Taking Charge (Meet the McIntyres Book 1) Read online

  “Coffee ready?” he grumbled as he shuffled up beside me.

  Like it was a habit, I grabbed a mug and filled it before heaping two teaspoons of sugar in it. It wasn’t until I turned to the fridge, remembering it was completely empty, that it occurred to me I’d remembered how he took his coffee. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d made him a cup, I think I was still a kid, yet it was a habit I slipped back into seamlessly.

  “Ugh, there’s no milk.”

  “What?”

  “You’re out of milk.”

  “Fuck!” He swore and I expected the rage to burst out of him. None came. Instead he slumped into the chair and held his hand out. After sliding the mug into his hands, I stepped back, leaning against the bench, my arms folded over my chest. I knew what I had to do. What I had to say. And right now, well it seemed like as good of a moment as any to ask the questions that needed to be asked. It didn’t mean I wanted to though.

  I let him get a few good gulps of caffeine into him while I gathered all my strength. Suddenly I wasn’t tired anymore. I wasn’t scared of what would come. What he’d do. Instead, I found myself feeling strangely calm. I’d come home to help. Connor needed a hand, obviously, yet it was more than that. Seeing my father, or what was left of him, hurt like a bitch, and I knew I was right where I needed to be. The only way I could make a difference though was to figure out exactly what I was dealing with. I needed to know how bad it was, and then I could make a plan.

  After stealing one last look out the window and the calm stillness, I bit the bullet. “What happened around here, Dad? And where is Mum?”

  “What?”

  He looked genuinely stunned. Like he couldn’t believe I was asking him. “What happened to this place?” I tried again, keeping my voice steady. I hoped we could keep this as a conversation, not an argument. Truth be told, I wanted nothing less than to fight with him. That’d get us nowhere. If we were going to get things turned around, we needed to work together. Not let the infighting and bitching destroy us.

  “Money.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I watched as he fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. His damn one word answers weren’t going to cut it. But getting the truth out of him, the whole truth, was like pulling teeth.

  “Dad! What happened to the money? We used to be one of the wealthiest families around, and now…well, now look at us. Where did it go?”

  I think he figured out that I wasn’t about to drop it. I couldn’t. I never wanted to make him feel bad about it. Beaten down. Like a failure. I just wanted the truth. Pushing away the half full cup, he looked me in the eye for the first time since I’d been home. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t rattle me. It did. More than I possibly could have envisaged.

  “We had a couple of bad years,” he admitted with a huff. “Wheat prices went to shit. Drought. Trying to hand feed the cattle. Machinery broke down. Trying to keep everyone where they needed to be. All at once. It was too much. We had nothing coming in but everything going out. The only thing we have left is the land.”

  “Why didn’t you just cut back the spending?”

  “You think I didn’t want to? That I didn’t try?”

  “No. I didn’t mean…”

  “Yes, you did, Beau. You want to be a man, the big man who comes home and saves the day. The superhero with your fancy ass business degree. Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret. You’re too late. We’re fucked. There’s nothing here worth saving any more. It’s all gone. She’s gone.”

  A single tear fell from Dad’s bloodshot eyes and I realised exactly how bad things were. He’d given up. No wonder Connor looked so bloody tired. He’d been in this fight alone. Not just fighting to stay afloat, but he was fighting Dad every step of the way. When I caught up with him, when all this shit was over and things were back on track, I owed him a beer. Fuck it, I owed him more than that. While I’d been off rolling around in the sheets with anyone who looked my way, Connor had put his life on hold to make sure we had a home to come back to. A legacy to carry on. An inheritance.

  Choking back my own emotion, I forced myself to ask again, “Dad, where’s Mum?”

  “You…you don’t know?”

  “No. That’s why I’m asking. I thought she’d be here.”

  “Bloody weak as piss bastard.”

  “Who?”

  “Connor.”

  “Connor?”

