Western Waves (Compass 3)

Joe’s hug was warm and comforting. “I just wish it was under different circumstances.”

“Me too, but I won’t keep you two from whatever’s going on,” I said, stepping away from Joe. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Wait, no. Didn’t you get my email?” he asked.

“What email?”

“About Kevin’s will. That’s what we’re meeting about in his study right now. Maple is ushering everyone out as we speak. If you’re available, it’s of the utmost importance that you join us in about fifteen minutes.”

“Why would I have to be there?” I asked.

“Come on, Stella.” Joe took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you really think Kevin wouldn’t leave something behind for you? You were the closest thing he had to a daughter. The closest thing he had to family. You and Maple, that is.”

“And you.”

He smiled. “But mostly you.” He looked over at the man who was the pain in my left butt cheek. “Damian, if you and Stella are ready to go over the will, I can lead you to the study where everyone else has gathered.”

“Damian,” I said, looking at the stranger. He looked like a Damian. Broody and moody, all right. Mysterious and haunting. Handsome in an annoying way. Yes. Damian was a very fitting name for that creature.

“I’m glad you two have already met. It’s going to make the next part of this much easier,” Joe explained.

“What does that mean?” Damian and I said in unison.

Joe only smiled and nodded once. “Please, follow me this way.”

As we walked into Kevin’s office, my heartbeats increased as I stared around at all of the familiar faces. Faces I hadn’t seen in years, some even decades.

“What are you all doing here?” I asked, baffled by the women standing in front of me. The only one who made me feel an ounce of comfort was Grams sitting in the far-left corner.

“You didn’t think our husband would leave us out of his will, did you?” Denise sneered. Denise Littrell. Formally known as Denise Michaels—for a short period at least. Around her were two other women who had come and gone throughout Kevin’s life as his wives.

Denise, Rosalina, and Catherine.

Or, as I liked to refer to them, the wicked stepmothers of my past.

“He was married to all of these women?” Damian asked, arching an eyebrow.

“At some point, yes,” I said, looking toward Rosalina. “Though some only lasted a week.”

“It was a fabulous week, too, minus the annoying kid who wouldn’t disappear,” Rosalina remarked, plastering on more red lipstick. Her makeup was just as heavy as it used to be. Her dress was just as tight, too, which wasn’t an issue. Rosalina was one of the most beautiful women alive—with or without makeup. All his former wives were model-like. Some, like Catherine, were actual supermodels.

“He seemed to have a type,” Damian dryly mentioned.

“Who is this stud muffin?” Denise asked, eyeing Damian up and down like he was a piece of meat and she was starving, which was odd. Because I remember when I was a kid, Denise made it known that she was far from a meat eater when she threw meatloaf across the dining room table.

All three of their relationships ended with Kevin due to one conflicting issue: me.

And now, we all stood in a room together to go over his will.

“We can all do introductions if needed. Otherwise, we can go straight to the main part of the will,” Joe offered.

“Let’s just get to it,” Damian cut in, ignoring all the women’s eyes set on him. “I have business to attend to after this.”

“Right. Of course. Well, let’s get down to it then.” Joe took his briefcase and opened it on Kevin’s desk. Just seeing him take a seat in Kevin’s chair made my chest ache a little bit. Grief was odd. It showed up at the most random times. Seeing another man sit in Kevin’s chair brought about a sadness I didn’t realize. My eyes watered at the thought that Kevin wasn’t going to be sitting there ever again.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the handkerchief Damian had given to me earlier to wipe away my falling tears.

“There goes Little Miss Perfect with her alligator tears,” Catherine remarked.

“Oh, piss off, will you, Catherine? Nobody liked you anyway,” Grams scolded, walking over to me and taking my hand in hers. The squeeze of comfort let me know I wasn’t the only one mourning Kevin’s death.

“As you all know, Kevin thought highly of each of you,” Joe stated. “Which is why he found the need to write each of you a personal letter, describing what he left for each of you.” He handed out a letter to every individual in the room. The women were quick to rip theirs open to see what they were receiving, and they hissed and whined when it wasn’t up to their standards.