One Step Closer(13)

His mother’s death had been one of those moments that change you. 60 little seconds and boom; your life will never ever be the same. He could think of a few others that occurred since, and again, images of Wren raced through his thoughts, but he tried to push them down and focus on the task at hand.

As Caleb sat on the large, expensive leather sofa in his father’s study, he was faced with another of those horrible, unforgettable situations.

These were the kind of events that are burned on your mind forever and you remember exactly where you were, what scent surrounded you, how you felt, or what music was playing… because they were that powerful.

Some of these times left an indelible stamp that Caleb resented, rebelled against, and wanted to forget. Most of them were agonizing, but a slight few had been like the most amazing dreams. Yet, still... even those could still cause incredible, irreversible regret.

He glanced up; his dark blue eyes meeting older, sadder ones. Finally, though he’d fought it, the question had to be asked.

“Is she coming?”

His father’s friend, and long-time lawyer, Jonathan Westwood, was as distinguished, polished, and stoic as his father had been. He’d been a prominent figure around the Luxon household since Caleb’s adolescence, shortly after Caleb’s mother got sick and Edison virtually disappeared. Nothing seemed to rattle Jonathan; his demeanor was always steady, calm and kind.

Caleb huffed softly. Everything in the house reminded him of why he never returned; hard, and cold; silent, and lifeless… and the conspicuous lack of Wren’s presence. He supposed that on the surface, the structure was elegant and posh, the kind of home most only dreamed of having, but he hated every f*cking brick in this place! There may have been moments of happiness, bought at years of misery, and Caleb didn’t need to be reminded.

Jonathan cleared his throat and scooted forward on the second leather couch opposite Caleb, then opened the expensive Gucci briefcase sitting on the stone coffee table between them.

The old man contemplated the younger one in front of him. He could see the same proud arrogance in Caleb that his friend, Edison, had been known for. Though Caleb’s hair was thicker and he was much tougher than Edison had been, there were definitely some similarities. The circumstances of his youth had made him harder, and knowing what Jonathan knew, it was completely understandable.

“I placed a call to Wren’s ballet company right after I spoke with you yesterday. Your stepsister was in Bali on vacation, but I was able to get in touch with her office,” Jonathan said, carefully monitoring Caleb’s response. “She should have the message by now.”

Stepsister. Jesus Christ!

Caleb ran an agitated hand through his dark hair, broke eye contact, and then physically balked at Jonathan’s words. Wren was a prima ballerina with the New York City Ballet.

Stepsister, his mind screamed again.

He’d come to despise that word more than any other in the English language. He’d fought the implications of that goddamned word for years, and it still made bile rise in his throat.

“Wren doesn’t need to be here,” Caleb said tiredly, rubbing a weary hand down over his face to his jaw.

“Yes, she does, Caleb,” Jonathan responded. “She’s part of this. If you choose, that is.”

Caleb’s eyes snapped to the other man’s face.

What the f*ck? he thought. What did his control-hungry father have in store for him this time? After everything, what else could he do to him? He’d already ripped he and Wren apart years before this.

“If I choose? What does that mean?” His voice took on an angry timber. “I don’t choose for Wren, Jonathan!”

“You do this time, Caleb. Maybe you should consider that for a while.”

Caleb’s brow furrowed and he wanted to growl at the other man. “You said you called her already, so how in the hell was that my choice?”

Jonathan sighed heavily. Caleb’s emotions had always simmered right beneath the surface; especially when it came to Wren. “You’ve got a lot to deal with. I thought you’d want to see her.”

Caleb’s scowl lessened and his brows lifted slightly, his eyes widening. Wren was a sore subject and he was pissed that his father’s lawyer seemed to think he was an expert on how he felt. He didn’t lean on anyone. He didn’t allow himself to wallow in self-pity and he’d been strong out of necessity. Wren was his Achilles’ heel, but no one knew it, not even Wren.

“I survive. That’s what I do.”

Jonathan sighed again. “I know, Caleb. I guess, I thought—”

“You thought what?” Caleb almost growled, his impatience, mixed with emotions he didn’t want to deal with made him harsher than he should have been.

“Nothing. Wren may not believe she’s needed. When was the last time you two spoke?” Jonathan continued, always so formal in his speech that Caleb sometimes wondered what his upbringing was like.

“I don’t know.” But, he did know. It was Christmas, and then a brief conversation after that, on her birthday. What a cluster f*ck that was. “Months, I guess.”

It had been apparent after his one night of weakness that the two of them were better with minimal contact, but Caleb wasn’t ready to take that demon on just yet.

“What choice are you speaking of, Jonathan? How has my father screwed me over this time?”