The Wright Boss
Author: K.A. Linde
One
Landon
Fuck, my wife was ruining my life.
In fact, Miranda had been ruining my life since the day we met. I hadn't known it at the time. I wouldn't find out until much later. But, now, the fact was undeniable. Miranda was a cancerous cell eating away at my body. If I didn't get away, she would destroy me.
My phone buzzed and I glanced down to find Miranda's name on the screen.
For the hundredth fucking time.
"Fuck," I groaned, ending the call.
She had been calling me nonstop since I walked out the door without her. But I had just landed in Lubbock on the last plane of the day, and frankly, I didn't want to talk to her. Not after what she'd done. Not after what she had been doing to me for years.
Of course, I didn't blame her for freaking out when I was on my way to my ten-year high school reunion without her.
I cringed at the thought. I'd wanted to come back for the reunion at the top of my game. I'd spent six years working as a professional golfer out of Tampa with a few PGA Tour victories under my belt, but I'd wanted to come home having won the Masters with my sexy wife on my arm, living the dream. I'd wanted to make my name as someone other than a Wright.
As proud as I was of my family and Wright Construction, the largest construction company in the nation, I wanted my own life. Now, I was returning at twenty-eight years old without my wife and with my golf dreams in ashes.
I shrugged off those depressing thoughts and exited the plane. The Lubbock Airport was compact, to say the least. I'd only brought a carry-on, so I bypassed baggage claim and exited the sliding glass doors out to my hot and dusty home. After Florida summers, where you drink the air, Lubbock felt more like breathing sandpaper.
A shiny red Alfa Romeo zoomed up to the spot in front of me, and my brother Austin rolled down the window. He honked the horn and flipped me the bird. He was two years older than me but frequently acted as if he were the younger brother.
"Hey, get in!" Austin yelled. He popped the button for the trunk.
"Nice to see you, too," I said sarcastically.
"Where's your other half?" Austin asked.
"Couldn't make it."
Sure, Miranda couldn't make it. That was the lie I was going with for a woman who didn't work, spent my money like it actually grew on trees, and was practically attached to my hip.
"Cool," Austin said with a shrug.
I knew he was the only one of my four siblings who would buy that explanation.
I slid my suitcase into the trunk and slammed it shut.
"This car is so fucking tiny," I said after I sank into the passenger seat. "The trunk barely has enough room for my suitcase."
Austin zoomed away from the airport. "Keep complaining, and I'll make you stay with Jensen."
I sat back and stared out the window. "Yeah, I'd rather not have to hear him banging my ex-girlfriend."
"I'm sure he could put your ass on the other side of the house. Then, you'd only have to imagine him with Emery."
"Thanks. You're really helping."
"That's what I'm here for," Austin said with a grin.
Even though my oldest brother, Jensen, had started dating my ex-girlfriend Emery eight months ago, it was a little weird for me. Not because I had feelings for her. But I couldn't erase the two years we'd dated in high school. The whole thing had added to my irritation with Miranda. How could Jensen be so happy when I was stuck in a miserable, loveless marriage?
God, everything came back to Miranda. My phone even buzzed, as if she had known I was thinking about her.
I checked the message.
Babe, answer your phone. We need to talk about this. I cannot believe you left without me. What am I supposed to do?
Fuck that noise. I turned my phone off.
"God, can we get fucked up before this thing tonight?" I asked in desperation. Alcohol would numb the pain for a night.
"Now, that I can help with," Austin said with a grin.
I probably shouldn't be contributing to my brother's alcoholism, but fuck, I needed a drink. Austin had been drinking heavily ever since our dad died ten years ago from an overdose. Golf had always helped me manage my vices and the characteristic Wright addictive personality. Without it, I didn't know if I'd have ended up just like my old man.
Twenty minutes later, we showed up at Austin's house in Tech Terrace. He'd had it gutted and redesigned after he closed on it. So, even though the construction was built in the sixties, the house was brand-new. It had the advantage of being located within walking distance of the best bars, which I thought was the reason he'd bought it. But this also meant I could walk my drunk ass to and from the reunion down the street.