The Forgotten One (The Heirs #2)

Chapter Two

Max ran a towel down his face and looked at himself in the mirror.

Three strangers were currently sitting in his living room, two of whom were claiming to be his siblings. His mind was running a thousand miles per hour.

He’d give them an hour, only because he knew he would ruminate for days on their showing up out of nowhere if he didn’t.

Max threw on a clean pair of jeans and pulled a T-shirt over his head. Leaving his hair wet, he stepped out into the hallway and heard their hushed whispers.

“Of course he’s freaking out. We show up out of nowhere, no warning,” one of the women said.

“Maybe we should have called first?”

“No. He didn’t want to give us the time of day standing in front of him, he wouldn’t have agreed to meet us at a local bar to chat.”

Instead of continuing to eavesdrop, Max walked into the living room and looked directly at the guy claiming to be his brother. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have.”

All three sets of eyes moved to him as Max walked past them and straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He grabbed a beer and didn’t bother asking if anyone else wanted one.

He twisted the top off and tossed the cap in an open trash can.

Instead of sitting, he took a long pull off his beverage and leaned against the kitchen counter facing his guests .

“We know this is a shock,” the pregnant one said.

“What was your name again?”

“Piper,” she said, smiling.

Max pointed his beer between Piper and Chase. “You two married?”

“Engaged,” Chase said quickly.

Max’s gaze drifted to her pregnant belly. At least this guy was stepping up to take responsibility.

“Max ... we know how this sounds,” Alex told him. “There’s no easy way to explain our situation.”

“Try.” He took another pull on his beer.

Alex, his supposed sister, glanced at the other two and returned her focus to him. “Our father died unexpectedly last April. Heart attack.”

Max shrugged. Like he cared. He’d gotten over needing a daddy a long time ago.

“At the reading of his will, the attorney told us we had a brother,” Chase explained. “We had no idea you existed until that day.”

“Our dad was an asshole,” Alex said, deadpan. “It’s no secret that Chase and I were estranged from him. The media sensationalized our rift, but they weren’t wrong that we didn’t spend time with him. We were surprised we were named in his will.”

“He had a lot of women in his life. Apparently, he met your mother while he was married to ours. You’re thirty-one, right?” Chase asked.

Max offered a single nod.

“Yeah, well ... I’m thirty-two, and Alex is thirty.”

“Your dad was a busy guy,” Max said. A baby at home and knocking up someone else. Sounded like a prick.

“ Our dad ... and he was.”

Max wasn’t sold on that yet. “So he died, and I was named in his will?”

“No. Yes. Inadvertently,” Alex told him.

Right ... there had to be a catch. Max wasn’t buying it. “What the hell does that mean?” He took another drink.

“We were told we had a ‘brother,’” she said, adding air quotes around the word brother . “But weren’t given a name. Just that we had one and we needed to find you.”

Max pointed at the DNA report that sat on his coffee table. “He had my name.”

“Yes, but ... he didn’t tell his attorney your name or write it in his will.”

“Why?”

Chase leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “We don’t really know why. The running theory is we think he wanted to give Alex and I time to adjust to our new roles and not make any rash decisions.”

“New roles?”

“With the company,” Piper said. “Stone Enterprises.”

Max ran a hand over his face and turned away from the three of them, then released a doubtful breath. “Right. You want me to believe that I’m the bastard son of a rich man. A hotel mogul? Is that what they call them?”

“It sounds crazy, we know. But it’s true,” Chase told him.

“No one is calling you a bastard,” Piper said.

“Did he marry my mother?”

“No.”

“Then I’m a bastard.”

Max knew all the names given to orphaned children. Bastard was one of them.

“We don’t care about that,” Alex said, waving a hand in the air. “The best thing our mother did was divorce him and give us a normal life. Our dad wasn’t daddy material. He was selfish and narcissistic.”

“A womanizer,” Piper added. “His last wife was the same age as Alex.”

Alex visibly shivered and rolled her eyes.

“Listen, Max. There is a whole lot to unfold here. And we’re happy to go over all of it. And we will. But we need you to understand what this means—what this really means.”

