You Are My Reason - Willow Winters Page 0,55

the firm hand my father has on my shoulder in the photograph.

He liked that about her. He told me once she was the perfect example of what a wife should be. That was before he caught her cheating.

I wonder if that man, the one she risked her marriage to sleep with, loved to hear her talk. I wonder if that’s why she did it. Because she had more to say than just a single sentence.

I down the whisky, dragging out the chair at the head of the table and taking a seat. I sag and let my head lean back against the crest rail of the antique chair.

This room is so dark. With black textured wallpaper on the longest wall and the other three painted a soft gray, I wanted it to feel masculine. I remember telling the designer that. I told her I wanted it to feel like me.

On the right, centered in the room and next to the dark mahogany buffet, is a long gas fireplace. It’s surrounded by a sleek marble hearth. More black. Even the light fixture in the room, a circular pendulum that holds the light inside, is black.

I huff a breath into the short glass and suck an ice cube into my mouth.

This is me.

A heart of fire that’s never lit. A dark past that only holds a single moment of time in significance.

I wonder if that bitch designer knew what she was doing.

I kick the leg of the antique chair next to me. It’s carved wood that’s been stained. The deep brown leather of the chairs has a worn look to it.

What’s ironic is how much I loved this room. I loved everything about it when I first laid eyes on it. The only addition I made was that fucking silver picture frame and then I filled that buffet with liquor.

Thank fuck I did that. I raise my glass even though it’s empty, save for ice. “To you, you fucking prick,” I toast the picture and take another ice cube into my mouth.

I crunch down, wondering if the last three words were for my father or for me.

Pushing the glass across the slick table that I’ve never sat at for more than a drink or two, I pull out my cell phone from my back pocket.

I fucking want Jules.

She’s pure and sweet. Even if she overthinks every last detail, there’s so much about her that I want to keep. I really shouldn’t have her. I’ve already been given more than I deserve.

I can’t do this anymore.

The screen lights up as I hear her words in my head. She shouldn’t get to decide when it’s over. Not by herself and not like that. Not because of something so fucking unimportant.

We work together. We make each other happy. I’m tired of living this life with nothing to fight for. I want her back.

My phone rings in my hand, startling me and I drop it on the table. It vibrates, moving slightly as the ringtone goes off again.

Groaning and rubbing my eyes, I feel the heat of the drunken night start to take me in before answering the call.

“Hello?” I think my voice is even. I’m fairly certain it comes out strong.

“Mason, we need to talk.” I recognize Liam’s voice immediately.

I brace my elbow on the table and rest my head in my hand before pinching the bridge of my nose. We do need to talk; we need to have a long talk about how I can’t go through with this.

All the money is spent.

But I can’t keep pushing forward.

I need to return it all to my father and cut ties. I need to turn him in.

Every bit of breath in my lungs leaves me, making my body feel light and my stomach sick. We’re going to go fucking bankrupt, but I can’t be under his thumb any longer.

“We need that investment from your father’s firm.” A sad, pathetic laugh leaves me as I register what Liam’s said.

“We already have it.” I stagger to the buffet, placing the phone on speaker, leaving it on the dining room table as I pour another glass. The bottle’s already halfway gone. “We’ve already spent it,” I say loud and clear as I bring the amber liquor to my lips.

This time I inhale the sweet scent. Fuck, it smells as good as it tastes.

“We need more.” I gulp down the drink, staring at the phone on the table as Liam continues. “We got the estates on the Upper East Side