The Billionaire's Longshot: Betting on You Series: Book Three (25 page)

Ross’s journey was nothing like the one Brad had chosen. His sole desire had been to build the most successful business and stay the hell away from the family vineyard. He’d achieved that. But at times, it felt so empty.

As Ross continued reading, Brad never mentioned her again. His entries were all about new places, new journeys. Unlike his own lonely existence, Brad, who appeared to have had nothing, now seemed to have had it all.
Is it too late to change, to reset my priorities?

My focus has always been to build my business, build my name. But for what? For my name to be known for making boats? If I wrote a journal, what would my friends think when reading it after I died?
I’ve chased so much and missed what was right in front of me.

Something had to be done, but where should he start? Should he pick up the phone and call Jill? His cell phone rang. Not who he was expecting, but maybe who he needed. “Hello Mother. How are you?”

“I heard rumors you were in town. I do hope you are planning to come by.”

Start at the beginning.
How could he fix a future for himself without confronting his past? “Yes, Mother. I will be there tonight for dinner.”

“Spending the night?”

Might as well take the bull by the horns and go for it.
What was the worst thing that could happen? They fight and argue and he leaves. It wasn’t like it would be the first time he walked out of that house. Actually he considered that the norm. “But conversation was something that never happened at the table like most families. Dinner was eaten in silence and then they all went their own way. If he was going to attempt change it was going to start tonight. “I’d love to.”

Ross got up from the deck. He closed Brad’s journal, went back to the cabin, and put the journal back in its resting place. When he’d seen it fall from her bag, fury had charged through him. Now? There was no such feeling. Actually there was an unusual feeling of calm. Her actions had been wrong, but maybe the outcome could be positive. What was the saying?
Time heals all wounds.

‡

W
hen he arrived
his mother was already seated at the dining room table. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, there was traffic.” It wasn’t true, but he wasn’t about to start the night on a bad note. He greeted his mother with a kiss on her forehead.

“What is that all about?” she asked sharply.

Change starts with me.
He smiled and chose to ignore her comment. “Hello Father. Hope all is well.”

“Better since you are here. Your mother was beginning to worry you had changed your mind.”

“I’m here now.” The table was meant to seat twelve, but usually there were only the three of them. His mother at one end, his father at the other, leaving him to sit in the middle. Tonight he picked up his place setting and moved it to the vacant spot next to his mother.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked.

“Dad, could you please come and sit across from me?”

His father looked at him then to his mother. Shrugging, he did as Ross asked. “Son, you are full of surprises today. I take it there is something you wish to discuss with us.”

Discuss . . . ask.
“There are a few things I would like to talk about. We can save the deep conversation for after dinner. For now maybe you can tell me how things have been going in the vineyard.”

His parents exchanged puzzled looks, but his father eagerly began rattling off facts regarding new varieties that had been recently released. That much was expected, what took him by surprise was his mother’s full understanding of the financial impact the new varieties were having on their bottom line.
Since when did Mother get involved in the business?
From the time he was a child she’d avoided anything that resembled business talk.

“As you can see, we are holding our own, but we have encountered our share of challenges,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the financial hardship you were facing? I could have helped.”

“Roosevelt, you have made it clear you want nothing to do with the winery. So it shouldn’t surprise you we kept the issue to ourselves,” she stated.

“Son, things have turned around. We are back on track. The vineyard is no longer at risk of foreclosure.”

The thought of losing it panicked him. He wasn’t sure why. His mother stated the truth; he’d wanted nothing to do with any of it. But this wasn’t just his home, this was generations of Whitmans, all working hands-on to make Whitman’s Wines a household name. The fact it had been almost defunct and he had been ignorant about it shocked him. He had been so damn foolish. It was time for this behavior to stop.
This is my heritage and my future. How have I been so blind?

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help. I should have been and would like to be going forward. If you’ll let me.” He couldn’t believe he was saying the words, but as they left his lips, he knew they were true.

His father sat back in his chair and watched him for a moment. Why should he believe him? For years, he’d never been there for them. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re a Whitman. This was always meant to be yours someday.”

It wasn’t about wanting it. It was about feeling part of it, connected to the vineyard, to the family. It was going to take a lot more than saying it to make them accept it as truth.

“If you’re saving the deep conversation for after dinner, I’m worried,” his mother said.

As she should be. It was about to get much deeper, much more personal. The business was part of the family legacy, but he needed to understand their life. Why things were the way they were for both his parents and himself. It wasn’t going to be an easy topic to bring up, and the answers might not be what he was hoping for, but all he wanted out of it was truth and closure.
Insight. Why am I who I am?

“For now, I would love to hear more about the winery.”

It was an easy distraction, and his father had been waiting many years for this day. A month ago, if anyone said he would be eating dinner with his parents willingly, interested in what was said, he would have told them they’d lost their mind. But time seemed to fly by listening to all they had to say. His father was proud of the family legacy and also with what he had accomplished through his use of technology.

Ross wasn’t sure he would ever have the passion his father had for winemaking, but there was only one way to find out and that was to give it a try.
Doesn’t mean I still won’t be a beer drinker.