  “Yeah. Chicken shit was supposed to tell you all. I bet Gage and Holly don’t know either,” he snorted, becoming agitated. Pushing away from the counter, he staggered into the dining room, where he grabbed a crystal glass from the mahogany sideboard, another heirloom left from my grandfather, and poured three fingers of scotch into the glass. In one motion he tossed the whole lot down his throat. Fuck me! Even I wasn’t that good. It would have taken me at least three shots to get that much of the burning liquid down. Obviously Dad’d had practice though. It went down like water. I watched on in stunned silence as he poured himself another.

  “Tell us what, Dad?”

  “Your mother fucked off. The money ran out and so did she.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Yeah, fuck is about right.” Down the hatch the second glass of scotch went and Dad wobbled.

  “Why didn’t she say anything? Do you know where she is?” I had so many questions. More than I could keep up with. I wanted to know where, when, why. There was no doubt Mum loved the money, she always looked immaculate and loved her shopping sprees into the city. She loved flashing the wealth around and having elaborate parties that would go for days on end. I never thought though, she’d leave when it ran out. Especially without saying a word. Whatever happened between her and Dad—something I would get to the bottom of eventually—she was still my mother. I just couldn’t believe she’d leave without saying a word.

  “She’s in the City.”

  “Sydney?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long?”

  “Couple of months.”

  Stumbling backwards, I grabbed hold of the table and used it to hold myself on my shaky legs. She’d moved there while I’d been living there. We’d been sharing a city and I had no idea. Now I was pissed at her. She might hate Dad, but I was her son, and she’d been so close to me and hadn’t even bothered to contact me.

  “Bitch!”

  I didn’t meant to say it out loud, it kinda just slipped out, but I didn’t want to take it back. I was as angry at her as I was Dad…something I never dreamt possible.

  “Yeah. Want a drink?” he offered as he went back for a third.

  I considered it. I really did. But getting shit-faced and forgetting about my problems wouldn’t help. They’d still be there tomorrow, festering away at me. Drinking may numb the pain for a while, however it wouldn’t fix the issue. Shit, maybe I was growing up. Whoever thought that’d happen? Sure as shit not me.

  “Nah. Thanks, though.”

  “Yeah, can’t believe she left me for that prick, O’Neil.”

  “What?”

  “She moved in with Stephen O’Neil. You remember him?”

  “Remember him? I fucked his daughter and he chased me out of his house with a shotgun.”

  Dad chuckled. He actually laughed.

  I’d been preparing myself to take a right hook to the cheek and the cranky old bastard was laughing. This day was getting more fucked up by the minute.

  “Payback’s a bitch. Now he’s screwing your mother while she screws me over.”

  “What’d you mean, screw you over?”

  “She wants half.”

  “Half of what?”

  “This place.”

  “Huh? How can she have half of this place?”

  “She’s asked for a divorce. To give her what she wants, I’d have to sell everything and give her half.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  “That’s about right.”

  “Connor know?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  “No.”

 
; Part of me hoped he did, then I wouldn’t have to be the asshole to break the good news. Luck wasn’t on my side. It rarely was these days.

  “Pour me a drink,” I told him.

  Dad grabbed a tumbler and sloshed some into it before handing it to me. When his calloused hand clamped down on my shoulder, he clinked his glass with mine. “Welcome home, son.”

  Seventeen days.

  Seventeen fucking long, stressful days. Four hundred and eight torturous hours. That’s how long it took for the insurance guys to do their thing, then the electrician to rewire the place and it all to be signed off so I could move back in. I was ready to explode. Mia and Derek had been awesome, more than I could have expected, but sharing a house with a couple who were about to be wed was my worst nightmare. On more than one occasion, Mia had morphed into Bridezilla, and the safest place for me to hide was in my room, tucked away, out of sight, out of mind. The only good thing about the whole fiasco was that Derek was able to sneak in and grab me some stuff. Thankfully, I had some of my own clothes, my toiletries, and my iPad. I wouldn’t have lasted a day without that.

