Lost: A Counsel Novella Page 3

  I reach for the plastic bag beside my bed, rummage through it and hand her a small box.

  “Here. Can I go back to sleep now?” I ask, and she hits me again.

  “Stop that! You do not want to start a fight with me,” I threaten, sitting up. Cait raises the pillow—my only pillow—and smiles smugly.

  “Tell me what happened,” she demands.

  “Wait! This first—” she decides, throwing herself onto my bed before excitedly opening the box. She smiles at me, dangling the chain from a finger.

  “Thanks,” she says. “Now, spill!”

  “Well, the Empire State Building was completed in nineteen forty-one and remained the tallest building in New York until—” Cait narrows her eyes in warning.

  “The asshole left me thirty million dollars!” I say, signing as I speak.

  ‘You mean three,” Cait holds up three fingers.

  I slowly and deliberately sign as well as mouth the word, “t-h-i-r-t-y.”

  “Fuck!” she exclaims.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” I reply just as Mom passes my door.

  “Language!” she admonishes me before her look turns to one of concern.

  “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Yep, Dad’s definitely filled her in.

  “I’m okay, Mom. What’s for breakfast?” I change the subject.

  “Your favorite,” Mom says, and I smile back at her. Pancakes, maple syrup, and crispy bacon—I’m already salivating because I haven’t eaten since the hamburger Dad and I had at the airport before boarding last night.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I yell after her.

  “Food will be on the table in half an hour. Make sure you dress before you come down,” Mom tells both of us.

  “You’re rich; you can buy a car,” Cait says excitedly.

  “I don’t want the money,” I tell her.

  “Why not? You’re entitled.”

  “Don’t you get it?” I jab my forefinger to my temple for emphasis.

  “He knew about me—he deliberately waited until after he died to acknowledge me! Probably in some last-ditch attempt to save his soul or something; I don’t fucking want his money. I want nothing to do with him, just like he wanted nothing to do with me!”

  Her face drops. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, diving forward to give me a fierce hug. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze back before getting up and going to the bathroom.

  Standing under the water, I think about what I’d said to Cait. Winston had planned for me to find out about him only after his death. I bet he never even mentioned Eleanor or me to his family. What a fucking coward; he didn’t want to face them or us. Instead, he left his lawyers to deal with it. And his letter to me, what the hell was that about? I don’t know what excuses he could possibly have for his behavior. Nothing he had to say would make any difference. Adam Winston can’t buy my forgiveness.

  A couple of days later, still lost in my head, I wander the streets for ages before making my way to The Hangout, where I arranged to meet my friends. I’ve known Matt Bannen since shortly after I moved in with Mom, Dad, and Cait. Other than my sister, I’d say he’s my best friend. I’ll never forget our first meeting. I was the new kid at school—skinny, insecure, the perfect target for bullies.

  A group of older boys swaggered around like they owned the place, and, out of sight of teachers, picked on other kids. They targeted me almost from day one. Mad as it made me, I ignored them, not wanting to cause trouble with my new family. Then, one day, they demanded my lunch money. I may have been smaller, but there was no way I was handing it over, no way I’d willingly go hungry again.

  “You know you’re gonna have to,” Billy Saunders, the leader and biggest, threatened. Our chests were nearly touching, but I didn’t back down. He pushed me, and I remember stumbling back, but I recovered and planted my feet. I didn’t care that they outnumbered me; I’d had enough of their threats. “Oh, he’s asking for it now,” one of his friends sniggered.

  I was preparing to thump Billy in the gut as hard as I could when a voice interrupted. “Want to make this a fair fight?” I didn’t take my eyes off Billy as the kid came to stand beside me.

  “This is nothing to do with you, Bannen,” Billy challenged, not quite as cocky as before.

  “When you gang up on a kid, I make it my business.”

  Together, Matt and I faced down Billy’s group. We all ended up in the principal’s office and then picking up garbage in the playground for two days after, but it was worth it. I had a bloody nose, and Matt, a bruise on his chin, but we were proud that the others were in worse shape. I was eight, and Matt, nine at the time—we’ve been best friends ever since. He introduced me to Ian and Alan, and we’ve all been pretty much inseparable since then.

