Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) (11 page)

On Thursday, I attended the fucking board meeting, just as Father had ordered me to do on Monday. They only needed my vote for some stupid expansion. I said yes and ignored the rest of what every member had to say. Following the meeting, I got to play the part of being a peon for my father by having lunch, dinner, and then breakfast with clients. Friday afternoon, I had lunch with Mother and her committee of trophy wives. We had dinner at the house with Victoria Hudson, her parents, and Lucas. Lucas wasn’t alone. His bride-to-be, Mildred Rhoades, and the Rhoades family were in attendance too.

My brother is a fucking idiot. He broke up with Winnie, his longtime girl, because they no longer cared for the same things. Idiot. In truth, Mother never liked her and this Mildred is the one she wanted for her son. The daughter of a famous plastic surgeon. Of course, my brother now plans to become a plastic surgeon. Because “That’s where the future of medicine is,” as my parents would say. A laughable statement.

Now I stand in the middle of the large patio within our Hamptons home, avoiding Victoria at any cost. Yesterday’s dinner with her and her family was enough contact for me. I don’t care that she’s the creative director at her father’s company. Nothing she talked about interested me. Maybe she’s not so bad, but if she is anything like my parents, she’s not the person I want to be attached to for the rest of my life. Nonetheless, my father has been dropping hints about me using my grandmother’s engagement ring and making today a double engagement party.

He has also spent time reminding me that once we consummated the marriage, the position of CEO would open up for me.
Is he for fucking real?
Consummate the marriage? Is this the middle ages?

“I already own a business, Father. But thank you for the offer,” I had responded with a firm voice and then retired to my room.

Father didn't let the subject, or myself go. No. He followed me all the way to my old room. “We’re not done with this conversation, Tristan. You've reached the end of the line.” His voice could be heard through the entire house. My father squeezed my arm and tried to spin me around the way he used to when I was younger. I did turn, but pushed him away from my body. His raging eyes darkened a few shades, and his face turned red. “What the fuck was that, Tristan? I'm your father, I deserve respect.”

“Don't you dare to touch me,” I said, controlling my breathing, and my rage. “I won't allow you to ever hit me again. We have established that already. This is the last time I say it. I'm not coming back. No, I won't take over your company, and there won't be a Cooperson-Hudson wedding.” It remained on the tip of my tongue that I had a man in my life. That information would push him over the edge and I didn't know what he'd do. Having not heard from Matthew since I left Seattle, I wasn’t exactly sure that was the case anyway.

If it wasn’t for the amount of whiskey I drank last night, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Earlier today, Mother woke me up. She believed we were driving to the Hamptons together—as a family. I refused.

“You're pushing this too far, Tristan,” she had said with a cold voice. “Charles isn't happy with you, Son. He needs you.”

Where had he been all the times I needed him? I remained silent as her words drilled inside my pounding head.

“Your great-grandfather built Cooperson Corporation from the ground up with the little money he had in his pocket when he arrived from England.” She hit me with the same old story about our legacy. “It would be an honor to take over. You’re wasting the opportunity of a lifetime.” Those were the words I’d heard so many times from my parents over the years.

“I don't want it. Keep your opportunities. I'm happier living in California.”

“Are you still gay?” My mother crossed her arms and I was taken aback with her question. It was the first time she’d acknowledged my sexual preference, even when she used the wrong term. “We expected the teenage phase would be gone by now. You're thirty. Time to grow up, Tristan.”

I couldn't help myself and released a big laugh. As if I could change my sexual orientation with time. Gay isn't the term, but I didn’t explain to her that she's wrong about it either. Were they seriously expecting that “the phase” would disappear with time? No amount of money or therapies changed who I am. Those “treatments” only confused the hell out of me. I lost friends
and
myself during that period. If I’m not careful, I might even lose the closest friend I’ve had in years, and my lover. But I didn’t tell her any of that. I remained silent for a few breaths.

“I'm driving my own car, Mother,” I said, composing myself. “As you pointed out, I'm a grown man that can make his own decisions. See you there.”

“Fine.” She smoothed her skirt. “Take your own car, but remember to behave during the party. That includes being social, and interacting with Victoria—your future wife.”

I flinch at the memory of that fucking conversation. I'm older, I remind myself while massaging my temples. They can't beat the hell out of me the way they used to. No. They can’t touch me anymore. Thank. Fuck. So, why do I still let them?

Between the hangover, the sun’s reflection, and the noise, I don’t notice when Victoria approaches me. The whiff of her sweet floral perfume overwhelms my senses. As I scrunch my nose, she tosses her long, shiny hair over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. The attempt at a seductive pose does nothing to excite anything inside me. My only worry is that it's too cold for that skimpy dress she’s wearing.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, Tristan.” She licks her lips as she angles her face. The practiced number is not working on me. “We have to catch up. It’s hard to get to know you when you live on the other side of the country.”

