Page 29 of Peaches

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass!” I laugh, my animosity growing the longer I stay in any one of the three people’s presence before me.

I start to back away, to put some space between me and a decision I never thought I’d have to face. Especially not this damn early. I did after all just turn eighteen.

“Don’t answer yet, Brettly,” my grandmother says with pleading eyes. “Take your time. Like I said, the money is still yours. That will never change. Try to find yourhappiness. Please. Yoursweetspot. Knight men rule best with the right woman by their side. You’ll see. Thirty is far from threatening, if you take the time to just let life happen and see where it takes you.”

“And what happens if say, I use this money, my trust fund, and go out on my own,” at that my father and grandfather still. I’ve told them before I wanted to start my own business. My grandfather is much more understanding than my father about the subject, although I wouldn’t say he’s encouraging the idea. “I hit thirty,” I throw out, with a roll of the eyes. “No marriage, no fiancé, not even a glimpse of fulfilling my end of this insane contract. What happens then?”

“You pay back every cent, with interest, to your trust. You sign over your business,” my father grates out, causing my teeth to clench and my jaw to harden as I glare in his eyes. “And you walk away.”

I fight the words on the tip of my tongue, the ones that scream “fuck off,” much like I wish I could shout those two words at him from across the room. But before I get the gratification, he cuts me off.

“And don’t think Knight Publishing will take you then, Brett! You forfeit your position. You go out on your own. You relinquish your role. I won’t wait around for an ungrateful son who thinks he knows what’s better for him than his own father. His own grandparents. You sign the damn contract, you make good on your end, and maybe if you’re little pet project, your own publishing dream, doesn’t come true, I might let you work in our mail room. But that’s as good as you’ll ever get from me. Not much more you can offer a kid who repeatedly shows you how much he’s a failure.”

“Grant!” My grandmother yells, causing her son to finally fall silent. My grandfather looks to the floor, unable to stand up for me out of respect for the way my father chooses to raise his child in their presence. Although I know he’ll give him a mouth full later, scolding him for not treating me better, kind of like he was blessed to be treated. And I know it’s the only reason my father ever apologizes after he’s heard talking to me that way in front of them.

“Give me your fucking contract!” I hiss, as I stalk across the room determined to show every damn one of them I will make it work and I will not be the idiot my father thinks I am.

I can’t deny I sense a sadness in my grandmother’s eyes as I grab the paper, flip to the back, and quickly scribble my name. She goes to speak, but then stops herself and looks to the floor. I shove it back at my father, his steps rocking backward from the harsh thrust into his chest. Storming off towards the door, a haunting feeling settles in the pit of my stomach when I realize I never even read the damn thing. Shaking my head, I stalk off towards my room and think maybe it’s better any way. I’m already screwed, sometimes it’s easier to take if you don’t know how dangerously it threatens to twist you.

Brett

Present Day

“Show a little respect,Son, especially when we have company!”

And here we go, the narcissist in my father has finally snapped tonight. Took him long enough. But at least I can say we made it through drinks, dinner, and almost the end of the evening before he turned on me just like he always does.

My jaw clenches tight as I look up and try to ignore the fire in my veins. Not the good kind either. Not the kind that recently has me thinking of peaches. There is no adrenaline rush worse than that of bitterness and hate. Except maybe fear. But it’s been years since I’ve been afraid of the man at my side, that I can promise you.

This fire is the kind that makes you want to execute a man by firing squad that’s been hanging around on death row for the last ten to fifteen years. To me, he has. Ever since my mother died, he’s shown more reason why my life would be better off without him. Something I’m not proud to say I’ve imagined from time to time, when my heart secretly wished more than once that he would’ve been the one to meet an early grave instead of my mother.

“I guess I can’t say anything anymore,” he continues, but my eyes stay trained in front of me. A more perfect view of everything peachy sitting far away and oddly calming the fire burning with anger in my veins. “I don’t know why you always twist it as if I actually set out to hurt you. Where did I go wrong in parenting? It’s always something with you, isn’t it? Please tell me you don’t speak to your fiancé that way? She’d be better off leaving you if that is the case.”

Blah, blah, blah, blah, fucking blah!

After so many years, you learn to tune it out.

We’ve been standing at the bar in the corner of the patio while Grace talks with my grandmother across the way. We’re supposed to be discussing business, because, let’s face it, it’s the only thing we can ever manage to actually have a conversation about. That is, until we inevitably end up here. With him telling me to stop acting like a child when he doesn’t see things my way. From my point of view, my feelings are entirely the other way around.

His way would be to focus on the authors I currently have at Beckett Enterprises and not take on any new clients because, well obviously, that’s the way they do it at Knight Publishing. A skill my father believes breeds the best authors in the business, and something he learned from his father before taking over the publishing empire. Concentrating on building up and working with existing clients,they believe, makes them top in their market and the best in the business. A trick his father, Bryson Knight, my good ole’ grandaddy, “Pops,” taught him before he passed. And a rule he’s executed ever since.

After my mother died, I took her last name and swore I’d never associate myself with the last nameKnight. But that doesn’t stop my father from trying to force his outdated wisdom down my throat every chance we meet which is another reason I hate, more like loathe, our brief interactions and little chats.

My father turns his back on the ladies across the patio, the two of them obviously having a fantastic time as they talk, laugh, exchange looks like only two people who are more like tight-knit family could. I smile at the irony because my family has never been the close-knit type. That is, not after my mother died. But something about this view gets to me. My grandmother, Marie, who I love more than any other woman in the world, (except my deceased mother), and Grace, a surprising development that so far hasn’t failed to arouse something foreign in me at every turn we’ve somehow taken in the very short amount of time I’ve known her. Give or take eight to ten hours to be exact. I smile at the thought, because hell, I feel like I’ve known her all my damn life. Not just barely shy of less than half a day.

My tension fades slightly as I watch her with my grandmother. I can almost forget the irritating man at my side. The one that I’m forced to share my blood line with.

But never my business.

Thank God for that.

As for me, like I said, I don’t see things his way. I believe in never missing out on a hidden gem that could be right under your nose. A fact I’ve stuck to, and the one that has made me quickly successful I might add, so why stop now? I know it’sbreaking the mold, the Knightmoldthat is, but hey, my grandfather knew all about trying something new, otherwise he wouldn’t have won as many awards and been as prosperous in life as he had been. Plus, he knew what I was like, stubborn, bullheaded, just like himself. He’d expect no different.

Grace leans in and listens to a secret my grandmother tells her. After the secret is told, her face is full of shock which gets Marie giggling like I have never witnessed, almost like a little schoolgirl. Her eyes closed, a blush of slight embarrassment on her cheeks, and a look of joy that long ago faded with the passing of my grandfather, makes me start to smile.

It does something to me that hasn’t happened in far too long. It warms my heart. And God, to be honest, I’m not sure I know how to handle the feeling.

Grace looks up at me across the way and gives me a wink. A small gesture that shows she’s not actually as shocked as she's making out, but having just as much fun playing along for Marie’s happiness as I am standing across the patio and feeling my own kind of, dare I admit it, sweet, carefree, happiness at their exchange. I let out a laugh because something about it all feels just too perfect, and my heart beats faster just watching the two of them.

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