  “Bout time you got here,” Alan yells out when I enter the local pool hall, our regular meeting place, which we named The Hangout. Barney, the owner, is a tough guy, who takes no shit, but he’s used to us now, and we all think he’s cool. We mess around a lot, but never here because, to us, this place is like our second home.

  “You playing?” Ian asks, impatiently tapping his cue when Matt and I start talking.

  “You ready to lose again?” I goad.

  “Yeah, Ian, how many times have you lost to him now? Do you even have anything left to bet?” Matt snorts with laughter.

  “You’ve already lost Platoon and Street Fighter,” Alan rubs it in.

  “Maybe I’ll bet he can’t get to second base with a girl,” Ian counters.

  Before I can say something smart in return, Mitch Jones, a kid who’s had a couple of run-ins with Ian, interrupts. “How about Tess Williams? Everyone knows she’s up for it—just ask Pat Kelly.”

  Ian is sweet on Tess. Jones knows this, and he’s lying about Kelly, but he also knows Ian will react. Matt, Alan, and I prepare for the fallout.

  “Say that again, and you’ll be spitting teeth like melon seeds,” Ian threatens, his grip tightening on his cue. We move to his side, and Jones’ four friends step up too. And just like that, we’re in a face-off.

  Some shoving happens before Barney tells them to leave. They do, but Jones turns back to yell at Ian. “I bet she’ll give it up for me too!”

  Matt holds Ian back, telling him to let it go. “There’s plenty of time to get even,” he says.

  On our way home, we pass a burger joint, and Alan points out a car parked around the corner. Ian smirks. It’s Jones’ pride and joy, his Chevy Cavalier, a hand-me-down from his Dad he’s been showing off for months. Ian tells Alan and me to keep watch while he and Matt make their way to the car. Minutes later, we hear a shrill whistle, and Alan and I sprint to catch up with them as they take off down the block.

  Ian whoops with delight when we stop and opens his coat to reveal two hubcaps. Matt shows us the matching pair.

  “Now you’re even,” he says, returning Ian’s grin.

  Chapter Four

  “Adam, let him go. What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Matt yells.

  “He’s spouting shit!” I shake off his hold on my arm.

  “We all know he’s an ass, and you’re normally the coolest about it. What’s going on?”

  I inhale and then exhale deeply—to clear my head but also to loosen the knot in my gut. Heavy as lead and burning like molten like lava at times, I feel it rise, the need for release so strong, I feel like I’m about to explode. I’ve experienced this before when I was just a kid forced to listen to what was happening in the next room. Then, I cried to ease my hurt and frustration, but I haven’t cried in years. I’ve managed, mostly, since my adoption, to control those emotions. But, since learning about Adam Winston, they’ve returned. They’re so much more intense; they border on rage and are harder than ever to control.

  Alan was just acting true to form. He wanted us to go to a coffee shop where a girl he’s interested in hangs out. I said no, that I was expected home, and he called me a mommy’s boy. It wasn’t the first time he’s made a crack like tha
t or called me a pussy, but, for some reason, this time, I snapped. I think they were all shocked when I pinned Alan against the wall.

  “Don’t ever fucking call me that or talk about my family again!” I warn, glaring at him before turning away.

  “I was only messing around—” I hear him mutter.

  “Adam, hold up,” Matt yells, but I keep walking.

  He’s asked me several times since New York if I’m okay, and I’ve said I am. All Matt knows about the trip is what I told him before leaving—that we received news about my biological father. When we returned, I said he’d died and that he had another family I didn’t want to meet. I didn’t reveal Adam Winston’s identity because I don’t want my friends, even Matt, to know the truth. How do you tell people from families who’ve struggled financially and continue to bust their guts for what they have that you’ve inherited millions of dollars and don’t want it?

  I go straight to my room and shut my door when I get home. Dad isn’t home yet, and Mom and Cait are making dinner. Usually, I’d join them, get in their way and chat, but I’ve been spending a lot of time in here drowning out my thoughts with music lately.

