“Stop!” Eden put her hand out like she was preventing me from coming any closer, but I hadn’t moved. “We didn’t come here to argue or upset you, which we’ve clearly done. And, shit, your poor sous chef is probably on his way to the hospital as we speak.”
When I could think straight, I’d check on him. And when my hands stopped shaking, I’d tell my assistant to send my concierge doctor to his house whenever he returned home to make sure the wound—if he had one—was wrapped properly and treated well.
But right now, I saw far too much red to do either.
“Walker, I need you to take a breath.” Eden sounded like she was speaking to Ellie, Colson’s four-year-old daughter. “And then I need you to tell us what’s wrong.”
“Eden”—I tore at my hair—“I’ve reached my limit.”
Now standing at Colson’s side, she held the top of the chair in front of her. “I assumed that’s what was going on.”
Out of all my siblings, she understood this feeling more than anyone.
“I want to ease things for you, so here’s my idea: instead of coming to the San Antonio opening of Horned, which will only add more to your overflowing plate, you’re going to stay home. But I don’t want you working. You’re going to take a week off. Maybe two. And in that week or two, I want you to get your head straight. I want you to unplug and relax and find a normal blood pressure rather than living like you’re on the verge of having a stroke.” She gave me a soft smile. “When you comeback after your break, we’ll discuss Toro’s menu, along with the other plans we have in the works.”
The blood pressure, the stroke—those were my siblings’ fault. I’d told them countless times that Charred, Toro, and Musik—our dance club—were more than enough for our brand. Those three strong arms made up The Weston Group, and we needed nothing else. At least not now. But they didn’t listen, and they purchased Horned—an existing restaurant in Laguna Beach—with plans to open many more, not just the San Antonio location. They were also working with a real estate attorney to buy additional commercial spaces and convert those into restaurants. What that would do was increase our need for employees, well-trained kitchen staff, food and beverage ordering and distribution. When you combined that with changes to Toro’s menu, the logistical nightmare of getting those new food items to our restaurants worldwide, the launch of Toro in LA and Horned in San Antonio, and a new cookbook deal—I was fucking done.
There was a fire every goddamn day. One so major that it threatened the vitality of our restaurants.
And every fucking day, the red in my vision grew.
The anger built.
It wasn’t because of Horned. Charred. Toro. Or Musik.
And two weeks off wasn’t going to fix it or tame it.
It certainly wasn’t going to mend me either.
How do you put the pieces back together when they’re not only shattered, but unrecognizable, and they no longer fit perfectly together?
“If you think this little break is going to make me feel better, then you’ve ignored every-fucking-thing I’ve said to you the last several months.”
Colson’s head dropped.
But Eden stayed focused on me, her hands moving to hersides, and when that didn’t work for her, she crossed her arms. “I’ve listened to every word. I hear you. I just don’t know what else to do, Walker. The Weston Group is going to continue to expand, and we need you to be a part of it. We can’t operate without you.” She exhaled. “We’ve built our entire company around you.”
“I never said I was leaving.”
“You didn’t have to.” Her head tilted, and her lips pursed. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Hundreds of restaurants and clubs around the globe.
Cookbooks.
Cookware.
All on me.
Me.
And more fucking me.
“Yet you keep throwing more shit at me, expecting me to catch it. Don’t you realize that therein lies the problem?” My voice was rising. “Not a single Weston can do what I do. Which means everyone in our family, everyone in our corporate office, and everyone in our restaurants needs me.” At some point, my fingers had straightened. They felt much better clenched in a ball, so that was what I did with them. “What about me? What about what I need?” My stare shifted from my sister to my brother. “Do any of youeverconsider that? By the amount of shit you put on me—not weekly, but hourly—the answer to that is no.”
“That’s why I’m telling you to take a couple of weeks off,” Eden countered.
“You say this now.” I bent my knee, my shoe flattening against the wall. “What about last week, when I told you?—”
