear.

“Keep banging and I won’t leave,” I call out.

“I’ll tell Mom!” he responds.

I yank the door open to face my brother who looks so much like me.

“Are you ever going to grow up?” I growl. “You’re twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake.”

His bright eyes shine with humor. “Only when you do.”

I shove past him and make my way to the dining room, where the grand table is full.

My parents, both my brothers—well, except Michael who is in the bathroom right now—and their girlfriends.

Marianne and her parents, plus her sister and her sister’s husband.

Betty is six months pregnant, and Marianne is sitting beside her, rubbing her belly, eyes full of love.

It makes my stomach sick to think that could be her. Round with my child. Happy .

I don’t hate the idea of having a child, I just hate the idea of being tied to Marianne forever. It doesn’t feel right. Nothing about her feels right after having Tobias grind all over me—after having dreams of him fucking me.

“Sweetie, come feel this!” Marianne calls when she spots me.

I look from her to Betty, who is leaning back comfortably.

“Oh, no. It’s okay,” I say, waving my hand as I make my way to my seat beside Marianne.

“It’s okay,” Betty says, moving her chair a little. “I don’t mind.”

Well, I do.

Why does no one care what I want?

“Go ahead,” Lawrence says. “I don’t mind, and it’s pretty cool.”

With a heavy breath, I reach my hand out and Marianne puts hers on top of mine, then presses it to her sister’s stomach.

“Just wait. Hold on…” Marianne says through a smile.

She gasps as I yank my hand away when something in Betty’s stomach pushes against me.

“Wow,” I say with a nervous chuckle. “That’s weird.”

“Weird?” Betty laughs, running her hands over her stomach. “You better get used to it. Marianne will be there soon enough.”

Marianne turns to me with a smile, reaching over to take my hand.

It feels all wrong. Too small. Too soft. Too… not Tobias.