Max looked at his beer and realized he was one sip away from finishing the thing.

“What’s that? What spin can you possibly put on this bullshit.”

Alex looked at Chase. “He doesn’t believe us.”

“Would you?” Piper asked. “I know it’s all true, and even I have a hard time swallowing it.”

Max looked directly into Chase’s eyes. “What does this really mean ... brother ?” Brother came out sounding like a slur.

“Our father left his estate to his children ... in equal parts. One-third of it belongs to you.”

“And you want me to believe that I’m ... what ... a millionaire overnight?” This was crap. The whole thing.

“We just need you to do a DNA test to—”

And then what, turn over his savings account? “Does one of you need a kidney?”

“Nothing like that,” Alex said.

“It’s billions, actually,” Piper whispered.

“What?”

She looked at him and smiled. “You’re a billionaire.”

Max slammed his beer bottle on the counter.

Everyone jolted.

He’d heard enough. Take a breath, count to five. All the advice thrown at him over his life flooded in as he reached for the ability to stay in control.

None of it worked.

Max marched to his front door and swung it open ... hard. “Get out.”

“We’re telling you—”

Max glared at Alex. “Get the hell out. I don’t know who put you up to this, but when I find out, they’re going to hate their life.”

“We’re not lying,” Piper pleaded.

Max glanced out his door, saw the truck they all climbed out of. “What is that? Dodge Ram, double cab? Fully loaded?”

“Max, please listen to us,” Piper persisted.

“What did that set you back? Eighty ... ninety grand?” He looked at Chase.

“About that.”

“Nice rig.”

Chase stood, all amusement from his face dropped. “Max—”

Max reached around his opened door; his fingers gripped the baseball bat he had sitting there.

“What does that pull ... about eight thousand pounds?”

“Twelve.”

Max blew out a whistle. “I could use a truck like that.”

“Please just listen.” Alex was on her feet.

“Are they as durable as everyone says they are?”

“Max!”

This conversation was over.

Max cleared the threshold of his front door, baseball bat in hand, and started toward the truck. A voice in the back of his head told him to stop.

Footsteps ran from behind.

Chase caught him before they hit the street; he stood a couple of yards away, hands up in the air. “We’re leaving.”

Max’s breath came fast. He pointed the end of the bat toward Chase and then the truck. “Get your women in that truck and get the fuck out of here. Don’t come back.”

Alex and Piper gave him a wide berth as they walked behind Chase.

“Call when—” Piper started.

“Hon, just leave it,” Chase told her, his eyes never leaving Max’s.

Every muscle in Max’s body tensed, his grip so hard on the bat he wouldn’t be surprised if the thing split down the middle from the pressure.

The thick sound of truck doors closing prompted Chase to start walking backward.

Without another word, he climbed into his rig and started the engine.

Max stood at the edge of his yard as they drove away.

Only then did he turn around and walk back into his house. His heart racing, his neck tense.

He threw the bat onto his couch.

It bounced and hit the coffee table, splintering the wood.

He grabbed his beer, lifted it to his lips ... damn thing was empty.

Max hurled the glass bottle into the kitchen and watched as it shattered into a million pieces.

“You look like crap.”

“And you’re a ray of fucking sunshine.” Max was not in the mood.

Once he could finally turn his mind off from his unexpected company and fall asleep, the wind had decided to howl all night, waking him every hour.

He and Jeff climbed into the work truck before the early-morning darkness was driven from the sky.

“Did Sheri give you trouble about the blade?”

Max pulled out of the yard and headed toward the parking lot LA called a freeway. “When does she ever not give us a hard time?”

Jeff huffed out a laugh and drank from the Starbucks coffee he never lived without. “Christmas?”

“We’re off at Christmas.”

“Exactly.”

That put a smile on Max’s face.

The line of red lights met them before they hit the 5 freeway. “Why can’t Sheri find work for us in town?”

“The pay is better in the city.” Everything paid better in LA compared to Santa Clarita or Antelope Valley. Lots of money in LA.

