Best Friend's Ex Box Set

I felt my pulse racing as the accusations and insults flew. It was one thing to think your father hated you, but quite another to have him openly and aggressively confirm it. I clenched my fists at my side, trying to remind myself that he was just a mean, old man who hated everyone and everything. I was nothing special in that area, but as he continued to pile on the insults, I felt my resolve weakening until finally I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Wow, you really have a low opinion of me, don't you?" I sneered. "I'm choosing work I believe in—unlike what you did, Father. You're the weak-minded fool who trusted God and his father to guide him in the right direction, and look where you ended up: Old and mean and angry at the world because you didn't get to do what you wanted to do with your life, isn't that right? I mean, how pathetic are you that you didn't even get to marry the woman you actually loved?"

"Son, you're pushing the outer limits of my patience," my father said as his face turned pale. I'd brought up history that he thought he'd buried and even though he felt free to dig deep into my life, he didn't like it when the tables were turned.

"You're not the only one who uses information as currency in this family," I said pulling myself up to my full height as my father stood a foot away glowering at me. "And I would have thought you'd appreciate the fact that I am looking to build a new business and tap into new veins of profit. But I guess your ego and your ignorance drives most of what you do these days, don't they?"

"You are an absolute disgrace to this family," he growled. I could see him clenching his fists and I knew that I was dangerously close to provoking a physical outburst. As I stood silently, waiting to see where this would go, I breathed deeply and reassured myself that this time I would not end up on the losing end of a fight with him. After a long while, my father's rage seemed to recede a bit, and he spoke terse tone, "I don't know what made you want to pursue this ridiculous line of work, but I'll tell you something right now, son: If you and that friend of yours want to pursue this little fantasy, you have one month to do it. Then you'll come home and marry the Vasquez girl or you will be cut off from any and all financial support. I'm not allowing a dime of my money to go toward the business of putting me out of business or to the impudent action of disgracing this family. I am a business man and a man who believes in God; you are a good for nothing, ungrateful rebel without a cause, and I will have no difficulty cutting you out of everything."

I stood completely still, staring into my father's eyes as I thought about my response. I knew what I wanted to do and I knew what would happen if I chose it. I'd thought about this moment for years, and in all my fantasies about this type of showdown, I'd always imagined myself heroically throwing punches until I had weakened him to the point that I could slam him to the ground and put my boot on his throat as I demanded an apology for all the pain he'd caused. I imagined that I would scoff at his weakness and then walk away feeling vindicated. What I had not imagined was this: Standing face to face with my tormenter and realizing that he was nothing more than a frightened, old bully who had lost the ability to terrorize me with his mere presence. I felt my stomach begin to roil as I stared at the man who called himself my father.

"You're so damn ungrateful," my father muttered shaking his head in disgust, but I could see that he'd backed down and was not going to go any further than using words to try and wound me. "I don't know how we managed to raise a son that is so disloyal to and disrespectful of his family. You're pathetic and sad."

I could feel the blood rushing to my face as he read off the list of ways in which I'd disappointed him and my mother. I could feel the shame threatening to engulf me, but I didn't look away. Instead, I absorbed the bricks he threw knowing that I'd later use them to build an even stronger wall of defense. I knew my father was a predator who used words to weaken his prey, but in his rage, he seemed to forget that I'd had a lifetime of practice in deflecting his attacks.

"One month of freedom and then you come back and do as you're expected to or you will forfeit all inheritance rights and you will not receive a dime from me or your mother," he continued as he stood and circled me. For a moment, I wondered if he might actually be thinking about physically hurting me, but then he went in for the kill. "Think long and hard about this choice, son. If you choose this wind business over your family, it will be the last choice you make as a Wallace."

As he said this, an invisible thread broke. I'd spent a lifetime cowering and hiding from this man, and now I'd had enough of his bullying. I might find myself dirt poor after this encounter, but I was damn well going to make all the choices about my life. Because when I looked ahead, I saw that if I gave in now, I might have all the money in the world, but I'd never be free of my father. I'd spend the rest of my life groveling on my knees as I did his bidding. I swallowed hard and made my decision.

"Well, since you put it that way," I said as a smile spread across my lips, but did not reach my eyes. "I'll pack my things and be out of my apartment by morning."

My father's eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. He drew a deep breath, and as a cruel grin spread across his own lips, said, "No, you'll take what you've got right now. Everything else is mine. Now get the hell out of my sight. You have one month to make your decision. If you're not back and engaged to that girl, then you'll be out for good. Oh, and you're fired."

I opened my mouth to argue that this wasn't fair, and then quickly closed it and simply nodded. I smiled, shrugged, and said, "You can't fire me. I quit," then turned and calmly walked out the door.

As I walked past the front desk, Kimber called, "Have a good day, Mr. Wa—Adam!"

"Kimber," I said quietly as I stopped and turned to face her. "If you're smart, you'll get out while you still can."

A look of confusion crossed her unlined face, and then she smiled brightly and said, "Thanks for the advice, but I'm happy here."

"It's your funeral," I muttered as I turned and walked out the door.

Chapter Three

Grace

It was still dark when the shrill sound of the phone cut through the silence and into my sleep. I groped around the nightstand searching for the source of the noise, knowing that it was likely to be Mike looking for a spreadsheet, client file, or a tax form that he'd misplaced. I'd often jokingly threatened to turn off my phone's ringer when I went to bed, but I never did. And Mike knew I wouldn't.

"Mmm hmm, Mike, what's up?" I said trying to sound more awake than I felt. When my greeting was met with silence, I swore quietly. "Dammit, prank calls at four in the morning are not cool!"

"Grace?" a timid voice said on the other end. "Grace, are you there?"

"Verity?" I said quickly sitting up and snapping on the bedside lamp. "What's going on? It's four in the morning; why are you calling?"

"Oh Grace, come...come...come home!" she cried and then dissolved into sobs before she could say anything else.

"Verity, what is going on?" I asked as I felt the panic rising in my chest. There were very few reasons my younger sister would have ventured out of the house to call me at this hour and not many of them would be related to good news.

"Grace, it's Mamm and Dat," she sobbed. "There's been an accident! Come home!"

"Verity, what happened?" I said as dread took the place of panic. I climbed out of bed and walked down the hallway to the kitchen where I held the phone between my shoulder and ear as I began measuring the water to make a pot of strong coffee. The familiar routine calmed my nerves and I knew it was likely that I was going to need the coffee.

I could picture my sister, in her plain, brown dress, shawl, and starched white kapp, standing in the phone booth at the end of the road as she made the call. The sun would be edging its way up into the sky, but the fields would still be dark and peaceful for another half hour or so.

"Grace, their buggy was hit by a truck," Verity choked out before dissolving into sobs.

"It's okay, sweetie," I said trying to calm her enough to get the story. "It's okay, Verity. I'm here. Just tell me what's happening."