  So instead of waking at the crack of dawn and baking all day, I did nothing. Not exactly nothing, but nothing that would actually help keep me out of the financial drain I was circling. With my body clock completely out of whack, I still woke before the sun, and as carefully as I could manage, I crept from the house, trying not to wake anyone. This was more than a challenge for a klutz like me. Once outside, I’d take myself on a long walk. I wished I could say I ran or even jogged, but thanks to the size of my massive boobs, walking was about as good as it was going to get unless I wanted to sport a matching pair of black eyes. I’d walk for an hour along the edge of town, skirting by the river. Sometimes I dropped onto the grass and took a moment to just be. Sometimes though, it was safer to keep walking, trying to outrun the thoughts in my head. The ones reminding me that I’d failed. Again.

  Back at home, I’d made a point to cook breakfast. Most days it was just the three of us sitting around the dining table, yet the moment Josie found out I was on kitchen duty, she seemed to appear right on time every day. I’d learnt a lot about both Mia and Derek. They were fun, and in love, and deliriously, sickeningly happy. A lot of the time I wanted to slap the happy right off their faces. Jealousy did not look good on me.

  The moment I was allowed back in, I didn’t even bother going upstairs. Nothing up there mattered. It was down here, surrounded by the endless stainless steel benches, that was everything to me. Dropping my bag at the door, I stepped inside, surprised by the stuffiness of the room. It needed to be opened and aired out, and it needed to be done now.

  Pushing open the windows, I pinned back the glass door, moving the closed sign to the screen. I wasn’t ready for people to be stomping their muddy boots inside, but I couldn’t keep the door locked, either. I hoped the simple sign was enough to deter them. Once everything was open and the cool cross breeze was whisking away the stale air, I shuffled into the kitchen. As much as I didn’t want to see it, I knew I needed to. Derek had been here a few times keeping his eye on the progress of the repairs, and he continually assured me everything was on track. As much as I trusted him, as much as I wanted to believe him, until I saw it with my own two eyes, I just couldn’t.

  Blinking hard, I rubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Nothing was out of place.

  There was no sign of smoke damage or charred paint. Everything sparkled. There were no pools of water on the floor or even dirty footprints. The faint scent of lemon hung on the air and I knew something wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right. I’d seen the smoke…hell, I’d inhaled it, yet there was no sign of it anywhere.

  Stunned, I dug the keys from the front pocket of my jeans and bounded up the steps two at a time. Reaching the landing, I was puffing and wheezing, but I wasn’t about to let that slow me. After three shaky attempts, I managed to get the key in the lock and inside my apartment. That’s when I knew everything was wrong. It was clean and lemony fresh too. It was more than that, though. The front windows were open, allowing the curtains to dance on the breeze, while in the middle of the kitchen bench was a vase filled with bright, happy gerberas.

  Backing up, I crashed into the sofa and fell on the cushions with a thump. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had given me flowers. I couldn’t even recall ever being given a bunch. Sitting there staring at the flowers, I felt the warm wetness of a tear slip over my cheek. Swatting it away, I was relieved no one was around to see me fall apart. Mia had offered to come over with me to survey the damage, but I’d turned her down. This was something I wanted to do on my own. Yet it was more than that. I needed to do it. I needed a moment to myself to find my feet again. Mia had done enough for me.

  Another breath of breeze floated in, ruffling the curtains and rattling the wind chime hanging in the window. Taking a moment to centre myself, I looked around my tiny corner of the world. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. No one could take it away from me. And to me, that made it invaluable.

  I needed a drink. And food. And a shower. And a nap. And not necessarily in that order. Dragging my ass from the lounge, I stumbled into the kitchen. “Shit! Shit, and double shit!” I hadn’t been home in two weeks. Which meant I either had no milk, or the carton I did have would have been past its best before date. Maybe I’d have something stronger than hot chocolate. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Yanking on the handle, the seal caught and the door didn’t budge. Planting my feet, I tried again. This time the door opened so fast the corner collided with my knee, earning it a good kick and an abusive tirade worthy of any good sailor.

