Ramsay (28 page)

Lydia

Stuart’s gone. I’m alone. Completely alone.

It’s done.

He’s done what he set out to do.

Desolated me.

**********

"Hey, honey," Daisy said softly, handing me a cup of coffee. I glanced up at her, breaking away from my thoughts.

"Morning." My smile felt small and weak. Outside the window, the sun was already shining brightly, the trees rustling with bird play. It was supposed to be in the eighties—a gorgeous late August day. God, where had the summer gone? Seemingly swallowed up in a haze of misery and grief.

"What do you want to do today?" Daisy asked, placing her coffee on a side table and sitting down on the overstuffed chair across from me. She adjusted her silk robe and brought her feet up under her.

I sighed. "I suppose I should do some job hunting."

I'd gone to De Havilland Enterprises the week after Stuart had been killed and resigned. Trudi had been stunned and saddened, but the company would do just fine without me. It had been operating without me for over a month and was all the better for it from what I knew. And I couldn't be there anymore. My heart wasn't in it, and working for Brogan was out of the question.

I'd received several paychecks directly deposited into my bank account since I'd first moved in with Brogan, and with those, I paid my last month's rent in New York City and moved out, putting my belongings in storage and going back to Daisy's where we now lived together in her luxurious mansion—the new home of the broken-hearted.

Because Daisy's husband, Gregory, had been so clearly in the wrong, starting the divorce had been an easy process, one he hadn’t argued about. Not enough, as far as I was concerned.
Fucker.
Daisy was worth so much more than that scum. So we were both in mourning, although Daisy seemed to be doing better than I was, which didn't exactly make sense since she had lost a husband. Then again, I'd lost
two
people, a brother and a . . . what? What had Brogan been to me? Even now, I wasn't sure. My heart squeezed and I winced slightly, bringing my hand to my chest as if I could massage the agonizing ache away.

He'd destroyed my life in every way possible. No job. No money. No home. No family. My heart in tatters. He had achieved the
ultimate
revenge. I was utterly and completely obliterated. And the very worst of it was . . . I
missed
him, longed for him with an intensity that felt shameful. He'd betrayed me and killed my brother.

"Why work?" Daisy asked, bringing me back to the present. Right, I'd mentioned getting a job. "I'll support you in high style here. And if I get the divorce settlement I think I'll get, we'll be rolling in riches. We'll burn money on the lawn and dance around it naked. We'll melt gold and drink it like it's champagne."

I laughed softly. "As fun as that sounds, I can't have you support me, Dais. I need to figure out what to do with the rest of my life."

A wave of grief washed over me when I thought about how much I'd loved working for Brogan—and how, even now, I missed it. I shook my head. I wouldn't cry. I'd already cried an entire river of tears.

Daisy's expression softened. "I know." She reached over and picked up her coffee and took a sip. "What about going back to school? You mentioned before you might look into getting your master’s so you could teach."

I nodded. "Maybe," I said. Of course, if I did that, I'd still need to get a night job. Not only did I need to pay my bills, but Ginny had
shockingly
been mostly supportive when Stuart died, and she'd helped pay for his funeral. I had promised to pay her back. I didn't think she expected it, but I was determined to anyway.

"And you'll stay here with me?" Daisy asked. "Please? It makes it so much better, you being here."

I studied her momentarily, wondering if she was saying that for my benefit, or if being here really helped her with her own grief. It seemed to me that she was actually the one doing most of the supporting and I suspected the former. I was so very grateful for her. I smiled. "Only if you let me pay you rent."

She rolled her eyes. "You can pay for our monthly alcohol."

"I can't afford that."

She laughed. "True. That's the biggest bill we have. Utilities?"

"Done."

She grinned. "Okay. Go get showered and dressed. Today we go out and conquer the world." She raised her arm, making a fist.

I breathed out a smile, raising my own arm, but lacking the enthusiasm behind the gesture. I could barely conquer my heart, let alone the world. I sighed.
Fake it until you make it.
That'd be my life motto, for now at least.

**********

"You look hot," Daisy said. I turned, smoothing the skirt of my deep red cocktail dress, and adjusting one of the spaghetti straps. "It's the perfect fall color."
Fall. A new season. The same ache in my heart.

"You sure? It isn't too short?" I'd bought the dress from the small boutique I had gotten a job at recently in the nearby town of New Canaan. It was close enough to be an easy commute, but far enough away that I didn't worry about running into anyone I knew from Greenwich. It wasn't so much that I was embarrassed about working retail, it was more that I was just too . . . raw to deal with being mocked. By Lindsey, for instance. I wouldn't be able to conjure up the moxy needed to successfully deal with her and I'd more than likely crumble. Best avoided. So yes, since Stuart had died, I'd been hiding to a certain extent, but sometimes hiding was necessary for self-preservation. But at least I had the semblance of a life now—a job, a goal. I worked weekends and a few nights a week, which was the perfect schedule to work around my online classes and still allow me plenty of study time. It'd only taken me three months to get here, and it was still only a start.
Three months since my brother had died, since my heart had been decimated.

"Is that dress too short? With your legs? God, no." She leaned toward the mirror, checking her makeup, which was perfect. "Ready?"

I took a deep breath. This was the first social function I'd been to since the summer garden party I'd gone to what seemed like eons ago. The one where I'd first spotted Brogan. I pushed the thought from my mind. No, I
wasn't
ready. In fact, I wanted to rip this dress off, put my sweats on, and park myself in front of Netflix for the rest of the night. But I just nodded. Daisy had begged me to go to this event with her and I'd said yes. I wouldn't back out now. I owed her so much—I could muster the strength for this.

