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My rapid blink gave away my surprise. I straightened on my bed, using one hand to knead my aching skull. Everything hurt. And I do mean everything. My thighs, my ass, my core were all still sore from having spent the night with Trent Rexroth. My head was spinning at Father’s recent revelation, and my heart was drowning in sorrow and self-pity at what this meant for me.
Jordan Van Der Zee was a careful planner. He knew where he wanted to be five years from now, and worked toward it quietly and with determination. So hearing this more than threw me off-balance.
He shook his head, reaching for one of the wigs, fingering the human hair with a scowl. “I’m going to focus on expanding Fiscal Heights Holdings, kick Rexroth off the board, and live my life peacefully,” he confirmed, withdrawing his hand like the wig was made of cold fire. “And I am not going to stay with your mother. You have your future to concentrate on. Here is my advice, Edie—enroll in a good college, far away from this place, and make something out of yourself. Stop smoking dope. Stop socializing with losers, and stop giving your mother the time of day when she clearly doesn’t do the same for you.”
And do you? Do you give me the time of the day? But again, I had so much to lose. Trent’s words were like a faint echo inside my head. If you want to be strong, be.
“You can’t do this right now. She needs to get better first.” I shook my head.
Jordan looked up to my ceiling and fingered the golden chandelier, smiling to himself at the memory of who I was supposed to be. “She’ll never get better. I’m going to do it, and soon.”
“I need more time,” I argued, feeling completely out of control.
“I don’t owe you a thing.”
“When are you going to tell her?” I stood up, toe-to-toe with him. He looked like the cold, white man who went to Pocahontas’ village. The destroyer. He looked like a Harry Potter character that could suck your soul away.
“This week. Maybe next. It doesn’t matter. When is a good time for something like this?”
“Considering you vowed to love her forever, in sickness and health, never is a good time. She needs you,” I deadpanned, narrowing my eyes.
“It is not up for discussion.” He pointed at the wigs on my bed. “This is not healthy or constructive for someone your age. You should be focused on your studies and on making a future for yourself.”
“My future is taking care of my family,” I answered, jutting my chin out. “My future is spending every morning surfing.”
My father looked around the coral room with dead eyes, like it represented all the dreams and hopes I’d shattered along the years by being myself. By choosing Doc Martens over Louboutins. By choosing the beach over chess. By choosing guys like Bane over the preppy boys of All Saints High.
He shrugged. “Your funeral.”
Teeth chattering, fists clenched, eyes bleeding hatred. “What about him?”
“Theodore?”
No. The Pope. “Yes.”
“Our deal still stands. You will get to keep him around as long as you provide the information I need on Rexroth. Now that my plans have changed, staying on top of things at Fiscal Heights Holdings is vital,” he said dryly, running a hand over the vanity I’d never used, a sheet of dust coating his palm.
“And if I fail?” I hoped he didn’t pick up on that gulp.
“You won’t fail. Failure would mean Theodore moving away to an East Coast facility. I know of an excellent one near the New York branch of Fiscal Heights Holdings.”
“It’s difficult to find things on Trent. He is not a stupid man.” I choked on my words, stomping my feet. I hated that I’d stomped my feet. I wasn’t that kind of girl. I wasn’t a girl.
“He’s smart, but I trust you’re smarter. You came from me, after all.”
Barf. How could I react to this without sounding hateful? I changed the subject. “Do you have someone else? Are you leaving Mom for a mistress?” The words felt dirty in my mouth. I wanted to take a shower and bury myself under the duvets, but most of all, I wanted not to feel so impossibly tired of fighting this cold war that never ceased. This was exactly how my mother had started off her rocky affair with prescription drugs and depression.
Not leaving the bed.
Day in and day out.
Jordan examined me emotionlessly. He took a step back, indicating he was done with the conversation, and wiped his dusty hand on my black hoodie, resting on the back of my chair. “Don’t be childish, Edie.”
“I got to meet quite a few of your lovers over the years. I’m wondering if one of them has finally managed to do what the others couldn’t. Is it Tracey? Holly? Maybe Cadence?” I pouted, knowing full well I was losing control and not caring anymore. I was vindictive and full of red wrath. A wrecking ball of fire. I was hungry for that power he took from me whenever he was in the room.