  I open my eyes to find Mom staring down at me. She motions for me to turn the sound down.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I apologize, sitting up.

  “You didn’t, sweetheart, but I’m worried. What’s up, Adam? You haven’t been this withdrawn in years.”

  “Nothing, Mom,” I say, but she gives me her ‘don’t try to fool me’ look, and I cave.

  “I hate him. Why can’t we just give the money back?”

  Mom sits on the bed beside me. “Adam, I understand your anger; your dad and I both do, but, darling, you need to talk about it—to us, or we can find you someone for you to talk to because it’s unhealthy to hold in so much anger and pain.”

  “I’m not hurt. I’m mad—at him, at Eleanor for not telling me, at myself for thinking he was some kind of hero. I was so stupid!” I confess, the words spilling like vomit.

  “You weren’t stupid; you wanted what all children need. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Come downstairs; your dad will be home soon, and dinner’s nearly ready,” she suggests, so I do.

  After dinner, back in my room, Dad comes to tell me he and Mom want to talk to me in his office. Mom’s already waiting when I walk in ahead of Dad. “Sit down,” she invites.

  “What’s up?” I ask, despite already knowing the reason for this meeting.

  “We want to discuss your inheritance,” Dad informs me.

  “I’ve already said I don’t want it, Dad. If you won’t refuse, I don’t want to know about it—spend it on Mom, Cait, yourself—anyone or anything, I don’t care!”

  “Watch your tone, Son. I’ve told you before; it’s not our money, and your mother and I wouldn’t dream of touching any of it. You’re too young and angry right now to think clearly, so we’ve made some decisions to safeguard your inheritance,” Dad says his tone warning me not to argue.

  I bite down an angry retort. “Adam,” Mom’s voice dampens my temper. “Your dad’s right; you’re entitled to that money. You were from the day you were born, and your mother would have wanted you to have it. I know you don’t think it, let alone believe it, but Eleanor wanted what’s best for you. Don’t let her sacrifices be in vain.”

  I snort derisively, and Dad gives me another warning look. I can tell he’s disappointed in me, and I lower my head, feeling somewhat ashamed. But I think it’s a joke even to suggest that Eleanor considered me. If she did, she wouldn’t have turned to alcohol and drugs or slept with those men.

  “Are you ready to have a rational discussion?” Dad asks, taking his seat behind the desk. I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak without totally pissing him off.

  “Good. Now I’d like you to let me finish without interrupting.” He waits until I agree before continuing.

  “I’ve taken financial and legal advice, Adam, and your mom and I have decided that the best thing to do is to set up a trust fund in your name. We also think you should receive a reasonable monthly allowance from the fund—put it into a bank if you don’t want to spend it—” he cuts off my protest.

  “I’ll help you set up the account. We’ve also made allowances for your college education and a car when you turn eighteen.

  “We suggest terms be set for you to gain access to your money when you turn twenty-five. You could, of course, take control of it sooner, but we strongly advise that you wait. You’ll have a greater understanding of financial matters and, hopefully, a better perspective on things then.

  “If you’re agreeable, I suggest that Mom and I and our family solicitor, Mr. Greene, be appointed as trustees. If you’d like it to be anyone else, we’re happy to consider it, but we insist that the person or persons be competent, trustworthy and that we have them thoroughly investigated and cleared. What do you think about those arrangements?” Dad asks, and he and Mom wait for me to reply. After long moments, I do.

  “It seems reasonable—given that you won’t refuse the money,” I can’t resist adding. “I won’t be spending it, so there’s no need for an allowance. I’m happy with what you and Mom give me, and I don’t want any more than Cait gets.

  “Also, I want you to pay for Cait’s college and a car for her from the money. And what about you and Mom?”

  “Adam, we’ll provide for Cait’s education as we planned to do for yours. We’re aware, however, that we wouldn’t be able to send you to the best colleges, and we think, given this inheritance, that it would be a travesty to deprive you of that opportunity. As for Cait, I’m sure she can wait until we can afford to buy her a car. And Mom and I don’t need new cars. If and when we do, we’ll wait until we have the money, just like we’ve always done, Son, but thank you for your generosity.”

