Rock Star Billionaire

"No, that's definitely not the magic word," Lincoln said. "Try it again."

"Linc, ease up," Jessie said, shooting him an irritated look. "He's four."

"Never too early to learn proper manners," Lincoln shot back in an equally irritated tone.

"Come with me, Joey," my mother said, taking the child's hand. "I'll take care of the cookies and the milk."

"Thank you, Gamma," Joey said with solemn sincerity. My mother leaned down and hugged him tightly before leading him into the dining room.

"Long time, no see, Jack," Jessie said as she held her daughter and smoothed her hair. The child had stopped crying and was staring up at me with wide, blue eyes rimmed in red. "How have you been?"

"Not bad, Jessie," I said. "Not bad at all, but then again, being away from this place often does a person good."

"Dammit, Jack," Lincoln said throwing his hands up in the air in premature defeat. "Can't you ever just let it go? I mean, seriously. Our father hasn't been dead two days, and you're already digging at old wounds."

"Who says they're old, brother dear?" I tossed back at him as I opened the cupboards, searching for a bottle of something that could take the edge off.

"It's out in the living room," Lincoln said pointing toward the drink cart my mother had set up in anticipation of guests. I walked to it and poured myself a healthy glass of scotch as Lincoln muttered, "Can't do anything in this family without drinking."

"And why, exactly, do you think that is?" I asked as I raised the glass to my lips and drank deeply. I had no desire to get into this mess with my brother, but if he was going to drag me into it, I wasn't going to fight him too hard.

"You haven't been home in almost a decade, and you're the one who is complaining?" Lincoln hissed as he poured himself a drink and followed my lead. "You escaped. You're the lucky one. Why are you so resentful?"

"Why am I resentful?" I hissed as I moved closer to him so that my mother wouldn't hear us. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, right?"

"No, I don't get it," Lincoln muttered. "You got the hell out and never looked back. I had to stay here with him. I got trapped in this hell hole, and now you come back acting all victimized by a situation you left almost a decade ago?"

I opened my mouth to argue with him, but my mother intervened before I could say any more. The look on her face told me that she wasn't going to allow this discussion to take place in front of the children.

"Do you boys want some of these cookies and a glass of milk," my mother asked. There was a hard edge to her voice, and I knew better than to challenge her.

"I'd love some," Lincoln said, looking over at Joey who sat coloring on one of the big sheets of butcher paper that my mother kept stocked just for his visits. "I'm sure Uncle Jack would love some, too. Right?"

"Can't think of anything I'd like more," I said with a fake bright smile. My mother gave us both a warning look and then went into the kitchen to pour the milk.

"After the funeral, we'll meet with the lawyer and settle this," Lincoln said.

"And once that's over, I'm out of here for good," I said. "I want nothing more to do with the mess that man created."

"So, you're going to leave us behind again?" Lincoln said. His face showed anger, but his eyes were deep wells of pain. "Great. Just fucking great."

"Gamma! Daddy said a bad word!" Joey yelled.

"I'm sure your daddy didn't mean to say a bad word, did he?" my mother said as she carried a tray of full milk glasses into the dining room and set it on the table. "Did he?"

"No, Mother, I certainly did not," Lincoln said bowing his head slightly. I caught Jessie's disapproving look out of the corner of my eye and knew that there was something else going on.

Lincoln took a glass of milk and one of the cookies my mother offered and shot me a look that let me know this was far from over.

*

After Lincoln and Jessie and the kids finally left, I said goodnight to my mother and went up to the room she'd assigned me. It had once been the room that Lincoln and I shared, but after we'd gone to college and moved out, my mother had renovated it and turned it into a permanent guest room.

I hated the room because it reminded me of an ice cream parlor, with the peach striped wallpaper running halfway up the wall ending in cream wainscoting. The upper half of the walls was painted a frothy peach color, and all of the bedding and accessories matched it. The room made me feel like throwing up.

I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, trying to conjure the image of the

room before its makeover. Back when Lincoln and I had still been close.