I grin at that. Aunt Delilah is pretty much the opposite of my mom in every way, not caring for decorum or propriety. She’s very much her own woman and doesn’t give a fuck what people think of her.
“Don’t you worry, dear. We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
Nibbling my bottom lip nervously, I reply, “Yeah… yeah, okay.”
“Are you planning on attending the Silicon Valley fundraising gala this Friday with your parents?” Aunt Delilah asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “If so, are you going to visit me, darling? We can talk then.”
I groan. “Oh, shit, I forgot about that.” I was thinking of going to Denver to visit my friends, but the gala will be an important event if I want to prove my capabilities as a CEO. “Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll have the jet drop me off with you before Mom and Dad head home.”
Well, I suppose if I can’t make it to Denver, I can spend time with my other favorite person. Aunt Delilah lives in Santa Monica, and I haven’t been able to visit her nearly as much as I’d like. I wanted to get away, and whether it’s Denver or Santa Monica, at least it’s not New York.
“Wonderful!” Aunt Delilah exclaims. “We’ll have a good, relaxing time together, darling. I’ll take your mind off that whole marriage thing and we’ll just have fun.”
“That sounds great,” I tell her. “I should get back to dinner before Mom comes to drag me out of my room. See you soon. Love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart! Ta-ta!”
I hang up the call, and rest my fists on my knees. Slowly, I suck in a deep breath, pushing against the panic bubbling up in my stomach. I think of Aunt Delilah, and that I’ll see her soon. She’ll help me. Somehow. She won’t let this happen to me.
Even if Mom’s gone a little crazy, Aunt Delilah will figure out a way to snap some sense back into her.
I just need to remember to breathe. Everything will be okay.
I hope.
CHAPTER TWO: FAMILY DINNER
JAYCE
Dinnerwith my family is always a minefield, and every time I attend one, I wonder why I agreed to deal with this disaster-in-the-making. I should’ve taken it as some sign when hockey practice ran late and I had to rush over here without even showering, sweaty and mussed, only for my mother to demand that I shower in the bathroom next to my old childhood bedroom so I can be “presentable.” There’s something about being a grown man and having my mother chide me to bathe that’s fucking aggravating. It’s just not my night. I should’ve stayed home.
Yet here I am, sitting around my parents’ massive dining table, pretending we’re one big happy family instead of the dysfunctional dumpster fire most families in our tax bracket tend to be.
The dining room is large and luxurious with ornate molding along the ceiling, elaborate oil paintings decorating the walls, and a crystal chandelier hanging above us. My parents, Valerie and Alexander Vaughn, are seated in their usual spots on opposite sides of the long mahogany table, putting as much distance between each other as possible. The air between themis tense and icy, but that’s not unusual. As they eat the filet mignon and seared asparagus the family chef has prepared for us tonight, they barely even look at each other, let alone talk to each other.
They’ve never bothered hiding how much they despise each other—not even for the sake of their children.
No wonder we’re all a little messed up.
My brother Ryan and sister Hallie are also present, because these family dinners are all but mandatory. Unsurprisingly, Ryan is sitting across from me, glaring at me like I kicked his nonexistent puppy right in front of him. He’s usually a little prick, his weasely face scowling and his mouth pressed together like a tight butthole, but tonight he’s being especially dickish. Fucker won’t stop bouncing his leg under the table or tapping his finger against the side of his plate as his beady little eyes dart around, and they always settle back on me. He seems almost impatient, but why? What’s this guy up to now? He’s clearly got something on his mind that he’s desperate to say, and I’m not looking forward to whatever it is.
God, I hate being here for these dinners.
Finally, there’s my grandfather, Thomas Parker, founder of the Denver based Parker Global, one of the largest commercial real estate companies in North America, and de facto patriarch of our family…much to my father’s chagrin. When my father married into the family, I don’t think he was expecting to be so low on the hierarchy, falling behind Grandfather, Mother, and now even me. He anticipated a more prominent position among the family and in the company. It doesn’t help that Grandfather’s still a big, intimidating looking man despite his age and is the type who commands respect just by walking into a room. Dad doesn’t have that kind of presence and has to work twice as hard to gain that same kind of respect. I know he resents my grandfather for that. Combine that with his lovelessmarriage to my mother, and it’s really no surprise he’s become a bitter, petty man.
The silence is punctured by, thankfully, Grandfather’s friendly voice. “Jayce, my boy,” he says, pulling my attention to him. “How is your season going so far?”
I give him an appreciative smile. He’s about the only member of the family who gives a fuck about my hockey career.
“It’s going really well,” I tell him. “We’ve got every team in the league gunning for us since we won the Cup last season, but we’ve got a really good chance of making a repeat performance this year if we don’t have major injuries.”
Grandfather smiles, his navy eyes crinkling at the edges. He strokes a large hand over his thick gray beard as he nods.
“That’s good to hear. The Night Hawks have no shortage of talent, from what I’ve seen. Even a few injuries might not get in your way.”
“Oh, please stop talking about injuries,” my mother chimes in, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “The thought of Jayce getting hurt keeps me awake at night.”
The insomnia claim is probably not true, but Momwouldgenuinely care if I got hurt. Not so sure Dad would. Ryan would fucking love it.
