Read Online Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) by Claudia Burgoa - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Claudia Burgoa
Tags: UNCUT
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doesn’t have any class. Unless he broke up with her in the past year and ended up dating some rich idiot. That’s my brother: the perfect puppet of Viviane and Charles Cooperson. I’m the black sheep. The one that can’t understand social cues and norms. If I had a dollar for each time my father has beaten the fuck out of me for not being perfect, I could retire.
“I don’t have time for board meetings or engagement parties, Father.”
His heavy breath comes down the line. I can almost see the blood vessels in his neck pulsating and about to burst. “Make time, Tristan. We need you.” I cringe at his words because of the deep-seated obligation I feel. “Your mother is counting on you. Try not to fail her this time.”
They don’t need me. They need to deliver a façade to the world. Declare that the Coopersons are perfect, and their children never fail to appear during these ridiculous gatherings.
“Is Fey going?” The answer is no, of course. Fey is somewhere around the world not giving a shit about her family, but faking that she’s a missionary.
“Of course not, Tristan. Fey’s in Port-au-Prince rebuilding the city.”
I hold in my laugh. My sister has zero altruism running through her veins. Lucas should know where our little sister is. I don’t give a shit about her whereabouts. Fey and I no longer speak to each other. Not after she threw me under a bus. That was long ago, during Christmas break when I was a sophomore in college. She informed our parents that I hadn’t changed my deviations—that I still liked to be fucked by guys. That the special camp to fix me hadn’t worked as expected. Dad once again beat the shit out of me. Then, they shoved the subject under the carpet. A way to make me understand that my choices , as usual, were poor. Because there’s no fucking way that a Cooperson man likes guys. They think the word bisexual is a fashion statement, not a way of being. Not the way their firstborn should be—the one who’ll inherit the business and all that shit.
“Look, Father, I don’t give a shit about your board or Lucas’s engagement. Your world is millions of years apart from mine. See you during the holidays.” I end the call.
My mother is going to call. I can just hear her arguments now. Including her ramblings about Victoria and how I have to give her a chance. It’s for a cause, Tristan. When Mother married Father, she barely knew him, and they’ve been together for thirty-five years. That's their fucking shit, not mine. To rid myself of some of the rage I carry, I head to the gym. That should burn off the conversation and bring me back from Connecticut and the fucking farce I lived at that house.
This was a bad idea. I think. The entire room spins around. Well, the hallway. Drinking myself to oblivion. Fuck, I am not twenty anymore. Why did I let my father get under my skin? No. It was my mother, not him. As I headed to the gym, she called me.
“After everything I’ve done for you and this is how you repay me.” She began crying. “I’ve given you space, but it’s time for you to leave that forsaken city filled with lowlifes. The least you could do is come visit your family often and be there when we celebrate the good things.”
The good things never include the opening of my establishments. I invited them the first few times, but after the fourth rejection, I decided to ignore them. This is my life, not theirs. From the moment I took my first breath and until I decided to leave them behind, they ruled every second of my life. My parents expected me to marry that bitch—fuck, I am so drunk, I can’t remember her name. Her father owns some old advertising company that my father wants to acquire by marriage. Well, he should divorce Mom and fucking marry the ass that owns it.
After I hung up, I headed to the old Silver Moon and drank several whiskey sours and several beers to wash down the bottle of Scotch I ordered. Fuck. I’m carrying too much guilt.
“I don’t have time for board meetings or engagement parties, Father.”
His heavy breath comes down the line. I can almost see the blood vessels in his neck pulsating and about to burst. “Make time, Tristan. We need you.” I cringe at his words because of the deep-seated obligation I feel. “Your mother is counting on you. Try not to fail her this time.”
They don’t need me. They need to deliver a façade to the world. Declare that the Coopersons are perfect, and their children never fail to appear during these ridiculous gatherings.
“Is Fey going?” The answer is no, of course. Fey is somewhere around the world not giving a shit about her family, but faking that she’s a missionary.
“Of course not, Tristan. Fey’s in Port-au-Prince rebuilding the city.”
I hold in my laugh. My sister has zero altruism running through her veins. Lucas should know where our little sister is. I don’t give a shit about her whereabouts. Fey and I no longer speak to each other. Not after she threw me under a bus. That was long ago, during Christmas break when I was a sophomore in college. She informed our parents that I hadn’t changed my deviations—that I still liked to be fucked by guys. That the special camp to fix me hadn’t worked as expected. Dad once again beat the shit out of me. Then, they shoved the subject under the carpet. A way to make me understand that my choices , as usual, were poor. Because there’s no fucking way that a Cooperson man likes guys. They think the word bisexual is a fashion statement, not a way of being. Not the way their firstborn should be—the one who’ll inherit the business and all that shit.
“Look, Father, I don’t give a shit about your board or Lucas’s engagement. Your world is millions of years apart from mine. See you during the holidays.” I end the call.
My mother is going to call. I can just hear her arguments now. Including her ramblings about Victoria and how I have to give her a chance. It’s for a cause, Tristan. When Mother married Father, she barely knew him, and they’ve been together for thirty-five years. That's their fucking shit, not mine. To rid myself of some of the rage I carry, I head to the gym. That should burn off the conversation and bring me back from Connecticut and the fucking farce I lived at that house.
This was a bad idea. I think. The entire room spins around. Well, the hallway. Drinking myself to oblivion. Fuck, I am not twenty anymore. Why did I let my father get under my skin? No. It was my mother, not him. As I headed to the gym, she called me.
“After everything I’ve done for you and this is how you repay me.” She began crying. “I’ve given you space, but it’s time for you to leave that forsaken city filled with lowlifes. The least you could do is come visit your family often and be there when we celebrate the good things.”
The good things never include the opening of my establishments. I invited them the first few times, but after the fourth rejection, I decided to ignore them. This is my life, not theirs. From the moment I took my first breath and until I decided to leave them behind, they ruled every second of my life. My parents expected me to marry that bitch—fuck, I am so drunk, I can’t remember her name. Her father owns some old advertising company that my father wants to acquire by marriage. Well, he should divorce Mom and fucking marry the ass that owns it.
After I hung up, I headed to the old Silver Moon and drank several whiskey sours and several beers to wash down the bottle of Scotch I ordered. Fuck. I’m carrying too much guilt.
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