We went into the kitchen where Daisy opened a bottle of champagne, laughing as it bubbled over into the glass she held. She topped off two flutes and handed one to me. "To us," she said. "To moving on."

I raised my glass. "To moving on," I repeated. God, I only hoped I could. I still felt like an empty shell, breakable, and too delicate to step out into the world. When would that feeling start diminishing? When would I start feeling whole again?

"Oh, hey, something came in the mail for you," Daisy said, nodding to a large envelope that sat at the end of her marble counter. I frowned slightly. Who knew where I was staying? Who knew me at all for that matter? I was completely unconnected to anyone except Daisy. And distantly . . . Ginny.

I set my champagne down and picked up the envelope.
No return address.
Tearing it open, I pulled out the stack of papers. I sucked in a breath and sagged against the counter as I read.

"What is it?" Daisy asked, her heels clicking on the stone floor as she walked quickly to me.

I brought two fingertips to my lips as my eyes scanned the pages, flipping through them. "Brogan, he signed De Havilland Enterprises over to me," I said, shaking my head in disbelief, my hands beginning to tremble.
What did this mean?

"Let me see that," Daisy said, taking the stack of papers from me and looking through them as I stared ahead, unseeing.

"Lydia, he also signed your old house over to you, and," she flipped through the stack of papers, "it looks like he's set up an account to pay for property taxes," she paused, reading, "upkeep, lawn and grounds maintenance, etcetera." She set the papers down on the countertop, looking at me. "Do you think he's trying to make up for what he did?"

I shook my head, a pit opening up in my stomach, a fresh wave of anguish making me feel as if I couldn't breathe. "I don't know," I whispered. "Maybe he does feel some guilt for what he did. But," I shook my head back and forth again, "either way, it's him officially writing me off. There's not even a note in here," I said, tears threatening. I took a deep breath, determined not to cry. "Nothing, but these documents from," I picked up the stack of papers, reading the names at the top, "Shaw and O'Malley, Attorneys at Law."

Daisy's brow furrowed. "Lydia, maybe he doesn't know
what
to say. Maybe this is his way of reaching out to you in the hopes you'll reach back."

I turned that over in my mind, confusion and hurt warring with a small flicker of hope. In that moment, holding Brogan's fifteen-million-dollar gesture—whatever the gesture meant—I was suddenly certain of one thing. I didn't want the business back. I didn't even really want the house anymore. I wanted my brother back. I wanted . . . Brogan back. Neither one was possible. And none of it meant anything with my heart shattered in a million pieces. With the acknowledgment came more grief because it could never be. Everything was ruined and there was no way to fix it. 

"He shot my brother, Daisy." My voice sounded small.

She was quiet for a moment. "I know, Lydia, but you read the police report. You know Stuart all but forced Brogan to shoot him," she said, her expression nervous as if she was afraid to broach this subject with me. "Do you really think he planned that?"

I didn't know. I had seen Stuart earlier that day. I'd known he was paranoid and half crazy. And the toxicology report that had come back from the medical examiner confirmed my suspicions that he'd been using heroin as well.

I'd gone over it and over it in my mind, wondering if my reaction that day had been born of grief and confusion, the pile-up of all that had hit me at once: Stuart's suspicions, finding out Brogan was hiding things from me, at least one being the purchase of my old family estate, Courtney's visit, her vile words, and then Stuart's death. I had
only
looked at it from the vantage point of shock and mistrust. God, I was so tired of trying to figure this out, of going over and over it in my mind and thinking I might come to some conclusion, some answer.

"Maybe—" Daisy started.

"No," I said, rejecting it all. "I can't think about this tonight. I can't wonder. If he wanted to talk to me, he would have made that happen. If he wanted to provide me some answers, he would. But he hasn't because either this was his intended ending or he knows that even if it wasn't, this is not something we could ever move past. There is no way for us to recover from this."
Was there?
I picked up my glass of champagne and downed it, closing my eyes for a moment, attempting to regain my composure.

Daisy chewed at her lip for another moment, as if she wanted to say more, but then raised her glass, apparently rejecting the idea. "Well okay, then. Let's get out of this house, have some fun, and we'll revisit this when you're ready." She downed the last of her champagne. "Let's do this." And with that we headed for the front door, stopping to grab our wraps and small evening bags.

Daisy's driver was waiting for us out front. We had another glass of champagne in the car on the drive to the city, and when we got to the art gallery where the exclusive charity event was being held, I was feeling better. We got out of the car, laughing and clutching our wraps against the cool October air.

Inside, people drifted from one display to another. I did my best to turn off my mind. I wouldn't think about what Brogan's unexpected gesture had meant. He hadn't had the decency to tell me, had made the choice to leave me guessing, and so I wouldn't spend a moment of my time obsessing. It was too painful.

And yet . . . despite my own assertions, my mind kept returning there. Had it been a peace offering? A way to reach out? Or was it really what I'd called it at Daisy's house, a way to completely cut all ties with me? But if that were the case, was it really necessary? He didn't need to give me ownership of my family company or my home in order to cut ties.
He’d already done that.
Perhaps then, it was his way of saying, "I win, but now I have no need for these spoils of war. Take them, they're nothing to me now." No, that made
no
sense.
And . . . my heart rejected it. It felt wrong.

But then there was Courtney. He'd said he'd been clear with her about her place in his life—
out.
But where had he been those nights?

I thought back to the way he'd made love to me—tenderly, reverently. The way he'd looked at me, the way he'd touched me, I just couldn't accept that he was doing it vengefully or dishonestly.