With dinner complete and the night quickly passing, Ross wasn’t sure he should bring up the more difficult issues he needed clarified.
Am I ready? Are they?
Would it ruin the easy time they were sharing? Was it going to open up a can of worms that wasn’t his to open? What he wanted to know was why they were still married. They had nothing in common and didn’t appear to love each other. Did being their son give him the right to ask?

The answer was simple: no. But growing up in a home with this dynamic affected him as well. As far as he was concerned, that made it his right.

Sitting down with coffee, Ross opened the topic.
Here goes potentially nothing.
“There is something I would like to ask you both. It’s not easy to ask, and I’m sure it won’t be easy to answer, but I have my reasons for wanting to know.”

His mother said, “Roosevelt, I’ll answer what I can. What is troubling you?”

For the first time in as long as he could remember, his mother’s tone was soft and gentle.
Unexpected.
Where was he to start? Should he blurt it out boldly and ask them why they married? No. He didn’t want to come across as judgmental because right now he wasn’t judging them. He only wanted to understand. Maybe they could develop a relationship of some sort, since they never really had one before.

“How long have you been married?”
Start slow, easy.

His parents exchanged looks then answered. “It will be thirty-five years next year.”

Okay.
Wait a minute. I’m thirty-four.
She was pregnant with me when they married.
“Was I the reason you two married?” Judging by their surprised, almost angry expressions, he considered how to soften that. He hadn’t meant for the words to be spoken so harshly.

“Roosevelt.” His mother sounded shocked, then turned to his father.

“Son, why are you asking this question now?”

There wasn’t denial, which meant it must be true.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
“I really only meant to understand how you two came together and why you are still together. It was evident neither of you were happy when I was a child. I’m not sure you’re happy now.”

For the first time in his life, the tears that ran down his mother’s cheeks were not the dramatic “oh, look at me, I want attention” display like usual. They looked like tears of sadness. Heartbreak. She was vulnerable. Not something he knew she could even be. “I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I’m sure your childhood was . . . difficult at times.”

That’s an understatement.
“That was a long time ago. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I think it should be discussed. A topic that has been long overdue.” His father reached over and took his wife’s hand in his. “I was working the vineyard and was what one would call rebellious. This was the last place I’d wanted to be. My friends had all gone away to college, and I’d been left behind. Your mother was also in college but had come home on break when her mother became ill.” His father squeezed her hand gently.

“It was a difficult time for her. We would meet occasionally, both trying to run away from our problems. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Unfortunately her mother, your grandmother, passed at age forty, and your grandfather was shattered. We found out shortly after, that your mother was expecting. Returning to college was no longer an option for her. We talked and decided to get married. She would move to the vineyard with me and your grandparents. Hence the guesthouse.”

This was more complex than he’d envisioned. His father didn’t want to be here? All these years he’d thought Whitman’s Wines had been his father’s dream, all his father had ever wanted. But it wasn’t his father’s dream any more than it was his own. “So, you stayed here because you had to?”

“At first, yes. It was a way for me to provide for my family. But all that changed once you came along. Things became clearer. As I watched my father, I understood he wasn’t growing grapes, but growing a tradition, a family tradition, one I could pass down to my son just as it had been passed down to me.”

“Unfortunately,” his mother started, “I never bonded with this place as your father had. The reason I went away to college was because I wanted the big city life and once your father fell in love with this place, I knew I would never see the city again. At least not the way I’d dreamed I would. Your father and I were crazy for each other when we married. The discontent began when we both started trying to control the other, manipulate the other to get what we wanted instead of discussing the issues.
Our
issues. We both said many hurtful things and were both too stubborn to ever apologize.”

“But you stayed together. Why?” Ross asked.

“You might not believe this, Roosevelt, but I love your father very much, and I know he loves me, even when I can be . . . difficult at times.”

“I don’t think I have ever heard the word love mentioned in this house before.” Not to him or to each other. How could it be said now, as though it was understood?

“That was our mistake. We spent many years shutting ourselves off from what we didn’t want to deal with, what we didn’t want to discuss. Emotions and feelings weren’t something we shared or even admitted to ourselves,” his father stated.

That explained a lot. If they shut down from each other, how were they going to give a child what he or she needed? It amazed him that, even though they lived in their separate little worlds, they still loved each other.
Why didn’t I ever see it before?
Maybe it was because no one ever said the words.

Oh God. He could be like them.
Jill had kept asking for one thing: say the words. He wouldn’t allow himself. It was eerily similar to his parents. Holding them in was a form of control he’d never been willing to release to anyone. Not even Jill.
But why?
He cared about her very much, but did he love her? It was such a foreign feeling to him, how would he know?

Dinner with his parents was an eye opener for many things, but it also opened up something else. He wasn’t his parents. He needed to figure out what was truly important to him and why. Putting himself in a box focused solely on success had lost its luster. Reading Brad’s journal and sitting with his parents confirmed that.

He didn’t know exactly where to go from there. It wasn’t something he could answer quickly, but he knew there were going to be some major changes in his life.

“Would you mind if I stayed for a week? I would like to learn more about the business, if that’s okay.”