I want him to be proud of me, like I am of him.
The door bursts open, and Tristan comes racing in. “What’s happening?” he cries as he stares at the television.
“You missed the kickoff!” Harry yells.
Tristan throws his jacket off and marches into the kitchen. “Hey, baby,” he says as he kisses me quickly.
I smile up at him, but before I have time to reply, he grabs a beer from the fridge and runs back out into the living room to the boys watching the game. “No!” he cries. They all begin to yell at something in the game.
I smile, and an unwanted resentment falls over me. I wish I could be so excited about something. I have this black cloud of fear hanging over me.
Everything that Wade worked so hard to build is disappearing before my eyes.
He wanted the boys to attend a public school in Long Island, and they aren’t. He wanted them to grow up without excess money. I’m pretty sure having a limo pick them up from school every day blows that out of the water.
And now Anderson Media, the career that Wade worked so hard on creating-his biggest dream was to hand it down to the boys.
Now I’m losing it . . . I’m losing that too.
I exhale heavily as I go back to my laptop.
Wade . . . help me.
I’m tired. This week has been a never-ending roll of meetings with the board. We are in the final stages of staying afloat, and I don’t know what to do. I look over to Tristan as he drives. “Where are we going?” I ask.
He smiles over at me like the cat that got the cream. He picks up my hand and kisses my fingertips. “I have a surprise for you.”
The boys chatter in the back seat among themselves, and I try to calm my nerves. I’m not in the mood for surprises. I’m so anxious that I’m nearly suffocating.
If something drastic doesn’t happen, if I don’t get a big injection of funds from somewhere, the writing is on the wall-the liquidators will be moving in within the next six to eight weeks and taking my company from me. I will be forced into bankruptcy. The company insolvent.
I want to talk to Tristan about it, but I don’t want him to worry or feel that he has to put the money in. I already declined the Ferrara offer; now my only other option is to sell to Miles Media, but then I know I’ll hold that grudge against Tristan forever. He will always be the man who took Wade’s dream from us, and I really don’t want it to affect our relationship. Because I know if it does come to that . . . it will.
How could it not?
I think back to how hard Wade worked so that he would have something to hand down to his sons. And in the five and a half years since his death, I have effectively killed everything he worked for.
I’m sick to my stomach.
Tristan chats and laughs with the boys, carefree as he drives, and an unwelcome jealousy fills me. He has no idea what it’s like to struggle.
He’s never had to do it.
I know he works so hard and deserves everything he has, but it’s . . . I can’t even articulate what it is I’m feeling . . . resentment, maybe?
I don’t know why I’m feeling like this now, but with the oncoming demise of Anderson Media, it’s suddenly eating at me.
Maybe I’m just hormonal, or maybe it’s because of the way we met.
From day one I have always known that Wade’s company has been on Miles Media’s acquisitions list. They wanted it, made no secret of it.
It’s how we met.
I pushed it out of my mind for so long . . . but now that it’s impending, it’s all I can think about. Everything Wade wanted is coming to an end, and I just don’t know how to stop it.
We pull up on the street in front of a grand house, and Tristan smiles over at me.
“What’s this?” I ask flatly.
A man gets out of the car in front of us and smiles broadly.
Tristan waves. “Come on, boys, Claire.”
“What are we doing?” I frown.
“Looking at this house.”
“What for?”
“Because I want to buy it for us.” He climbs out of the car, and the boys bounce out after him.
“What?” I frown.
He waves me out . . . fucking hell, I don’t have time for this shit. I get out of the car and walk up to him as he talks to the man.
“Michael, this is Claire, my partner,” he introduces me.
“Hello.” I fake a smile as I shake his hand.
“And these are my boys, Fletcher, Harrison, and Patrick.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. His boys.
They are Wade’s boys.
“What a beautiful family you have.” Michael smiles as he leads us up the path toward the house.
“Yes, I do.” Tristan smiles proudly. He’s holding Patrick’s hand and has his other hand on Harry’s shoulder protectively. Fletcher walks with them as they go into the house.
I begin to see red. Why is he showing me houses? I’m not fucking moving from Long Island. I own my house. I’m comfortable there . . . we’re comfortable there.
It’s our home.
It’s what Wade wanted.
I begin to hear my angry heartbeat in my ears as I trail behind.
Calm down . . . calm down . . . calm down. You’re just stressed; calm the fuck down.
The house is huge and set on a large plot of land in a leafy suburb about twenty minutes out of New York. Michael begins his sales pitch. “This is the foyer.”
It’s about the size of our current living room and has a grand sweeping staircase that splits into two near the top level.
Tristan smiles and takes my hand excitedly. “I’ll show them around, Michael,” he says.
My eyes flick to him in question. What? He’s been here before?
How long has he been looking for a house on the sly? I begin to fume inside.
“Of course.” Michael smiles. “I’ll wait outside.”
Michael disappears out the front door, and Tristan smiles proudly. “Pretty sweet, right?”
“Hmm,” I reply as I look around.
“Out here is the kitchen.” We walk through to a large kitchen, and I roll my lips in annoyance. “Wiz and I could cook up a storm,” he says. Harry’s eyes widen in excitement.
I hate it.