  “Then I want the same. I don’t want to live like a Winston. I’m a Thorne! At least, that’s what you said,” I challenge, aware I’m getting riled up again, but I can’t help feeling insecure. Mom becomes tearful, while Dad stands to grasp my shoulder.

  “Adam, you’re our son in every way that counts, but Adam Winston was your biological father; we can’t change that. You’re entitled to that money, Son. Don’t let your pride rob you of what’s rightfully yours. But I understand what you’ve just said—so, no allowance from the trust. And when Cait turns eighteen, and if you still want to, we’ll allow you to buy her a car. But the arrangements for your education stand, and when the time comes for Cait to go to college, we’ll use the money we’ve set aside for both of you. Would that make you happy?”

  I nod, fighting the lump in my throat when Mom gets up to hug me. “You are a Thorne. Never doubt that,” she whispers and then kisses my cheek before turning to leave.

  “Finish up in here, you two, then come and join Cait and me. I baked cookies,” she says before shutting the door behind her.

  That night, I go to bed, thankful to have the matter settled. I don’t have to talk or think about it again, and I don’t want to tell anyone outside of our family. Dad, Mom, and Cait agree that only our solicitor should know. I haven’t said anything, but I’m determined that if I have to accept Adam Winston’s guilt money, then, when I get my hands on it, I’m going to make sure I do whatever I can to help my real family.

  I’m still angry as hell, but I’m going to do my best to forget he existed, just like he forgot about me.

  Two weeks later, we’re invited to a party. Well, Matt’s been, by Susie, a girl who has a massive crush on him. The rest of us are tagging along. I’m younger than my friends, so I’ll probably be the youngest kid there. When I mention this to Matt, he laughs out loud. “You have no idea, do you?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “The girls love you, man!” Ian answers.

  “They don’t… who?” I demand, sure they’re messing with me.

  “You’ll have your pick tonight!” Matt claps me on the back.

  “Yeah, you may even lose your
cherry!” Alan says, and I glare at him because he’s still managing to piss me off. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell Mommy,” he adds.

  I lunge and land a solid punch to his nose. He doubles over, blood dripping through his cupped fingers. “You broke my fucking nose,” he shouts, his voice muffled, making it sound like dose.

  “I warned you not to drag my family into your shit.”

  “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Ian suggests, throwing me a wink as he grabs his arm. “Nice!” he mouths so Alan doesn’t see.

  Later that evening, we’re back at The Hangout where Lana and Tess join us. Alan’s sporting a red and swollen nose, which I doubt was broken, but Ian insists it was and says he fixed it. According to him, he suffered a broken nose twice while playing football and claims to have straightened it the second time. That, he says, is how he knows Alan’s was broken and how he knew what to do.

  I apologize to Alan if I did break his nose, but make it clear that I don’t regret punching him. I warn him that if he doesn’t stop his bullshit, I’d be happy to break his ugly nose again. He apologizes too, and we agree to forget the incident.

  When it’s time to leave, we ride in two cars. I go with Matt while Tess and Ian, who’re supposedly dating, and Lana travel with Alan. We all pile out at Susie’s house, where the music’s already playing at full blast. An hour or so later, the basement is jam-packed. Among the first to arrive, our group managed to snag a sofa and some upturned crates in a corner, so that’s where we’re hanging out. Matt brought beer that he had his cousin buy, and the guys are really getting into it. The girls are drinking sweet, alcoholic punch, which looks and smells disgusting. I’ve had two beers, but I’ve refused another for now because I don’t want to arrive home too obviously drunk.

  “Dance with me,” Tess demands, tugging on Ian’s arm. “I’m busy,” he says, breaking off from his discussion about cars with a guy who joined us.

  “Matt?” she asks, but he shakes his head. “Sorry, Tess, I see my date approaching.” He smirks as he spots Susie making her way through the crowd.