Page 4 of Wild Horses

war

Dallas, Texas

December

I stand in the doorway of my father’s study, biting my tongue as he rakes my sister over the coals. Again.

Tuesday’s anguished face is clearly displayed on the oversized screen mounted to the wall, dressed up like she’s at a fundraiser or something—as are the others in the frame. Suits. Gowns. The ambient noise of partygoers. What catches my attention, though, are tears. Tears blurring eyes identical to my own.

Despite being twins, Tuesday and I have never been close. For thirty-three years, our parents manipulated us and found ways to pit us against each other. Even so, we tried to do what they asked, but Tuesday’s effort has never been enough for them.

Meanwhile, I’ve benefited from this arrangement.

Tuesday’s words to me when I called to check on her in October, when all this ugliness came to a massive head, echo inmy mind. I hear them daily. “You’re right, War; we are family. I wish you’d kept that in mind before you determined I was worth less to you than the company... What I need right now is space and time. Please don’t contact me.”My gut twists at all the ways I’ve let her down, hurt her. I don't begrudge her for wanting nothing to do with me.

Tuesday thinks I don’t see how our parents, and my father in particular, treat her, but it’s so much worse because I do. I’ve just been too much of a coward to defy him, and I hate myself for it. Our entire lives, I’ve played the role of the perfect Phillips heir. Backing my father’s plays, putting my wants aside to learn the business and be everything he expects.

By nature, I’m a problem solver. It’s my role in the company, and it’s something I pride myself on. When that asshole, DuncanfuckingWright, managed to increase the disdain my father has for his daughter, I had to find a way to protect her.

Even though I knew she’d hate me and see it as a massive betrayal, sending Tuesday to Trail Creek, New Mexicowasthe correct choice. She needed to get out of Dallas, away from our parents and Duncan. Hell, away from me. There have always been bigger and better things waiting for Tuesday, and sending her to New Mexico helped her realize it. As days passed into weeks, I watched her from seven hundred miles away, using the snippets she posted on social media to keep track of her. And what I saw was my sister bloom.

But what I’m hearing tonight is too much. It’s proof I haven’t done enough.

My father’s angry voice pulls me out of my head as he threatens to cut her off. The two volley back and forth; Tuesday balks and calls him out, but Warren Phillips ups the ante, promising to sell off the company we recently purchased from her new family.

Before I can speak up, a group surrounds my sister, a wall of support and love and everything I should be for her. The Davis family gave—gives—her things her blood family never has. As each person she’s pulled into her light steps up, another boulder lodges in my chest, a heavy reminder of my failings.You’re a disgrace, War.

Tuesday pleads with our father, offering to buy the company, promising to disappear. ThenDadsays the words that break the dam inside me: “Your mistake is thinking I’d ever allow you a win.”

The way he sees it, we’re not his children—we’re assets, leverage in his endless game. And god help anyone who tries to step off his board.

With a steadying breath and a quick whisper to the universe that my father buys what I’m selling, I move into the room, pushing past my parents. “Tuesday, I’ll act as a proxy for you.”

Shock flickers across my sister’s face, replaced by a mix of hesitation and something that might be hope. Her hands, which had been wringing in her lap, freeze before she presses them together as if bracing herself.

“Wh-what? War, what are you saying? H-have you been there the entire time?” She falters, and the vulnerability of her words somehow cuts deeper than any of Dad’s words ever could.

Ignoring my father’s stern glare, I say, “I’ve been here long enough.” And I don’t just mean tonight.

My mother tuts from the expensive settee, her disapproval palpable. She doesn’t need to say anything; the narrowing of her eyes is enough. Her support of my father’s antics is quieter but no less poisonous, a reminder that her complicity in his unhinged plans means Tuesday and I only have each other—and I’ve left her alone for years.

The entire situation would be absurd, like something out of a soap opera, if it weren’t so disgusting. Our father agreeing to pay Duncan Wright, the lying, manipulative asshole who threatened to sue our company, a million dollars is bad enough. Trying to marry Tuesday off to him after he violated her privacy and attempted to blackmail her—all to salvage the company’s reputation and save face among his peers—is even worse. But never in all my imagined worst case scenarios and worstworstcase scenarios did I see my father sending that prick to Trail Creek to try and make Tuesday come home.

Dropping by my parents’ house was pure coincidence, but I’m thankful for it. Who knows when I would have heard Mom and Dad’s twisted version of what’s happening here tonight.

As always, it comes down to money and image with Warren Phillips. He’s used both to twist and mold Tuesday and me into a caricature of a family. He cares more about what people think and his bottom line than he does for either of us. I’ve always been a better pawn than Tuesday, willingly shuffled along at his whim.

She’s so much braver than me. Seeing her hold her ground against our father reinforces that.

Tuesday’s nose wrinkles. “War, you can’t act as my proxy, and you know it. They’ll never let you.” Is she saying this to urge me on or preparing for me to crumble under the pressure?

“Don’t worry about me.” Doubt pools in my gut despite the confidence I’m projecting. Can I pull this off? If I fail her again, I’ll never forgive myself.

My father’s voice, ice cold, slips over me. “War, what’s gotten into you? You dare turn your back on your mother and me? On the company? After all I’ve given you?”

Straightening my tie, I smirk, letting the warmth leave my eyes. I put every bit of conviction I possess into my words. “Don’t take it personally, Dad; it makes perfect sense from the business side. I’ve already messaged my idea to several board members, and they love it.” I get entirely too much pleasure from the way the color drains from my father’s face.

And yet, it doesn’t feel like the victory it should. It’s one thing to fight him with the weapons he taught me—manipulation and leverage—but what does it say about me that I can wield them so effortlessly? Shit, maybe I’m more like him than I want to admit.

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