Chapter Text
The story starts about one year before ‘Palms Of Glory'…
Jarrod closed the door to his room behind him and sat heavily in the comfortable leather chair by the fireplace. Reaching for a cigar, he bit the end off and lit it, taking a few puffs before leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling.
The words of his youngest brother reverberated in his head.
"You can't lecture me, Jarrod! You're so damned proper and so damned serious all the time! How would you know what it's like to want to cut loose and have some fun?!"
The lawyer breathed a heavy sigh and took another drag on the cigar, watching the smoke swirl away as he exhaled. He considered pouring himself a scotch, but alcohol didn't seem terribly appealing at the moment.
How could he tell his baby brother that he knew all too well the desire to cut loose, free from parental restrictions and the eyes of family? How could he admit to someone who'd looked up to him as a father figure for the past five years how much that "having fun" almost cost him?
Picking up the letter that sat on the side table, Jarrod re-read the contents that started the confrontation with Eugene.
… has been missing an unacceptable amount of classes and is generally late to those he does attend … his grades are low, much lower than a young man of his potential could achieve … If this continues, Mr. Eugene Barkley may not be accepted for a second term.
Jarrod closed his eyes, the present echoing memories of events that happened years ago…
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"Hey, Barkley!"
Jarrod pried open bleary eyes as the voice called out again, this time accompanied by an insistent pounding.
"Barkley, I know you're in there! We've gotta get going!"
Jarrod wasn't sure if the pounding was coming from inside his skull or outside the room. He pulled the covers over his head in an attempt to make it go away and succeeded in muffling the hammering on the door. The hammering behind his eyes, however, only got more pronounced.
"Better get going, gorgeous," came a sultry female voice, light fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I don't really need your friend breaking down my door."
Groaning, Jarrod worked his way out of the covers, but not without a pat on the backside of the buxom blonde lounging in the bed beside him. "Hold your horses, I'm coming," he called out, as loud as he dared without increasing the throbbing in his head.
How many bottles of whiskey had they put away last night anyway, Jarrod asked himself while he searched for his pants. He remembered calling for a third for he, Wagner and Carter, but after that things got a bit fuzzy. He slightly recalled heading upstairs with the blonde; Tess, that was the name his aching brain supplied. He could only hope he'd gotten his money's worth.
"Barkley, if we don't get moving, we're going to be late for Owens' class, and then we'll really be in for it!"
Since coming to college a couple months ago, Jarrod found himself in an existence he'd never dreamed of. He knew the Barkleys were a powerful, wealthy family, and back home in Stockton, it didn't set them apart from others in the valley. But here, that wealth and power meant something. Jarrod was at the top of the elite, everyone wanted to be seen with and call the dashing young man friend and that popularity had a heady quality. Studies and making the grade had quickly taken second place to the social whirl the young college student found himself in.
Finished buttoning his shirt, Jarrod threw a generous tip on the nightstand and despite the raging pain in his head, blew Tess a rakish kiss before opening the door.
"God, Barkley, we'd better find a horse trough for you to dunk your head in before we show our faces in class," the sandy blond young man badgered him. "You look like you've been dragged a mile behind wild mustangs. Or maybe," he added with a leering grin, "it was just that wildcat you took upstairs last night. Maybe I should check for claw marks."
"And you look fresh as a daisy, Carter," Jarrod taunted back with an appraising glance for his compatriot's pale complexion and bloodshot eyes as they made their careful way down the stairs.
"I see he's still alive," came another voice, this one in the direction of the bar. Jarrod and Aaron Carter walked over to the last of their threesome who was leaning back on the highly polished mahogany. Karl Wagner handed two glasses filled with amber liquor to his companions and picked up his own. "Looks like you need a little hair of the dog this morning, Barkley. Hope she was worth it."
Jarrod took the proffered glass and drained it in one shot. He hoped she'd been worth it too. The fact that he couldn't remember all of the previous night didn't really bother him as much as it once did; after all, it was happening with relative frequency of late. In the beginning, the partying was reserved for the weekends but lately it seemed they were out at least every other night, drinking, gambling and wenching in all the best (and some of the worst) establishments around the city.
"Hey, Barkley, pay the man, alright?"
Jarrod pulled some money out of his pocket and dropped it on the polished surface, the proprietor immediately whisking it away. In the back of his mind, Jarrod felt a vague uneasiness that his newfound friends were more interested in the contents of his pocketbook than his company, but pushed the uncomfortable thought away. He had the money; what harm was there in using it to show his chums a good time?