One Step Closer(32)

“For Christ’s sake! It’s a will! No one knows what’s in it until it’s read.” This new side of Macy wasn’t sitting well with him. He knew she had his best interest at heart, but he didn’t want to see any ill will toward Wren. She was innocent in the entire thing. No, the decision was his and his alone. And really; it was none of Macy’s goddamned business. He didn’t even have to tell her he’d been given a choice. If he decided to split it with Wren, he could let Macy believe that was how the will was written. For that matter, he didn’t have to tell Wren, either, though it would affect her and she deserved to be part of the decision. But would she be honest about what she really wanted?

“I suppose.”

The water started to run in the bathroom, and Caleb decided to make his exit.

“I’m gonna go shower. We’ll talk more later.”

Macy popped her head around the corner of the bathroom doorway. “Or,” she said silkily, “We can shower together. Come on, baby.”

Normally, he’d never pass up such an invitation, but his mind was racing and he wanted to check in with Wren. If he didn’t see her alone before dinner, it was doubtful he’d have luck in getting her alone.

Caleb glanced over his shoulder to see Macy’s beguiling expression as she stood in the doorway, and then shook his head. “Now is the wrong time. “

“Babe—” she started to protest.

“Not now,” he said forcefully and left the room. He inhaled in agitation as his feet quickly took him to the other side of the house and the curved staircase that went to the second level. Knowing Wren was this close; he couldn’t stay away. He wanted to see her as quickly as possible.

It took him less than three seconds and he was standing in front of the mahogany door that led to Wren’s bedroom. His father had allocated at least a third of this level to her when he did the remodel shortly after Caleb had gone off to MIT, and for that, at least, and he was thankful. Finally, Wren had been able to be open about her dancing, and not have to hide it from her jealous shrew of a mother.

Once he was there, though, he hesitated. There was absolute silence and he wondered if she wasn’t still sleeping. His hand lifted to lightly brush the wood surface before he flattened it and laid his palm on the door. Her presence in the room beyond it convinced Caleb’s mind that the wood was warm and he could almost feel the vibration of live electricity running through it.

She was here; just feet away. The closest he’d been to her in two years.

It seemed like he and Wren were defined by a series of two-year periods. She was in the house two years before he had to leave, two years later he’d made love to her after that damned party, two years after that she’d brought that producer home with her to San Francisco and they’d had that blow up at Fisherman’s Wharf. It had been just over two years since that had happened.

He laid his forehead on the door, his hand still splayed out next to it, as he thought about it all. His heart was thudding hard in his chest, like he’d been running a marathon, drowning, or dying. The air being forced in and out of his lungs actually hurt as they protested.

She was here. Right here. Now what the hell was he going to do?

He strained to hear inside her room, but there was no sound. Yearning to see her, his hand found its way down to the doorknob and wrapped itself around it. He even began to turn it, but then he stopped, his broad and usually solid shoulders, sagging in defeat.

Fuuuuccckkkk! His mind screamed.

He was stronger than anyone he knew. He could take on his father, win every fight inside the ring, but he was completely wasted by a tiny girl. Fucking helpless.

Caleb swallowed and straightened, reluctant to leave, but used the excuse of her possibly being asleep to turn and hurry back down the hallway to the stairs and then to his suite in the basement. He was shaking. Literally shaking.

Damn it all. He needed to talk to her without Macy, Jonesy, or Jonathan listening in. He’d have to find a way to take Wren aside after dinner, to see if they could even communicate, if she still held any ill will toward him, and if he could gauge what, or rather if she’d even want anything to do with him or Luxon Pharmaceuticals.

It would be easy to separate from Jonesy after the meal concluded, but Macy was another story. Clearly, he’d made a mistake in allowing her to be here given their casual status. He could kick himself, but he didn’t think it through in his haste to leave, pack and get here. He hadn’t even considered Wren would be in residence. “I should have known,” he murmured; chastising himself. To be fair, his father hadn’t known anything about Macy, and he wouldn’t have cared, even if he did. Wren would still have been summoned to Colorado either way. How else could Edison make his son squirm to the greatest extent possible?

Old habits are hard to break, and it was extremely difficult for Caleb to recognize Edison Luxon did anything for him, despite what the letter had said.

Deciding the outcome of his own life was bad enough; everything would change. But deciding Wren’s fate, too, was the part that ate at him. Why couldn’t he make sure she had half of the fortune, without the need to completely uproot her career and her life? How was making someone, whether himself or Wren, give up their career goals, acceptable? Was Caleb’s dream of designing and building cars and cycles, or Wren’s dream of dancing any less important than Edison’s precious company?