Max found his brain gravitating toward his unwanted visitors from the day before.

He’d drunk himself to sleep, staring at the DNA paper they’d left behind. Something that could have been printed off any computer.

The father’s name was nothing but initials ... the mother’s name didn’t match his. Who was Smith? If these were his parents, why was that his last name?

The wheel spun in his head, as it had all night.

Someone was playing a sick joke. Or these assholes were playing some other kind of game by finding a Max Smith that could meet their needs ... whatever those were.

Max ran a hand over his beard. Damn thing itched. Probably from the dust flying around.

A few more miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic and listening to Jeff complain about his wife, and Max brought up the Stone name.

Paying close attention to Jeff’s expression, Max asked, “What do you know about Stone Enterprises?”

“Stone what?”

“Enterprises.”

“Never heard of ’em. Wait ... you’re not looking for another job, are you?” Jeff let out a sigh. “Dude, don’t quit. Sheri can be a hard-ass, but she caves when she knows you’re right. The blade thing will be forgotten by next week.”

“No, not ...” Stone and concrete . Okay, he saw how Jeff jumped to that conclusion. Stone cutters, concrete cutters. “No, Stone Enterprises. As in the hotels?”

“Oh. Thank God. Yeah, no. I don’t know much. We stayed at one of their hotels on our first anniversary. Seemed nice. Are you planning a vacation or something?”

Max gripped the steering wheel. He could check Jeff off his list of people that would pull a prank like this one. There wasn’t so much as a flinch of recognition at the mention of the Stone name. “I’m thinking about Vegas for Thanksgiving.”

“Don’t do that. You know you’re always welcome at our place.”

“Your wife can’t cook.”

Jeff nodded. “True, but I fry up a decent turkey. That and beer, what else do we need?”

He appreciated the offer, but Max didn’t do holidays. “I’ll think about it.” He wouldn’t. Vegas was only five hours away by car. He preferred his holidays alone or lonely in a crowded room ... or casino. It was much easier to ignore the fact that he didn’t have a family when he was surrounded by strangers.

Max and Jeff talked about anything and everything, and the Stone name was dropped. Three hours into the day, with the wind laying waste to the jobsite and kicking up dust and debris, Max was properly miserable.

Thankfully, the slightly larger blade Sheri reluctantly forked over did the job.

He counted that as a win.

By the time he turned onto his street that night, it was after seven.

He scanned the neighborhood, half expecting to see his uninvited guests from the previous day.

No one was around.

He parked his truck in the driveway, hugging the right side. The damn thing always seemed to have some kind of spontaneous leak that needed attention. Max wanted to keep those surprises in one place. Easier to keep clean that way, and a much less likely chance of tracking any mess into the house.

Even though he didn’t own the home, he liked things clean.

Except when he was throwing beer bottles at his faceless demons. Something he’d regretted when he was on his hands and knees the night before looking for glass shards after he’d stepped on one with his bare feet.

A long, hot shower washed away some of the worry and all of the grime. He picked up his razor twice, tempted to remove the majority of the facial hair he had growing. Twice he put the blade away.

In his kitchen, Max considered popping open a beer and quickly decided against it. He’d had enough to drink the night before to ease his nerves and make him borderline drunk, a place he didn’t like to go.

Control was more important to him than a buzz.

Control he didn’t feel like he had the day before when those strangers showed up at his door. He should have told them to shove it long before they made it inside his house. Only, there was a tiny part of him that whispered and told him to listen.

A mistake.

Didn’t matter.

They were gone, and he’d never see them again.

Max pulled a soda out of his refrigerator and a premade meal that was ready for a date with the microwave out of the freezer.

He sorted his mail, tossed the junk, and opened his bills while he ate.

After one episode of his latest binge-worthy miniseries on Netflix, he turned off his TV and went to bed.

All the while, the wind outside thrashed to the point that he could hear his neighbor’s palm tree dropping fronds on the roof of his house.

His last thought, before sleep took him out, was ... he really hoped the wind stopped by morning so he could clean up the mess in his yard.

He hated a messy yard.