  To say I was shocked would be a gross understatement. There was milk. And eggs. And everything I could need to make a salad. In fact, I don’t think the fridge had ever looked like this. Grabbing a can of lemonade, I heaved my heavy ass onto the kitchen counter. I never sat up here. Not once. Right now though, it seemed like where I needed to be. Bending down, I stuck my face right in the centre of the floral arrangement. Closing my eyes, I inhaled their fresh scent. When something stabbed me in the nose, my eyes opened, and I slipped off the counter. In my mind it was a bug or a spider or some other creepy crawly. There was a reason I didn’t have living things in my apartment. They were likely to kill me in my sleep.

  When my heart stopped trying to break through my chest and my breathing wasn’t a struggle, I focused back on the vase. That’s when I spotted the cream coloured card poking out from the centre of the arrangement. It’d never occurred to me to check for a card. I’d been too distracted by the food and the flowers.

  Of course, as only I could, when I tried to open the envelope, I got a tiny paper cut across my finger. It barely bled, but it stung like a bitch. Biting my lip, I pushed past the pain, desperate to get inside.

  I know you wanted to do this alone, just remember you don’t have to. We’re here to help. All you need to do is ask. Love Mia & Josie

  Those two.

  They didn’t get it. They were two of the most stubbornly independent women I knew. God, Josie had been a single mum up until the moment Nate rode up on his motorbike and quite literally swept her off her feet. And Mia. If all the stories about that one are true, then no one deserved a happy ending more than Derek did. She was a firework and a half.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I shot them both a text thanking them.

  Trying to keep my emotions in check, I grabbed an apple from the bowl and bit into it. Clicking on the radio, my ass started to wiggle of its own accord as I munched on my apple and stripped on my way to the bathroom. I needed to make a plan and get everything back on track. Tomorrow was Mia’s hen’s night, something I was desperately sick of hearing about. I wasn’t looking forward to it, just looking forward to it being over.

  It had only been two weeks, but honestly, if I had to spend two more hours living with Bridezilla, I may have ended up locked
up. She was going crazy. I put it down to the fact she was bored. She had nothing else to obsess about. Unless she was babysitting for Josie, Mia’s days were empty. Tomorrow night’s hen’s night, which had started out as a relatively quiet affair with a couple of friends and your friendly neighbourhood stripper, had now blown out to more than thirty women…and I knew a total of five. Not my idea of a good time at all.

  Being back in my own space made me feel more relaxed than I had in days. Standing naked in the bathroom, the door wide open, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t necessarily hate the woman staring back at me, but I didn’t really like her either. Lifting my arms high above my head, I watched as my big boobs lifted to where they should have been before gravity took over. The flabby bit on my arms wobbled. Running my hands over my stomach, I sucked it in, wishing it would hold. When I couldn’t hold my breath a second longer, I let it out and felt the soft, flabby rolls fall again. No wonder I was alone. With that depressing thought, I turned on the water as hot as I could stand and stepped under the stream.

  By the time I collapsed into bed, I was absolutely exhausted. While I’d been exiled from my apartment, I’d spent way too many hours on Pinterest checking out new recipes, new ways to make something old new again, and how to make fondant hold exactly as I wanted it to. I had a whole new notepad of things to try and I couldn’t wait. I spent most of the afternoon down in my kitchen making sure I had everything I needed to make tomorrow’s selection better than ever. I was treating tomorrow like a reawakening of Sweet Indulgence. I needed to let everyone know I wasn’t going anywhere. That a little smoke and a few flames wouldn’t run me out of town. I was back. Bigger and better than ever. And that would start with my chocolate orange cupcakes.