“That’s where my life is, Victoria.” This was worse than a board meeting. “Between L.A. and Seattle. I don’t have time to come over often.”

“I understand. I barely have time to play around, but maybe next time I’m in L.A., I can visit you.” I resist the urge to step away from her. Not because I’m enjoying the torture, but because I spot my mother watching me from the other side of the courtyard. “Maybe I can visit your offices and talk about doing the advertisement for your . . . What is it that you do again?”

“I own bars and nightclubs along the west coast.” Her face remains indifferent.

Is she waiting for more? Like my parents, she’s probably waiting for me to add something extra. Owning a few little nightclubs is hardly considered anything spectacular in my family. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I decided to open a pub down in San Mateo when I left.

Once I turned twenty-one and my trust fund became available, I took advantage and cashed it. My first order of business was to donate half to the LGBT charity in Connecticut. After that, I dropped out of Yale and moved to California. The best way to start my new, independent life was by starting a business that had nothing to do with my family. A pub. Of course that independence only goes so far, like when I head back to my parents’ during the holidays and can’t seem to cut all the ties attached to them.

“Is that all?” Her body slumps slightly, before she recovers and corrects her posture. “I get it. Why would you care when you’re going to be the one in charge of Cooperson Corporation soon? Understandable. Will you be selling them when you move back?”

The question hits me on the chest. I’ve worked almost ten years of my life to create the name Tristan Cooperson. To become who I am. Not only my family, but everyone here swears I’m going to sell that part of myself and move here to . . . become my father. Marry this woman, who even when she’s attractive, means nothing to me.

I push up my sunglasses. “You seem like a smart woman.” I point around the premises. “This is not my scene. I don’t belong here. You’re not my type of woman.” I pause, holding the words that we would never belong to each other—or any other shit. No need to become nasty. “Most importantly, I’m not planning on following my father’s steps.”

Victoria’s sharp intake shifts the air around the premises. “But . . . think about everyone, not just you,” she screeches.

My mother’s eyes land on me again. I give her a sharp nod and head to the rental. I’m glad I didn’t take down my overnight bag. The drive to JFK should take me less than two hours depending on traffic. Maybe I will make it to Seattle before the end of the day. Another place I don’t belong, but that city doesn’t make my skin prickle with distaste. Maybe I don’t belong anywhere or to anyone. Some are born to be alone, that might be me.
That might be me.

S
weat droplets roll down my forehead after coming back from the gym. I shouldn't have gone there when I came back from my parents’. After all, I worked all morning at their house. They needed us to move out some of their furniture to make some room for my grandparents’ stuff. They're finally moving out of Albany, and moving to Seattle to be with us. I was thrilled with the idea, and when my parents asked me to help them rearrange their house, I never considered saying no. Until my brother-in-law woke me up early and had me working with him like a dog all morning. Mason and I emptied two of the downstairs guest rooms, placed the furniture on a moving truck, and took it to a storage unit. We’ll use those rooms to place my grandparents’ stuff when it arrives from Albany. Meanwhile, there's a big crew building a small bungalow next to my sister’s home. That's where Janine and James Colthurst will ultimately move. Another way to make sure they are comfortable. In a month, when their new place is ready, we have to rearrange everything—again. I swore I'd pay for the movers to do that shit, and avoid them for a couple of weeks. My grandma’s words ring in my ears.

“Any girl—or boy—that might interest you, dear?” she asked. “You’re old enough to settle down.”

Now they want me to get hitched. Fuck. The pressure is on and I don’t like pressure. Tomorrow is going to be another dose of the same. Do I really want them around? Heck, yeah. Who am I kidding? I’m happy having them around. Hopefully that question won’t come up again.

As I arrive at my building, I exit the truck and hand over the keys to Joe, our doorman. Instead of taking the elevator, I head for the stairs. Climbing all nineteen floors, I reach my place and pray nothing will ruin my night. But I’m wrong. As I place my gym bag, and deposit my wallet and keys in the coat closet’s safe, I see him. Tristan sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. Fuck, is he drunk again? I snap my fingers and don't get any response. Yep, he's under the influence of something.

“Time to take a cold shower,” I say, as the whiff of alcohol assaults my nostrils. “What happened, babe?”

Several questions pile all at once: Where has he been? Has he been drunk since last Tuesday? Is he a drunk? How can I help? None of them make it out of my head. Instead I help him going up the stairs and into the shower. In other circumstances I'd be all over him “saving water,” but not today. This amount of drinking isn't healthy. I'm concerned about him, worried that maybe being with a man is what's making him drink more. Hell, some days I want to search for that liquid courage, too. Being in the closet to please him is taking a toll on me.

When he sobers up we have to talk. My gut tells me that this shit I'm doing isn't settling well. I'm not the only one who has doubts and thinks I should find a way out. I do like Tristan, and have learned to care for him. But not to the point of losing perspective of who I am, and the values I've lived by since I discovered my sexuality.