The Ex Files

Chapter 6 - Brooks

When she let her guard down, Ally's face was beautifully expressive. And at the news of my mother's death, curiosity morphed to shock, to panic, and finally to sympathy.

"Your...your mom died? I'm so sorry. So, so sorry."

The awkwardness didn't get any easier, which was why I'd mentioned Mom's death to so few people. Just my two assistants, my old college roommate, and my father. Telling Father had been the most difficult. I'd almost left it to the lawyers, but that damn conscience the old man had spent decades trying to exorcise out of his only son had convinced me that I should be the one to break the news. That it would be better coming from family.

In hindsight, I should have left it to Thaddeus Marshall, Esquire. He was closer to my father than I'd ever been. When I'd informed the old man of his first wife's untimely demise, he'd just raised an eyebrow and said, "What did she die of? A bleeding heart?" Then, "Let's hope she didn't do anything stupid with those damn shares."

I'd come so fucking close to punching the jackass.

Which shouldn't have been a surprise—everyone said I was a chip off the old block, and Wynn Carrington had one hell of a temper.

I nodded. "Three days ago."

"Was it sudden?"

"Yes." And because Ally was probably wondering why I'd spent the day at a charity golf tournament instead of arranging a wake in Seattle, I added, "We weren't a big part of each other's lives."

Ally reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry for that too." A moment later, her expression filled with horror, and she dropped my hand like a hot coal. "Whoops! Overstepping there."

"Relax. At least you kept your hand above my waist this time."

I smiled to let her know I was joking, even if I didn't feel the slightest bit of mirth. How was I meant to explain the messed up relationship I had with my mother? If you could even call it a relationship. She'd walked out on Christmas Eve, a month before my sixth birthday and right after another fight. They'd happened often, although at the time, I'd been too young to truly understand what was going on. I just remembered her crying a lot, occasionally shouting, and on one occasion, slapping my father in the kitchen.

When she left, he'd framed it as a good thing. Explained in words a child could barely understand that she was crazy, psychotic, and now we were finally free of her. Although not entirely, I'd later found out. Mom had fought him hard in the divorce, and she'd been left with ten percent of the shares in Carrington Holdings, a seat on the board of the Carrington Foundation, and an NDA weighing heavy on her mind.

Me? I'd been left with a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas.

Years had passed before I found out the truth.

"We don't need to stay for dinner," Ally said. "Honestly, my foot's fine, my shin too, and Cooper said he'd be back by eight tonight. He can cook. Well, kind of."

"We're staying."

"Okay."

When Ally bit her lip and focused on the table, I realised I'd used the wrong tone with her. My senior vice president voice rather than my caring boyfriend voice. Or at least, what I hoped was a caring boyfriend voice. It wasn't as if I'd had much experience of being either of those things.

"What I mean is that I'd rather be here with you than sitting in my kitchen alone."

Silence, and maybe she was right? This wasn't what she'd signed up for. None of today's shitshow was what she'd signed up for. We had clear rules and boundaries in place, and I was pushing at them.